Twenty-Six Sicily
2028
Sicily has always been good at compartments. Her life has been a box made up of separate rooms where she keeps the different parts of herself. Stage Sicily is strong, sexy, audacious—an icon. Media Sicily is sparkling and intelligent; she’s relatable enough to appeal to the masses but has learned how to stay one step ahead of the interviewers and magazine editors. She knows they still underestimate her. And Home Sicily likes to nest, to work on craft projects or ride bikes or play pool volleyball with her kids. She makes up gift baskets for local LA charities every Christmas and travels to war zones at Easter and Thanksgiving to perform for the troops. Maybe that’s why she’s had so much trouble finding a good romantic partner—the men are attracted to Stage Sicily like a magnet and follow Media Sicily’s appearances, thinking they know her. But then they wake up with softhearted, real, regular Home Sicily, whose normal human imperfection is hard to reconcile with the others. They can’t love her for who she really is.
She thought Kent was different—he seemed to understand the compartments, working as long as he has in the industry. Sicily really likes him; in fact, she’s told herself she’s in love with him, but in her heart of hearts, she knows that romance doesn’t last forever. Relationships need something solid to keep them going and growing. And now that Sicily is a little older and a little wiser, she knows something for sure: no one who’s been a dick to one of her dearest friends is a man worthy of her love.
The thoughts circulate in her mind all throughout Germaine’s wedding ceremony, but somehow they make her feel even more present and grateful for her friends. They’re so important to her. While others have drifted in and out of her life, they have remained constant, loving her and supporting her through all her bad times and missteps. Sure, both Miranda and Germaine have made mistakes of their own. But you’re not going to know someone for nearly your entire life without accidentally hurting them at least once.
A coordinated cloud of native butterflies is released as the officiant recites the final line of the ceremony, and everyone cheers as Germaine and Justin share a sweet kiss. Sicily’s heart lurches to see the joy and tears in her friend’s eyes, and she knows in that instant that they will last a very long time.
Everyone moves to the grand banquet hall with cathedral ceilings and sprays of tea roses, dahlias, gardenias, gladiolas, and sea grasses mixed with rosemary that spill over each carefully set table and perfume the space. Every place card has been written by hand in flourishing calligraphy and set next to a personalized gift box that contains Belgian chocolates, beeswax candles, and signature scents for each guest. The high-arched windows behind the head table look out over the western horizon of the sea, so the wedding party will be bathed in gold light as the sun sets. They will almost be too radiant to see.
Sicily wonders, in the back of her mind, whether this was also part of Germaine’s master plan. But perhaps it’s just a coincidence.
Sicily and Miranda take seats to the left of the center after their grand entrance and cheer on Germaine and Justin, who have learned a bit of ballroom-salsa choreography and move fluidly, confidently, in front of the crowd before continuing to the head table, performing like stars but somehow wrapped up only in each other at the same time. Germaine has changed into a scarlet qipao with gold hand embroidery for the reception, and she looks positively on fire in the sunset light. Her long hair is secured elegantly in a french twist that would have made Audrey Hepburn envious.
Miranda is in the seat closer to Germaine, but Germaine leans over and squeezes both her and Sicily’s hands when she sits. Sicily gives her as big of a smile as she can, trying to communicate that it’s okay.
She can’t focus on anything else besides how fantastic all the details of this wedding are, anyway, and how much fun it is. The DJ starts with classy swing jazz while they eat—a menu of incredible culinary feats, from oysters with Yukari mignonette with finger lime and chives, to braised Wagyu beef with celery root gratin Dauphinois, to ōra King salmon with black trumpet mushrooms and beluga lentils—and then moves to nostalgic hits and throwbacks from their teenage years as the dance floor opens. There’s a constant stream of champagne as waiters roam about the room, bearing trays of glass flutes and small bites of sturgeon caviar, mini tamagoyaki, and puff pastry filled with baked pear, pomegranate, and brie.
Germaine has decided to eschew speeches; she told Sicily and Miranda earlier that she wanted to keep things light and “casual,” as casual as an event with bespoke pyrotechnics outside the banquet hall windows during her and Justin’s first dance can be.
Desserts of tarte citron and bittersweet chocolate-custard profiterole are served, along with slices from a towering cake of chocolate tahini and rosemary buttercream.
From his table down on the floor, Kent catches Sicily’s eye and raises his brows as if to say, This is off the charts. She smiles and nods back. Germaine knows how to throw a party.
“I hear we have some celebrities in this star-studded crowd,” the DJ booms. “Let’s get all you Kidz Klubbers out on the floor! I know y’all want to take a photo for those socials!”
Miranda shoots Sicily a look, but Sicily shrugs. She’s feeling a lot better now that everything’s out in the open. So Miranda follows her down to the floor, where the others are gathering.
Sicily feels a hand on her arm, and she turns to find Germaine.
“Hey,” Germaine whispers. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“It’s okay.” Sicily smiles. “Really.”
And it is. She’s gotten everything off her chest, and these people don’t have any power over her anymore—not the girls who used to be catty to her at rehearsals, not her family, and not even Tyler X, who’s already looking a bit bloated from all the rich food, rubbing his stomach with a grimace as he limps up for the photo.
“Everyone say ‘Treat You Right’!” the photographer shouts as the theme song plays in the background. Germaine pulls Miranda and Sicily close and kisses them both on the cheek as the photos snap. Sicily squeezes her once before letting go.
The music swerves into pop and hip-hop as “Treat You Right” fades out and the crowd disperses.
“Hey, Sicily,” a voice says behind her. She turns to find Tyler, scratching his five-o’clock shadow. Behind him, Miranda pauses, seeming to ask Sicily whether she should tackle him. But Sicily gives a slight shake of her head.
“Hey, Tyler,” she says. “How are you?”
“Not too bad,” he says. “I mean, I’ve been worse. How are you doing? Been a long time.”
“It has.” Sicily crosses her arms and looks him up and down. He looks tired, and more than a little out of place. He doesn’t have the energy of the other Kidz Klub people, who are either peacocking around to network or having genuine fun catching up with each other. Tyler looks like someone who gave up on trying to prove himself a long time ago. His suit doesn’t fit quite right, and his shoulders are hunched. “I’m good, Tyler. I’m doing well.”
“That’s good. Congrats on everything, you know. It seems like you’ve done really well for yourself.”
“Yeah.” Sicily nods. “It turned out okay in the end.”
Tyler nods back. “Some party, huh?”
“A signature Germaine rager.”
“It is. I should mix some more throwback hits into my Ozarks emcee playlist.” He looks around, craning his neck at the high ceiling and the flowers. Sicily realizes that the awe on his face is mixed with sadness, and in that moment she feels a little sorry for him. Of all of them, he’s the one who’s fallen the farthest from the glittering life they were promised as kids. And while most of his mistakes were his own, Tyler, Sicily, and the others were all cut from the same exploitive cloth that told them they needed to be entertaining and provocative to have any worth.
“I think people would really like that,” she says. Then she pats him on the shoulder and walks away, both from Tyler and all the harm he caused.
The rest of the reception is a blast. Sicily and Miranda dance with Germaine, belting their favorite songs and laughing during the “Macarena.” “So Bad, So Good” comes on, and they push Sicily into the spotlight, where the crowd goes wild as she lip-synchs to her own song. And when the music turns to a slow jam, Kent finds her again and asks her for a dance.
“Of course,” she says, but she knows the hesitancy is written on her face. He puts his arm around her waist and leads her back onto the dance floor as the lights dim, but she has a hard time looking at him. Even more so when she catches Miranda slipping away from the floor.
“Hey,” Kent says. “Is everything okay?”
Sicily sighs and drops his hand. “Actually, no. I’m sorry—could we talk?”
“Of course.”
The french doors of the banquet hall have been opened to the gardens beyond, and Sicily leads Kent past the other guests who are milling about. Cozy candlelit nooks have been set up among the palms and hibiscus trees—Germaine has thought of every last detail to ensure her guests’ comfort. Everything is in the best possible taste, with cushioned bistro chairs tucked behind curtains of honeysuckle.
Sicily and Kent sit, he with a nervous expression on his face. But Sicily feels calm.
“Miranda mentioned that many years ago,” she begins, “she overheard you say something very hurtful about her.”
Kent drops his head and gives a deep sigh.
“I know it’s been two decades,” she continues, lacing her fingers together. “But it caused a lot of damage to her. And, Kent ...”
He lifts his head and looks her in the eyes, as if he knows what she’s going to say.
“... you know how much I like you. I think things have been going really well. But ... my loyalty has to be to my friends, first and foremost. We’ve been through so much together—and too much apart. I’ve let my relationships come before them in the past. But I’ve learned that from this point forward, I don’t want anything to come between them and me.”
Kent is quiet a moment. Then he sighs and says, “I was always worried that she heard. It was one of a million shitty things I said to or about young actresses in those days. I remember, though—she was so excited about the part at the beginning of that meeting, but when she came back after using the bathroom, she seemed upset. None of us addressed it. And when I heard about the DUI later ...” He rubs his hands over his face. “I felt like a complete asshole. It was her birthday, for god’s sake. She was still a kid. It was the first time I saw the direct consequences.”
Sicily nods. “She was still a kid, yes.”
“Sicily, I want you to know I own this. There’s no excuse,” Kent says. “I was an awful person back then. Acting like the big man, swaggering around—it’s how all the agents behaved. Even hers, when she wasn’t in the room. Definitely an old-boys club. It’s one of the main reasons my first marriage didn’t work out, and also why I ended up leaving that agency—the whole thing needed to be burned down and rebuilt from the ground up.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Sicily murmurs.
“When you introduced me to Miranda yesterday, I wanted to apologize to her the second I realized who she was. But I was never sure if she did hear, and I thought it might be presumptuous to assume she even remembered me. I didn’t want to be the one putting her in an awkward position. But if she does remember ...”
He trails off, looking pained.
“I understand,” Sicily says gently. “But I do think an apology is a good idea.”
“Do you think she would forgive me? I don’t really feel like I deserve it.” Then Kent looks at Sicily, sadness in his eyes. “Could you ever forgive me?”
She looks at him carefully. A breeze blows through the garden, carrying with it the music and sounds of the party. She knows what acting is, and she’s been played and lied to by so many people in her life, from her romantic partners to her own flesh and blood. But there is real remorse in Kent’s face. He seems to have already resigned himself to the fact that he may lose her.
“Miranda says we need to forgive ourselves and each other. Forgive the world for what it’s put us through.” Sicily takes a deep breath. “So maybe the three of us could talk next week? I think she would appreciate hearing what you just told me.”
“I would like that,” Kent says.
Sicily feels a weight begin to lift.