Chapter Twenty-Three
IT’S HOT. I wake up very, very hot.
Brilliant sunlight streams in through the big bay windows, the curtains still pulled off to the side. There’s a heavy arm draped across my chest and a leg slung over mine. The fluffy white duvet is threatening to swallow me whole.
With one eye still closed, I peer around and remember where I am: the owner’s suite of the house, with Oliver still fast asleep next to me. Or half on top of me, technically.
I can’t help the sigh that escapes my lips when the events of last night come rushing back to me. Oliver and I slept together. It did not feel casual at all.
He stirs at my movement and I freeze, waiting. For what, I’m not sure—there’s something deeply intimate about waking up next to someone. All of sudden, I’m afraid he’ll regret what we did.
Do I regret what we did?
When the long sweep of his lashes flutter open, a crooked smile on his face the second his green eyes find mine, I realize I have my answer: No, I don’t regret it at all.
“G’morning,” he half whispers, his words still thick with sleep. “What time is it?”
“Almost nine thirty.”
He blinks rapidly. “Really?”
“Yeah.” I smile at the surprised tone of his voice.
“I slept through the night,” he says, his voice filled with wonder as if he can’t believe it. “I can’t remember the last time I did that.”
I brush a wild lock of hair out of his face. “You might have taken a trip into town. We’d never know.”
“Oh, you’d know,” he mutters as he pulls me into his chest. “You would have had to pick me up in the grocery store parking lot.”
“I can’t drive,” I reply with a laugh.
“Desperate times calls for desperate measures,” he replies, then shifts his hips and suddenly he’s there, hot and insistent at my hip bone, igniting that spark in me all over again. “Maybe you’re the solution to my sleep problems.”
My body feels like liquid as I roll my hips against his. “You’ve been waiting for me all this time.”
He tilts my head back to look into my eyes.
I’m pinned in place by the intensity of him—searching, serious, and real.
My hands slide up his chest. His heartbeat is a mirror of my own.
In that moment, I feel something unfurl inside my chest, something delicate but undeniable, something I know will change me forever.
“I was, Celia,” he replies, and then he kisses me with everything he’s got and I know I’ll never have to ask him—he’s showing me that he doesn’t regret it. Not one bit.
A few hours later, I emerge from the shower in my own wing of the house. Oliver had Zoom therapy, which seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to overthink while washing my hair. That’s exactly what I did. For a very long time.
Day by day, I remind myself while toweling off. We’re taking it day by day.
I also remind myself that our work is not suffering at all.
Whatever is transpiring between Oliver and me—it’s not hurting the job we’ve been tasked with.
Only in the privacy of my locked bathroom can I admit to myself that the personal stuff between us might actually be making the music better.
As if the more we open up to each other emotionally, the more we create space for each other with our art.
I take a deep breath and run my hands over my face. It’s fine. It’s cool. It’s just us, here in Maine. Work first. We’re good.
My phone’s ringtone slices through the quiet bathroom, temporarily halting my spiral. The name ROSA flashes across the screen. After tapping into the call, I press the phone to my ear and perch on the closed toilet.
“Hello?” I keep my voice low even though I’m alone.
“?Hola!” my sister chirps. “Did I wake you up or something?”
“No,” I reply. “What’s up?”
“Why are you whispering?” Rosa asks. “Why are you being weird?”
I sigh and force myself to speak at a more normal volume. “I don’t know. I’m fine, I promise.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to come back to this, but first, I’m calling because I’m at your apartment to check on things, but I can’t get your lock to work. What’s the trick, again?” Rosa asks.
Oh, right. Even though I pay all my bills online like most people in this century, I still asked my sisters to check on my apartment every so often while I’m in Maine. “It’s the dead bolt,” I remind her. “It won’t unlatch all the way if you don’t force the handle up when you turn the key.”
“Oh, that’s right! Okay, hold on.” I remain silent as I listen to Rosa’s breathing, the jingle of keys, and the familiar whine of old hinges as my door swings open.
“Okay, I’m in. Isn’t New York real estate so funny?
For just a few thousand dollars a month, you, too, can live in a shoebox with a door that requires ninja skills to open it. ”
“I consider it my home security system.”
“How very silver lining of you,” she replies. “Where’s your mail key, again?”
“On the computer desk, in a little dish with a bunch of change.”
Even through the phone, I can hear the creak of my old hardwood floors as Rosa crosses through my apartment. “Got it! So, how are you, hermana? You’ve been quiet in the chat lately and now you’re being all weird.”
“I am not being all weird,” I grind out, but even when I say it, I know that it’s not true.
My sisters have always been able to see right through me, whether we were right next to each or miles apart.
Rosa is the worst when it comes to keeping her mouth shut.
If I try to barrel through this and pretend like I’m fine, she’ll never believe it, and then she’ll tell Amanda, and then Mom and Dad… “I’m just stressed. That’s all.”
It’s not a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth, either.
“About what?” Rosa asks over the clomp, clomp, clomp of her shoes on the stairs.
I bite my lip as I consider telling her everything—about Oliver, about the uncertainty of my career and finances, not to mention the lingering sense of self-doubt I’ve had since the minute I was offered this job.
But I’m the big sister; I’m supposed to be the one who has it all together, the one who is there for her.
I settle on a topic that will not be news to her. “It’s what we talked about on the stoop before I left. I just feel so out of my element here. It’s going fine, I just… I want it to be great. That’s all.”
“I know, hermana,” she replies, her voice soft. “I also know that it will be amazing, because you are amazing.”
“Thanks.” I smile as some of the tension eases from my jaw. “How are you and Hector?”
“Oh, we’re good.” Her voice switches to breezy. “Same old, same old here. Did I tell you that the salon finally agreed to pay for me to level up on my curly-hair certification?”
“No, you didn’t tell me! That’s great!”
I can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks.
“Yeah, it’ll be good for business, and the class is, like, two thousand dollars, so I’m glad I don’t have to pay for it out of pocket.
I learned so much at the first certification class, and there’s not enough stylists that know how to cut curly hair the right way. ”
Thinking back on all the bad haircuts I’d gotten over the years before Rosa went to school, I reply, “No shit.”
“Did you see what we’re doing for Mandie’s birthday?”
The familiar guilt of missing my sister’s party hits me square in the gut. “You’re going to dinner with a bunch of her friends, right? At that fancy place on the Upper West Side?”
“Yep. She wants to go bougie for the night.” The echoes of the stairwell end as Rosa reaches the hallway that leads to the mail room.
I can envision it all in my head, the building I’ve called home for the last two years, just from the sounds alone.
“But you know we’re just going to end up at Besos, drinking with Mom and Dad. ”
“Hey, speaking of—I had her gift shipped to Mom and Dad’s place.” This was a task I completed a few nights ago, posted up in my bed and unable to sleep. “It should already be wrapped. Can you make sure she gets it before the dinner?”
“Sure. What did you get her?”
“That Louis Vuitton tote she’s always wanted.”
My sister clicks her tongue. “Daaaaaaamn,” she says. “You can miss my next birthday if that means you’re going to get me a nice-ass purse.”
“Very funny,” I reply as I roll my eyes.
“Okay, I’ve got your mail. Doesn’t look like there’s anything important here.
” There’s a pause on Rosa’s end. I can’t hear it, but I can practically feel her sorting through the stacks of envelopes, her long, sparkly nails separating out the multicolored papers.
“Coupons for Ulta, some political junk, Best Buy coupons, more coupons from restaurants… Damn, what a waste of paper. Oh wait,” she adds.
“There’s something from your building here. One second.”
Panic flares through me and I surge to my feet. “No need to open that one. I already know what it says.”
But even as the words leave my mouth, I can hear the tearing of paper on the other end of the line.
Silence hangs between us as Rosa no doubt scans the letter from my building management company.
Finally, after what feels like forever, Rosa asks, “Your rent is going up? Did you know about this?” Frozen in equal parts embarrassment and horror, I say nothing.
She continues on, her voice laced with concern.
“This letter says it’s the second notice.
Damn, hermana. Can you afford this on your own? Your rent was already insane.”
“I’ll be okay,” I manage to say, despite my voice threatening to break. There’s no point in telling her I’ve looked at other places online; the options are grim, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I’m good for another few months with this TV money.”
“Mierda,” she breathes. “This is more than what Hector and I pay in the Heights with our mortgage, and we have two incomes. And two bedrooms.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks as the stomping of her feet on the stairs resumes.
“Keep hustling,” I reply. Which is the truth—if I’m going to keep up with the rising costs of living, I have no choice but to keep trying. “The connections I’m making with this job are important. If I can leverage this show into my next gig, I’ll be fine.”
Even though Rosa mumbles, “Right, yeah,” I know she’s not convinced.
That familiar pressure settles on my shoulders, bearing down on me with what feels like the force of the entire universe.
“Hermana, I’ll be fine,” I say again. “Things are going good here. I’ll line up my next job soon.
Just…” I taper off, unsure of how to phrase my next statement.
“Just do me a favor and don’t tell anyone, okay?
I don’t want Mom and Dad to worry, and if Mandie found out, she’d hound me about what I’m going to do—”
“Celia, don’t worry,” she interrupts. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Gracias.” My voice sounds as small as I feel in this moment. Desperate for a subject change, I force my tone to brighten as I ask, “Everything in the apartment look good?”
“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. It’s weird, though. I’ve never been here without you. It’s too quiet.”
“I know what you mean,” I reply, my words thick with emotion.
Despite all the time locked away in the studio with Oliver, plunking down chords and fiddling with various computer-generated instruments, life here in Maine is so quiet.
There’s no city noise here, no hum of AC units or rumble of delivery trucks, no one calling my name from the opposite end of my parents’ home.
I’m not exactly used to it, per se, but I’ve learned to live with it.
As if the noisy, rambunctious hole in my heart—the one usually occupied by the energy of the city and the love of my family—is expanding, filling up with something or someone else.
I shake that thought out of my mind as I say, “Tell everyone I love and miss them.”
“I will. Love you, hermana.”
“Love you, too.”
I end the call and close my eyes, pressing my phone against my chest. Rosa will most likely keep this secret, but there is no way she would have kept her mouth shut if I told her about Oliver.
That one is too big and juicy for her to not tell Amanda.
Plus, he and I aren’t anything other than coworkers. Not officially.
Day by day. This must be the fortieth time I’ve said this to myself today.
It does little to calm my nerves. The conversation with Rosa was a stark reminder that there’s a ticking clock hanging above my head. My rent goes up in just a few weeks. I do not have another job lined up. Not to mention the aggressive Lineage deadlines we’re working toward.
I’m running out of time.
FROM: Dr. David Kendrick
TO: Celia García
DATE: Thursday, August 13 at 2:27 PM
SUBJECT: Student comp collabs
Hi Celia,
I hope you’ve had a great summer. I enjoyed seeing your performances in the summer concert series this year. The jazz ensemble was a particularly special show.
Now that you’re a third year, it’s time for you to start thinking about what you’d like to do for our student comp collaborations.
The dance students love working with our composition students and the faculty finds this to be one of the most fruitful learning experiences.
I was talking to Linnea, who heads up our modern dance division, and mentioned how you bring such a fresh perspective to the music you write.
She is interested in learning more about what you envision for this.
I suggest you set up a meeting with her as soon as you return to campus next week.
I look forward to seeing you again soon. Take care.
Best,
Dr. K