7. Partly SunnyCloudy
Partly Sunny or Cloudy
I n one mile, you will arrive at your destination .
The GPS said before allowing Beyoncé’s “XO” to fill the car again at its previous blaring volume. I turned down the music to see the road a little better in the dark. The road was a freshly paved, winding two-lane back road with brilliant streetlights along it. The grass was well-maintained, clearly well-cared for by someone with a lot of money or a lot of time.
Maisie, Simone, our overnight bags, and I all had piled into my SUV. The ETA read well over an hour. So, the three of us had spent the car ride belting out whatever came on Maisie’s fantastic roadtrip playlist. I was surprised that we weren’t hoarse from singing with our full chests.
“Dude, are you seeing these houses?” Maisie pointed out the bougie houses. “Their kids definitely didn’t have to pay for college.”
“You know what’s crazy? These houses are middle class compared to the mansions hidden behind the trees. The further from the road a house is, the more of a McMansion it is.”
In half a mile, the destination will be on your right.
“Well, I hope your little hypothesis is correct, Byrdie. I’m seeing fewer houses and more trees. Simone, are you sure this guy is real? I would like for my friends to not be Get Out ’ed.”
Simone burst out laughing from the back seat. “Shut the hell up! Cole is very real, and we are totally safe. I looked up the mansion on Zillow beforehand. It’s huge, and I saw plenty of comments on its Instagram and TikTok about the parties that happen there.”
“The house has an Instagram and TikTok?” Maisie and I exclaimed at the same time. I continued, “What in the rich, white nonsense is this? Are they going to turn us away at the door when they smell Maisie’s student loan debt?”
“Hey! That’s rich coming from Little Miss Guncle Paid For My Schooling.”
In a quarter of a mile, the destination will be on your right .
“I’m getting kinda nervous, y’all.” Simone leaned on the middle console.
“I feel you. How many people do you think will be at this thing?” I asked.
“Cole said it was supposed to be small. His cousin doesn’t like crowds.”
“What do we know about Cole’s family? Anyone hot?” Maisie asked, turning to look at Simone.
Simone chuckled. “Cole is a triplet, and he has a younger sister. He also has an older cousin who he sees as their oldest sister. They are all less than two years apart, so they are pretty close.”
“I do love to have options.”
“You are the stereotype about pansexuals that the community is trying to break.” I shook my head.
“I am a polyamorous pansexual who has a list of kinks a mile long. Honestly, I’m the icon everyone should strive to emulate.”
“You are definitely something else,” I snorted.
The destination is on your right.
I slowed the car before an open, tall-as-fuck wrought-iron gate. The spiked, matching fencing seemed to stretch for miles in either direction. I turned onto the paved road surrounded by woodland. It was like I was driving into a forest.
We rode in silent awe for a good minute. I couldn’t remember when Maisie had paused the music, but I was grateful. There was something about arriving that called for quiet, like we needed to pay reverence and get our thoughts together before everything began.
After a couple of miles of driving, the mansion finally came into view. It was huge . It was what you would typically think of. There were no columns in front, and it looked nothing like your typical colonial-style mansion. No, this one was a spectacular Cape Cod-inspired estate, like a normal house stretched out and expanded. It had many large windows and a facade that was striking in its size and normalcy. It was like someone wanted to be luxurious but didn’t want to lose their roots in showcasing that.
“Holy fuck ,” Maisie and I said at the same time.
“I told you that they were loaded !” Simone said, but I could hear the wonder in her voice, too.
“This fucking estate has to be one of the largest homes in Georgia,” I said.
“Actually, this is not even close to the biggest house. That belongs to Mister Rick Ross and has one-hundred-and-nine rooms with twelve bedrooms. This one only has eight bedrooms.”
“ Only, she says.” Maisie hit my shoulder with the back of her hand.
I shook my head. “Tell me you grew up hella privileged without telling me you grew up hella privileged.”
“Says Miss Middle Class! Your house had, what? Four bedrooms and several acres of forest in the back?” Simone teased.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t a castle .”
“And it didn’t come with butlers and maids and chefs at our beck and call,” Maisie added for me.
“Touché,” Simone shrugged.
We reached the front of the house, and I turned into the circular driveway. There was a line of cars, each worth at least two years of my salary—and my director overpaid me to the tune of six figures, as is. My blue Toyota 4Runner, while practical and adorable, immediately stood out behind them.
I had just pulled behind a fucking Aston Martin and hadn’t even put my car in park when a thin youngish man with a clipboard came running up to my window. I rolled down my window, and he gave me a polite smile. “Hello! What is the name on the invite list?”
“Should be under Simone Thalassa,” I answered.
He barely glanced at the list before finding Simone’s name on the first page and checking it off. “You and your friends are some of our guests of honor, as requested by Mr. Collier. You can drive up to the front and leave the keys in the ignition. I will be happy to park your car for you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, okay!”
He ran off toward the front, and I pulled around the Aston to follow. Next to me, Simone squealed. “This is insane! Can y’all believe this is our life right now?!”
“Y’all know I don’t do any of that magical lovey-dovey shit, but this definitely feels like a Cinderella story. But, like, modern.”
“Now, that’s a Disney Princess I can get behind, if this is her story,” Simone chuckled.
“Yeah, because it’s your story!” I laughed.
I pulled to the front, and the three of us got out of the car. I adjusted my skirt and my boobs, to make sure I still looked phenomenal despite the car ride, and I thanked the valet for his help before walking around to meet Maisie and Simone on the other side. The double doors were just three steps up a tiny stoop.
“Y’all ready?” I asked.
Simone nodded with a full smile, making her dazzling face sparkle even more. Maisie replied, “I was born ready, babe.”
I opened the door.
And my heart was rattled by the bass of the music.
And my eyes were overwhelmed by the massive sea of people.
It was all truly like something from the movies. The whole house was bumpin’ . The music was so loud I thought I could see the soundwaves vibrating through the walls. It was good, but I knew I was going to be deaf by the night’s end. There were people as far as the eye could see, dancing, kissing, nursing drinks, or finding a way to chit-chat through the noise. From what I could see, the inside of the house was as normal, yet luxurious, as the outside. There was a closed room, with thick double wooden doors immediately to our right before a set of stairs. Straight on, folks mingled in the entranceway and along the stairs.
“So much for a small crowd, huh?” Maisie joked loudly over the music.
I stood awkwardly frozen in front of the door, not sure where to go. Thankfully, I wasn’t standing long before Simone tapped my shoulder.
She shouted, “Cole is in the room off the stairs, he said! We just have to knock for him to let us in!”
I nodded and took hers and Maisie’s hands. I knocked, and one of the doors opened to reveal a very tall, very handsome white guy with a giant, goofy smile on his face. He had dark blond hair, long enough to tickle his long, dark eyelashes. Freckles danced across his nose and cheeks. His blue eyes were soft, giving him more of a boyish vibe despite his strong jawline, broad shoulders, and muscular arms. The guy gave off massive golden retriever vibes, especially as his eyes twinkled when he looked at Simone.
Oh, he was so far gone.
“You made it!” Cole, I presumed, shouted. Or tried to.
“What?” Simone shouted over the music.
“I said you made it!”
“I’m so sorry, I can’t hear you! I’m happy I made it!” Simone beamed.
I rolled my eyes. Okay, now they were just disgustingly cute. I leaned closer to Cole’s ears. “Can we come in there? Is it quieter?”
“Oh, yeah! Sorry!” He moved aside to let the three of us enter.
Inside, the room was all oak wood floors and walls. A desk stood in front of built-in shelves, with leather couches sitting across from it before a window wall. It gave rich, white dad who definitely used his globe as liquor storage.
Cole closed the door, and the music became a distant thumping. I was instantly grateful for the soundproofing so I could hear again. Loud music was not my jam. I hated how it took control of my heart’s beat, gripping my throat and spine to rattle them. I hated having to scream to get my point across. Concerts were one thing because the music was meant to be the centerpiece, but a house party? Did the music need to be this loud?
Gods, I sounded more like an auntie with each passing day.
In the room, there were three other folks aside from Cole. I could only presume the two guys were Cole’s brothers. One smoothly leaned against the front of the desk, stretching and crossing his long legs out before him. He was somehow even more stacked than his brother. His blond hair was disheveled, but in that sexy way they describe in romance books, with trimmed facial hair along his jaw. His eyebrows were slitted and pierced, along with snake bites on his lip. He smirked, mischief in his navy-blue eyes. This brother exuded big bad boy energy, which explained why Maisie was giving him a look. He was just her type.
In a chair sat a way more put together Cole clone, with an air I could only describe as oldest sibling. His blond hair was slicked back and he was clean-shaven. He had his ankle over his knee, and the position showed off more of his broad chest. His sky-blue eyes had a calculating sharpness, as if he were always two steps ahead. It was unnerving to say the least, and I quickly averted my eyes from him before he caught me staring.
Instead, I caught sight of a girl, standing, applying lip gloss using her phone’s camera. She was pretty, with dark purple hair and pale blue eyes. She looked similar to Cole, with even more freckles. Her face was flawless, with more precision than I could do on my best day. She was about Simone’s height—taller with her heels—and she wore a mini dress that showed off her curves and the tattoos inked on her chest, arms, and legs. As she finished up her lip gloss, she made eye contact with me and smiled. When I waved back at her, it hit me exactly how long it had been since I had attempted to flirt with a stranger. In fact, it slammed into me that I had indeed never flirted with a stranger because I lived in the age of dating apps. I tried to swallow the thought.
Good vibes only, Byrdie.
Cole came behind Simone and put his hand on her lower back. He bent down and gave her a quick kiss that was so sweet I had to look away. He said, “Sorry for the volume out there. Cody insists on having the music so loud that you can hear it in every part of the house.”
“What’s the point of having a DJ if they can only be heard in one part of the house?” The guy leaning against the desk raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe so people can hear themselves think?” the other brother in the chair retorted.
“This is a party! There should be no thoughts, just vibes!” the first boy replied.
Cole shook his head. “Anyway, I’m Cole. That idiot is my brother, Cody.” He pointed to the guy leaning against the desk. Then he pointed at the other one, who was now looking at me like I was a rabbit caught in a trap. “That is my other brother, Cooper, over there. And that is Natassa, the baby of the family. You can call her Natty Light, though.”
“Fuck off.” The girl flipped him off. To Maisie, Simone, and I, she introduced, “You can call me Nat.”
“I’m Byrd. This is Simone and Marceline. It’s nice to meet all of you.”
“Cole will not shut up about his new girlfriend, so it’s nice to finally put a face to the hype,” Nat teased. Cole blushed, and Nat laughed. “Don’t embarrass me if you aren’t in the mood to be embarrassed, too, bitch!”
“I love that you talk about me with your siblings. It’s cute,” Simone said, hugging Cole close. He smiled down at her.
“Y’all are disgusting,” Cody said. “Like lovesick puppies.”
“It’s so sweet I’m going into diabetic shock,” Maisie said.
Cody’s smirk grew as he looked Maisie up and down. “A girl not obsessed with love? One after my own heart.”
Maisie stepped over to lean against the desk. They started to flirt while Cole and Simone were in their own little world.
Nat rolled her eyes as everyone coupled themselves up. “Y’all are way too lame for me. I’m going to get a drink.”
“Oh, can I come?” I asked, quickly realizing that I didn’t want to fifth wheel with my besties as much as I loved them. I also didn’t want to be left alone with Mr. Creeper, who was still staring at me.
Nat smiled my way. “Oh, absolutely, shugs. Let’s go party!”
As soon as the study’s door opened again, I was slammed with the loud music, but it didn’t feel as bad as before.
Nat grabbed my hand and led us through the crowd. We weaved through people in the entryway, the living room, and the other living room until we finally reached the bar located in the kitchen. The kitchen, like the whole house, was crazy big. There was a countertop with barstools sectioning off the kitchen from the living and dining rooms, which had been cleared of its presumed dining table and chairs to make room for a dance floor. The entrance to the kitchen had been sectioned off, so no one but the bartenders could access it. There was an island in the center, and enough counter space in the kitchen to make my and Everett’s fancy condo’s kitchen look like a studio apartment kitchen with only enough room for a micro-fridge. There were five bartenders making drinks behind the countertop, and each of the seven or so barstools were occupied.
Nat walked up to the bar and turned to me. She shouted over the music. “What do you like to drink? You look like you like your cocktails fruity and sweet.”
“I actually really like a smoky cocktail, like something with Mezcal. But I will take a whiskey and coke or a vodka and cranberry in a pinch.”
Her eyes widened. “I wouldn’t have guessed you were a Mezcal gal. Usually, Mezcal girls have some trauma .”
I laughed. “Well, I do love Mezcal.”
As Nat was laughing, a black person with a fuchsia shaved head, long gold earrings I would steal in a heartbeat, and a big necklace reading “Theydy Lady” came up and asked what we wanted, and Nat asked for two Mezcal Palomas. The bartender quickly made our drinks, serving them in red solo cups. Nat took them and passed one over to me.
“They know to put it on my tab!” Nat sipped from her cup before raising it. “Now, let’s party!”
She dragged me into the crowd while I was sipping my drink—a delicious mix of Mezcal, lime, and grapefruit soda that I wanted all the time now. When we made it back to the biggest living room area, the DJ—from wherever the hell he was—transitioned to “Yeah!” by Usher. Nat and I screamed together in pure glee. We danced together to the music, but my heart wasn’t nearly as in it as Nat’s. She put her whole pussy into dancing, leaving nothing on the dance floor.
There was a part of me that was jealous of how comfortable she was in her body like this. She could throw it back and soak in the looks from guys and girls alike without feeling embarrassed or overly conscious of how she looked in the eyes of others. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I was a hot commodity. I wasn’t bad-looking. Yes, I was fat, but I felt I was pretty in an attainable way. I wouldn’t stop anyone in their tracks or make anyone do a double-take, but I was cute. Still, I hadn’t felt connected with my body since I was thirteen. Sometimes, I felt like the intentions in my brain didn’t match up with what my body portrayed, like I couldn’t get the image to show on my face, in my walk, or in my dancing. So, I swayed to the beat, lifting my drink up in the air. I sang along to the lyrics. Maybe I dipped a bit, as far as I could in my skirt. I tried to let go, but I only gave the rope some slack. I could never give up everything at once.
The song ended and transitioned to another one that I didn’t know, but Nat seemed to. I bounced beside her. I downed my cocktail, craving the buzz to rip my nerves away from me. I hated feeling like this, like I didn’t fit into my own body.
Gods, I really hated parties.
I made my way through the crowd to get back to the bar, reminding me of my escapades earlier today to catch the train. At least I wasn’t running, and no one could hear my niceties, anyway.
“What’ll you have?” the same bartender from before asked me. “The Mezcal Paloma again?”
“Yes. Please and thank you!”
They made quick work mixing up the drink. Their speed made me wonder if they were a witch or something. It wouldn’t surprise me. Witches tended to work in the service industry since they could easily use their magic and blame it on a sleight of hand for more tips.
I reached for my phone attached to a wristlet to pay, but they stopped me with a bejeweled, manicured hand. “You’re with Nat-Nat, right?”
“Uh, I mean, kinda?” I shrugged. “But I can pay for my drink! At least let me send you a tip!”
“No, ma’am. This family is overpaying me for this event, and we get to keep tips. I think I can let a few drinks slide for free. Plus, pretty girls shouldn’t have to pay for drinks.”
I shook my head. “The drink, fine. But let me at least tip you for being so sweet and beautiful. And for telling me where you got those earrings!”
The bartender sent their head back, cackling. “Deal, honey!”
I sent them money, and they sent me a link to their earrings that I would definitely be drunk-buying later. They waved as I left.
I made my way through the crowd to reach the second level. I finally found the DJ booth behind the railing overlooking the formal living room. A skinny white guy manned it, doing typical DJ things like jumping with only one headphone over his ear. People danced near his stand, but the railing was surprisingly bare and empty. I stepped up to the bit furthest from the booth and looked down below.
It was a literal sea of people downstairs. They danced, forming waves crashing against the walls. Somehow, I was still able to spot Simone’s dark green waves as she danced with Cole, her smile brilliant. Maisie was harder to find, but I did find her against the wall with Cody because, well, of course. I smiled at them both. After the shit those two had been through this past month, they truly deserved to let loose. Seeing them happy made me happy. I genuinely wished for them to have the best night they could.
Okay, this was starting to get sad. I had to find some fun, or I might start crying.
I sighed, considering my options. I definitely wasn’t going back downstairs to be jostled by the crowd and feel embarrassed again. Plus, up here, I realized it was cooler and the air fresher. My nose wasn’t inundated with perfumes, cigarette smoke, patchouli, sweat, and a thin undercurrent of body odor that I had tried to ignore downstairs. Was there anything to do up here aside from acting like a groupie with the DJ who definitely didn’t know how to talk to women?
Well, this is a mansion, so there had to be something.
I pushed away from the railing. The hallway seemed to stretch ahead forever, and there had to be at least ten doors. I didn’t try any of the closed ones, not wanting to come off as a rude guest. Instead, I found the first open door that wasn’t an insanely fancy guest bathroom—the last door at the end of the hall.
Flipping the lights on revealed an orchestra room. It was like an indoor amphitheater. Three levels led down to a stage with microphones and spotlights suspended from above. An aisle led down to the stage with music stands and chairs. On either side of it were instruments on stands or in cases on tables. The smaller, lighter instruments were on the first level close to the door, and the size and weight of the rest grew as you got closer to the stage below. The collection of instruments was as diverse as it was impressive. It was a variety rivaling even Everlore University’s inventory. There was so much possibility here.
Marveling at the space, one particular instrument on the second level caught my eye. I stepped down the stairs and went straight to it. It was a black cello, glossy and stunning.
Gods, when was the last time I had played? I had taken some orchestra classes in college and joined a community orchestra while I was studying my masters. I had even done a Christmas performance and briefly done some gigs in a string quartet. But I stopped because it just felt… like I didn’t belong? It felt like everyone else wanted their place more than me, who was just doing this as a hobby instead of as a lifelong passion. I never wrote music. I just wanted to play to flex the muscle.
Staring at the gorgeous cello, I had an overwhelming urge to play for the first time in two years. My fingers twitched to feel the strings underneath them, take hold of the cello’s neck, feel her vibrations, and drag the bow across her strings. I looked back up toward the door. Was it rude to play someone’s instrument at a house party? Would they mind? I mean, the door was wide open. If they didn’t want someone here, they would have locked it, right?
Fuck it. What was it that Maisie always says? It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Quickly, I downed my drink and sat the empty cup down. Then I grabbed the bow and cello to make my way to the stage. I sat down on a chair close to the stage’s edge, leaning the cello against me. I placed the bow against her strings. I put my fingers in the proper place along the neck of the cello.
I took a deep breath.
I exhaled long and slow.
I closed my eyes.
And I played.
As the room filled with the notes of the song, I realized I had forgotten how beautiful it was. It had been so many years since I had played this song. It was old yet new, haunting yet optimistic, soft and delicate yet powerful and profound. I could feel my closed eyes tearing up with emotion.
One of my first memories was a random Saturday morning when I was about three or four. I was running around the house when I found Mom’s violin in her office. To this very day, I still remember the smooth gloss of the deep redwood, the black strings, the brilliance that exuded confidence. It was so pretty my tiny hands couldn’t resist reaching out to touch it?—
“Would you like to play it, baby Byrd?”
I turned. Mom stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. The French doors were fully open. Her afro curls were pineappled on top of her head, her face bare of the makeup she usually wore during the workweek. Her skin still shined with more radiance than any highlighter could produce. Cherry-red nails and her obsidian pendant stood out against her peachy-pink silk nightgown with a matching silk robe. She looked like a black Hollywood starlet.
“Yes!” I answered, nodding my head enough to shake my ponytails into my face.
Mom’s smile widened. She entered the room and bent to grab the violin. She sat in the rocking chair in the corner to the left of the door. I scooted close to the front, mindful of the rocking chair’s legs.
“This is a violin, and it is a string instrument. My mother bought me my first one when I was a little older than you are now. She preferred the piano and her mother liked the harp, so we can see if you like the violin or the harp or the piano or something else entirely when we go get your instrument.
“In families like ours, there are talents that can get passed down from one generation to the next. They can be physical or artsy or whatever you can imagine. In your dad’s family, for example, they pass down physical talents and the family bonds over memories associated with that.
“For my side, we love to play music. Almost everyone can play at least one instrument. When someone picks their instrument, they learn how to play the song of our family. This song has been passed through the generations, and you can hear it in the song. It’s deep because it runs deep. It’s soulful because its notes were created from our ancestors’ souls and are played through us. You can feel it as much as you can hear it. Honestly, if you close your eyes, you can almost see it, too.”
I used to love to sit and listen to Mom talk. I could do it for hours, hearing the timbre of her deep, expressive voice. It was like she was always telling a story that you had to listen to. But on this day, her voice and eyes were soft and distant. The way she talked about this song was almost reverent. Like, there was some power to it that she had welded before and let go of. I wanted to experience it.
But I knew already that I would never let it go.
“Listen to me. Just rambling. How about we get started, and then we will go pick you out your instrument, huh? Your father thinks you may be a guitar girl, but I think you are a bass or cello player at heart.”
I didn’t know what the instruments were that she mentioned. Not until we got to the store, and they let me loose to pick the one that called to me. It was an insane coincidence that Mom ended up being right. Or that’s what she always shrugged and said. When I went up to the cello that day, I didn’t know it was called a cello, but I felt it was. I remembered Mom had guessed I would play it, which only made me want it more. It felt right, following Mom’s idea of a path for me.
After I got my kid-sized cello, Mom played our song again, and it was everything she had described and everything I couldn’t describe, being that young. I was quick to learn it and the old R&B and Motown hits Mom taught me. We played for hours until my fingers were hurting. But I loved every minute of it.
Mom was right. Even right now, I could feel it. I could feel my ancestors through the song. With my eyes closed, I saw Mom, too, so close I could almost feel her warmth. I parted my lips slightly to call out for her, but I didn’t want to disrupt the magic of this moment, of seeing her again. Plus, I didn’t have any clue what to say. Nothing felt good enough. So, I just watched as she smiled instead, close but still so far.
Still gone from me.
The last notes of the song echoed throughout the room, making the song feel longer. Everlasting. Eternal. I lifted the bow off the cello and let my hand fall to my side. I relaxed my hand on the cello’s neck. A cramp was already building, my fingers no longer accustomed to this position. I opened my eyes to a watery view of the room. I tilted my head back and waved my hands around my eyes. Even though I opted for the magicked smudge-proof lipstick, I had decided to go with regular waterproof makeup for the rest of my face tonight. If I messed it up, I would have to go downstairs, find the valet, and pull my bag from the trunk of my car, all with a ruined smeared face. With the mansion being as packed as it was, I’m sure countless would see me.
That’s the worst thing about parties. In a mansion full of people, you could never feel more lonely and more desperate to be alone at the same time.
“So beautiful…”
It was the last thing I heard before a series of cartoonish clatters and crashes.