Chapter 18 #2
“He lives within walking distance. But yeah, I’m sure something came up.” I forced myself to smile. “He’s probably outside, trying to talk his grandmas out of attempting another casino buffet heist.”
Yaz didn’t have a reply to that, but maybe it was because Shy was climbing up onto the tiny stage, the cherries on their shirt suddenly revealed by the spotlight shining on them to be covered by a slight layer of glitter.
“Welcome to another burlesque night at Second Chance,” they said.
“As you may already be aware, your ticket entitles you to a ten percent discount on any book from the Duke of Harding Recommends table. Don’t forget to check out our website for information about how to join His Grace’s treasure hunt and for a schedule for this fall’s burlesque nights.
And since I know you’re all eager to get this party started, that’ll be all from me. Please help me welcome Ruby Rapture!”
I tried to pay attention. I really did. Ruby was the cutest in her feather boa and her routine was set to a Lady Cerulean song that made you long for a pink cocktail and a karaoke night with your besties.
But the whole time she was up on stage—and as she was replaced by each subsequent dancer on the roster—my gaze kept alternating between the door and my still-blank phone.
The growing ache in my chest was so distracting that not even the seductive stylings of the future Lord Loving were enough to hold my attention, though the whoops and hollers coming from the audience did manage to pierce through my haze.
And I did what any supportive friend would do, which was climb up on the bench—dragging Yaz along with me—and scream with my hands in the air with every piece of costume that hit the floor.
Before I knew it, two hours had passed and the burlesque portion of burlesque night was over. And not only had Dash not shown up, he also hadn’t replied to any of the half a dozen—okay, couple dozen—texts I had sent him over the course of the evening.
Yaz was looking at me when I looked up from one of those texts.
She’d woven her straightened hair into a braid that she’d wrapped around her head like a crown, secured with flower-shaped hairpins, and it made her profile look beautifully severe.
She was also about five hundred miles less distant than she’d been an hour before, which would’ve been good if everything had been going according to plan, but of course everything wasn’t, because this was me and my life, and it was pretty clear that she’d come back to earth just in time to see me crash and burn. Again.
“How long have the two of you been involved?”
I turned away, preferring to look at the crowd rather than see any potential pity in Yaz’s eyes. “Just a few weeks,” I said wretchedly. “It wasn’t supposed to be anything deep or real. We were just supposed to be friends.”
She didn’t say anything about how bad of an idea it had been, probably because it was more than obvious.
“Oh, Mariel,” she said instead. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I replied with a shrug, as if I could shake off my disappointment. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m being stood up, but I should be used to that, right?”
Out of my peripheral vision, I could see Yaz leaning forward. “I’m sure he’s not standing you up.”
A few weeks ago, I’d probably have tried to turn it into a joke, and said something about how Dash was just the newest addition to the graveyard that was my dating life.
I had the feeling that it wouldn’t roll off my tongue quite so easy now, as I realized just how badly I wanted him to be here tonight.
What else was there to do but to shrug? “Honestly, it was about time that he realized what he’d gotten himself into.”
“Mariel.” Yaz tugged a lock of my hair. “You’re spiraling.”
“Am I, though? Or just being realistic? I know I’m not a legal shark, but I know how to read a pattern. This is how it always goes.”
Yaz stood up. “Come on. Let’s go get another beer. And didn’t you have some friends you wanted me to meet?”
We found Shy and Aria, who thankfully didn’t ask about Dash. Then we got ourselves another drink. Then Ruby drifted toward us with another one of the dancers in tow and they told us all about this duet they were planning for a Halloween performance at House of Yes.
Through it all, the ache in my chest kept expanding, until it was taking up so much room that I was literally finding it hard to breathe.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
But time kept passing and Dash kept not being there and it was after midnight and the garden had mostly emptied out and soon Shy would be closing up shop.
And I kept thinking about how Dash had looked when I told him that I couldn’t wait for Yaz to meet him, and how I’d been so in denial that something was wrong that I didn’t even register the sinking in my stomach.
Finally, I just said it out loud. “I don’t think he’s coming.”
“Who? Dash?” This was from Chase, who had put on a pair of sweatpants over his teeny metallic shorts but not bothered to cover up the tassels stuck over his nipples. “He texted me just before I went on to say he wasn’t gonna make it.”
His words fell into me like a stone into water, sending this crushing heaviness rippling over my limbs.
“Was he okay?” I heard Yaz ask through the ringing in my ears.
“I think so.” Chase shot a glance at me. “Mariel, you look—”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.” I forced myself to smile as I took off my beret and stuffed it into my purse. “Who wants another drink?”
The thing is, I should have seen it. I would have, if I hadn’t been so distracted with… with all this. Fireflies and tapestries and picnics and scoops of ice cream. I had enough experience to be able to notice the signs.
I’d been so sure that Dash was different, but the truth is, Dash was just like everyone else I’d dated.
I should have known Dash was going to ghost me.
I wasn’t the kind of person who had happily ever afters. I wasn’t even the kind of person who got to have a middle with someone else. As much as I’d tried to delude myself, I’d known from the first kiss that Dash and I would never be anything more than a beginning.
Don’t get me wrong—it had been a good beginning. The best one yet.
It was late when Yaz and I got back to my apartment.
I wasn’t cracking jokes, which was probably scaring Yaz more than if I’d been sobbing.
Eyeing me warily, she kicked her shoes off by the door and perched on one end of the bed.
I flopped down next to her, breathing as hard as if I’d just run a marathon, and almost let out a yelp when my phone buzzed with a text.
From Dash.
Sorry I couldn’t make it. Can we talk tomorrow?
I looked at the message for a long moment, feeling my heart thud uncomfortably inside my chest. Then I deliberately swiped it off my screen.
And flung my phone clear across the room.
“I think you cracked the screen,” Yaz said.
I buried my face in my flower pillow. “Who cares. That thing is a fucking cemetery. Full of ghosts,” I explained, glancing up briefly.
“He just texted you—that disqualifies him from ghost status,” Yaz pointed out. “Look, I get that he disappointed you by not showing up tonight. But don’t write him off yet—I’m sure he has a good explanation.”
I wasn’t sure I actually cared about explanations.
Not when he’d taken the time to text Chase while not even bothering to let me know that he hadn’t been run over by an out-of-control Central Park carriage or, I don’t know, some finance bro distraught at having spilled mustard on his Patagonia vest.
Because he knew how much his meeting Yaz had meant to me and he’d gone ahead and blown it off.
Which was especially devastating when you thought about how responsible and supportive Dash was, and how coming through for any one of his friends was his idea of a good time.
Where was his heroic streak when I needed it?
Yaz fetched my phone and laid it on my nightstand, not forgetting to plug it in so that it wouldn’t be dead in the morning, like I would have. Then she perched on my side of the bed. “What can I do to make you feel better?”
“You can’t, Yaz. I know you’re used to solving all the problems, but you can’t make everything better.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Yaz asked in this tight voice.
I ignored her, flinging the pillow over the side of the bed and lying back to look morosely at the ceiling. “The truth is, I wouldn’t blame you if you ghosted me either.”
“Why the hell do you think I’d ever do that?”
I didn’t have to be looking at her to know that her eyes were glittering. I sat up.
“Because I can’t be fixed. Because if you ghosted me, you wouldn’t waste so much of your valuable time trying to help me get my shit together. I mean, what’s the point of having your own life all figured out when you’re constantly having to clean up after someone’s messes.”
“Got my shit together? Me?” Yaz rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t have anything figured out. You wanna know why I’m really here? Because I quit my job. And Amal—”
She broke off, glancing away. But not before I saw the tears welling up in her eyes. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Yaz crying? Yaz, who would’ve faced the apocalypse by rolling up her sleeves and saying, “We can fix it.”
“What’s going on with Amal?”
Getting up, Yaz went to get the blue-striped pajamas she had laid out earlier. “Nothing. We broke up. It’s fine.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, even though it was more than obvious that she didn’t.
Yaz shrugged. “Better alone than in bad company.”
It wasn’t every day that Yaz quoted her mother, and suddenly I could see an echo of Tía Nena’s face in Yaz’s. Our mothers had always been dysfunctional when it came to love and relationships—each in her own special way—and I guess I hadn’t really realized just how much Yaz and I took after them.
Ah, crap. We were both fucked, weren’t we?
I folded my arms. “Is Amal actually bad company? Or did something happen?”