Chapter 20
There are countless words I’ve used to describe Zola in my life, but until a few nights ago, scared had never been one of them. Be braver, she’d said. The implied “or else” left hanging. Sisterly advice, wrapped in a warning.
That warning is the same reason my Edjoin search still hasn’t made it past the landing page this morning. I can’t even fix my fingers to type my fucking zip code into the search bar without my pulse racing and my vision blurring.
I’m still staring at the computer, trying to figure out if being braver means I should finally be applying or if it’s time to delete my account completely, when my phone lights up beside me.
Liv: I put you on the list for Saturday. Again.
Liv: I’m not going away. You WILL be meeting Travis at some point xx
Me: no need for threats
Me: Zola’s next guy rescheduled, so I’m free
Liv: He canceled a first date and Zola let him live??
Me: LOL she was like he’s a DOCTORRRRRR!!
Liv: If that logic frees you up for the concert, I’m here for it.
Liv: Sending show details now.
—
At six-fifteen on Saturday evening, my phone buzzes on the bathroom counter.
I expect for it to be Ro making one last threat about joining me in the city in leather chaps.
Why he believes that’s what one wears to a rock concert is beyond me, but over the past week, his ignorance and my fear of tonight’s events have brought us back to almost normal. I’ll take it.
These incoming texts, though, are from Liv. MTA alerts I didn’t ask for, listing all my potential train delays. She was serious about not going away.
So, I give myself one final mirror check to make sure my curls are behaving, which of course they’re not, and I’m on my way.
—
On the platform at Grand Central, a swarm of bridge and tunnel weekend commuters sweep me up into an involuntary footrace toward the nearest exit.
Liv’s hyperspecific itinerary for the night named Union Square as our meeting place, so when I emerge from the Metro North tracks, I’m surprised to find her waiting for me this far uptown—bouncy and bubbly, despite her I’m with the band ensemble.
Her excitement flashes to disappointment when she sees me approaching.
“Uh, hi,” I say, stooping to catch her eyes as they work their way up my black Levi’s and hover at my gray knit tank. “I thought we were meeting downtown.”
She’s still studying me.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
There it is.
My hands lift in question—despite their sudden urge to flip her off.
“Well, obviously my real clothes are in here,” I say, yanking at the chain of my itty-bitty leather crossbody. “Of course this is what I’m wearing. What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, sorry,” she says, finally bringing me in to hug her vinyl-and-lace-clad body. “It’s just a little…meh.”
“This is what you said to wear.”
“I did say to wear black,” she admits, eyeing me as she lifts my shirt up a few inches. “Actually, I can work with this.”
We step onto the 6 train, and I raise my foot in the air, still pleading my case. “Look, I wore your favorite sandals even though they make my pinkie toe go rogue.”
Liv smiles and bats my leg away. “Don’t blame the shoes for your octopus toes.” Then she unclasps a few of her layered necklaces. “Here, put these on. I’ll fix your makeup.”
I try not to protest too violently as Liv tucks my shirt into my bra until it’s cropped into something resembling a bikini top. She swipes a final layer of deep brown eye shadow on my lid and recaps her mascara as the train lurches to a stop at Fourteenth Street.
“Better,” is all she says.
“Gee, thanks,” I say, scaling the stairs.
When we’re finally aboveground, I catch sight of my reflection in a passing window.
“Liv!”
I’m still laughing at the little Black Rocker Barbie staring back at me as Liv yanks at my jeans so they sit even lower on my hips. Once she’s satisfied, she links her arm through mine the way we did as kids, and I’m reminded of how she used to dress me up, even then.
“Fine,” I concede, smiling and falling into step with my best friend, “if you like it, I love it.”
—
Liv makes a catwalk of the few feet between the bar’s heavy double doors and the guys checking IDs. I resist the urge to untuck my shirt and throw my hair into a high poof to make it more obvious that I’m here against my will and better judgment.
“Don’t check anything,” she says, ushering me past a girl working coat check. “It’ll just get lost or stolen.”
Comforting.
8:42pm
Me: Start the clock.
Ro: Already?
Me: Already.
Liv leads us toward the bar at the center of the venue, currently overflowing with bodies thrashing haphazardly to the blaring music. Pretty sure the last “venue” I was in was the Richard Rodgers Theatre for a matinee performance of Hamilton. This…is not that.
Liv watches me do a once-over of our surroundings. The laughter that spills out of her at the horrified look on my face makes her look a little more like the girl I grew up with.
And she’s still smiling as she leans into me to shout at full volume: “Obviously, I’m buying.”
I smile my appreciation but keep my response brief to minimize my own vocal strain. “Tequila!”
Liv nods. “Soda? Margarita?”
“Yes!”
She places our order and the bartender leans in close, using the deafening acoustics as an excuse to put his lips up against her ear. My fist is ready to educate him on the meaning of consent, but before I can get us escorted out of here, Liv throws her head back in laughter.
Not the reaction I’d expected, but actually, I have no clue who this man is to her.
Maybe they’re friends. Maybe he’s friends with her boyfriend. Because Liv has a boyfriend now. One that I’m only just now meeting.
A few years ago, she wouldn’t have even been able to craft a text to a guy without screenshotting the conversations for my input, but here and now, I’m the odd man out. In this place, we’re not the Liv and Kaia of years past. And if I’m being honest, we haven’t been those girls for a long time.
“Travis left his tab open for us,” Liv says, picking our shots up off the sticky metal bar. “Fritz here says he’s been instructed to get us good and drunk.”
“How sweet,” I joke. But as the high-quality tequila spreads its warmth through my rattled insides, I realize Travis getting us shmammered tonight may, in fact, be the sweetest thing after all.
The bartender slams down two more and Liv screams her appreciation. She seems free in this new world that I know very little about. It’s so easy for her to let go here, and in that, at least, I see the appeal.
Liv closes the small gap between us, grabbing both my shoulders to drag my body along with hers, as she does what can only be described as a full body thrashing. Her headbanging is new, but her smile is the same one I’ve known forever and draws one out of me the way it always has.
Fueled by the music, the liquor, and the promise of a much-needed night out with one of the great loves of my life, I join Liv—in the shot, the dance, and the ensuing scream. And this time, when I survey the club once more, my head finds the rhythm of this new song I’ve never heard before.
—
When Liv eyes Travis and his bandmates walking toward us, she runs into his arms like he’s a soldier, returning from war.
The two of them making out is a car wreck I cannot look away from, though I really, really wish I could.
I’m still trying to figure out whose tongue is whose, when my phone vibrates in my bag.
10:01pm
Ro: Liv get you onstage yet?
Ro: Did you wear the chaps?
Me: I’m beginning to suspect you’ve never actually heard rock music.
Ro: No yeehaw?
Me: Remind me to bring you next time so we can update your visual.
Ro: You could’ve brought me tonight.
My conversation’s interrupted by Liv making introductions. She’s still wiping her lipstick from Travis’s face when he acknowledges me for the first time.
“Hey,” he says, his tone so casual it borders on bored. Luckily, I’ve seen enough of his online presence not to take it personally. “Thanks for coming out.”
But before I can quip that my only act of free will tonight came in liquid form, Liv’s shouting again. “I thought you guys would be getting ready to go on by now.”
“Evan needed a few minutes in the greenroom,” Travis says, dragging Liv toward him by her pants pockets. “He had to work something out with the manager.”
The band laughs as someone says under their breath, “Yeah, he’s working her out, all right.”
“This place is packed.” My attempt to move on from a joke clearly not meant for me is clumsy. “You guys play here a lot?”
“Every Saturday,” one of the guys says. “Ev got us the gig.”
“Nice,” I say, trying to ignore the fact that Liv and Travis are going at it again. “This is my first real concert.”
“I can tell,” a husky voice says from behind me.
Holy hot.
“Evan!” Liv squeals, anchored by Travis’s arm still wrapped around her waist. “This is the friend I was telling you about.”
Liv pushes me forward like she’s presenting Evan an offering.
The fact that he doesn’t reach out a hand or even say hello makes me feel even more like a human sacrifice, but I make no move to escape my fate.
I’m locked in place by his hooded green eyes and the way my name comes out on his exhale, sweeping across my face as it does.
“Kaia.”
His lips stay parted like he’s breathing the word back in, and when Evan licks his lips, I swear the button on my jeans pops open to grant him easier access.
Liv swats my butt, cuing me to speak.
“Hi.”
Under the heady intoxication of tequila and the walking sex of a man in front of me, hi is the best I can do.