8. June #2
Not a responsible one, since my allergy didn’t even occur to me.
It’s only a mild reaction, nothing an antihistamine and a nap won’t fix.
But when we were younger, Laurel watched My Girl and cried so hard she made herself sick.
After that, Mom became serious about my allergy, maybe to appease a frightened six-year-old, but it stuck.
“I’ll be fine, Mom.”
“See? She’ll be fine. Do you want to take some leftovers back with you, Junie?” Dad deposits the plates on the kitchen island and heads into the living room. I bet he’s hunting for his next record to spin. I grew up with music like other kids grew up with movies and TV.
“I wish. No refrigerator.”
Mom sighs but continues to clean up. “Are you sure, Junie? About bartending, I mean.”
“Mom, she’s almost thirty.” Willow sets our empty glasses on the counter with a little extra force.
The drum intro to “15 Step” on Radiohead’s In Rainbows blares through the speakers. See? I got a thorough musical education in this house.
“Thirty.” Mom sighs again, rubbing my shoulder as she passes. “I was thirty when I had you, Junie.”
“I know.” I keep busy, loading silverware into the dishwasher. When Mom was thirty, she had a husband, a house, and a baby. But she’d also quit playing cello professionally.
In her twenties, she’d been first cellist in the Sadlersburg Philharmonic and taught lessons on the side to make extra cash. Until she met my dad playing at a wedding for a mutual friend. After she had me, she tried teaching privately again, but it was too much.
Her lost aspirations sit heavily on my shoulders, even if I put them there myself.
“Wils? You want to take some home?” Dad asks, striding back into the kitchen. Yep, potatoes are his love language.
“Next time, Dad. Junie and I are going out.” She grabs a wet cloth and wipes the counters.
“You girls go on, then. Leave the rest of the mess to the old folks.” Mom waves a sudsy hand at us in between dishes.
“Are you sure?” Dinner with my parents, my favorite childhood food, and now essentially being told to “run along and play” is exasperating.
My dad whips the dish towel from his shoulder in a flourish and swings it around Mom’s waist, pulling her in. “That’s your mother’s polite way of telling you to get out.”
“When they start acting cute, you GTFO. Trust me,” Willow whispers, nearly sprinting for the door. I’m caught between an adorable aww and a grossed-out ugh . They’re my parents .
Outside, I heave myself into the passenger seat of Willow’s car. I won’t be hungry again until dinner tomorrow.
She turns the key in the ignition. “Let’s crash this party.”
“You’re not crashing, I invited you. And you’re a snack, so quit complaining. Meanwhile, my food baby is practically big enough to start kicking.”
“Bitch, excuse you? You’re the whole fucking meal.”
“A value meal, maybe.” I tip down the visor, staring in the mirror at the little lines creeping across my forehead, the bags under my eyes, and lest I forget the few extra inches around my hips that make shimmying into my jeans just a little too hard.
“I don’t know what number you are in the city, but you’re a Sadlersburg ten, so shut up.”
“Can I bitch about my body for a hot sec? I’m old. Every conversation we’ve had since I came back is an attack?—”
“Here comes the drama major.”
“See?”
Willow stays petulantly quiet, proving my point. I stare out the window wishing—not for the first time—that we had the kind of relationship where we opened up. We never outright fight, but all our conversations sit at a constant simmering bicker.
She flicks the lever for the blinker, turning onto the street that’ll take us to Shaker’s. “Thirty’s not old, by the way.”
“It’s not about growing older. Growing older is great, especially when you consider the alternative.” Finding the right words is like picking through a minefield. “It’s what a new decade represents. A chance to remember what I’ve accomplished, and plan for the future.”
“And that scares you,” she adds.
“Mom and Dad were so much farther along in their lives than I am,” I murmur as Willow pulls into the Shaker’s parking lot.
The car rocks as she puts it in park and faces me. “You can’t compare yourself to them.”
“Why not?”
“The housing market, for one. No matter what Mom says.” Willow rolls her eyes and flips her auburn hair over her shoulder. “Being an adult didn't used to cost so much money.”
“It’s not that. I accepted a long time ago that if I want to pursue the arts, I’ll be broke my entire life. They’re … settled.”
That word sucks the air out of the tiny vehicle. Of course, Nick’s settling down comment floats through my mind. He doesn’t think I’m the kind of girl you settle down with, and he’s right.
“Ew, you’re killing the vibe.” Willow unclicks her seatbelt and grabs her purse from the back seat.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Aw, come on, Junie.” She pats me with either affection or condescension. Maybe both. “Who needs to settle down when you’ve got an ass that won’t quit?”
“My ass is courtesy of potatoes.”
“Bet.”
We laugh, and it feels so good to have a stomach full of potatoes and a sister who’s not sarcastic for once. I can focus on right now for tonight. “Ready to hang with the cool Conservatory kids?”
Her lips twist up in a smile. “Lead the way.”
Nick, Ethan, Chelsea, and Natalia are posted up at a table in the back. I wave to everyone, though I can’t help the awkward stumble when I get to Ethan. He’s been remarkably tight-lipped about my stunt in this very bar last Sunday.
Nick hops off his stool and hugs me. The nerves in my stomach calm as I inhale. He smells like fresh laundry, and something herbal in his shampoo, and beneath that there’s just … him. My nose grazes his neck when I inhale even deeper and he jolts.
Jesus, I make a comment about his hands and now I sniff him? After I told him we should break up? I’m the worst. I try to pull away, but he keeps one arm on my shoulder and steers me to sit between him and Natalia. Willow plops down across from me.
“Everyone, this is my sister, Willow. Willow, everyone.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t want to know anyone’s names.”
“Oh my god.” I huff, and list off everyone at the table. When I get to Nick, she raises one eyebrow at me. But I’m a poor interpreter of the single eyebrow raise. Is she going to give him shit? Is she going to give me shit? I mean, the latter’s a given.
We order drinks and chat about the concert for a while before I ask the group at large, “How did the first week of rehearsals go?”
Natalia takes a huge swig of her beer, while Chelsea runs a hand through her hair. Nick leans in and answers, “They’re … going.”
“Uh oh.” I turn to him, brought up short by how close we are.
Natalia’s voice is resigned. “Chantal’s mood is seeping into the whole cast. Everyone’s way too cranky for week one.”
“If that girl’s mood in rehearsal is anything like her mood in my class, I’m surprised everyone’s still standing.”
“Barely,” Nick laughs.
“What did Chantal do?” Willow asks between sips of her cocktail.
“She didn’t get the part she wanted,” Natalia answers. “She wanted Fantine, but we cast her as Madame Thénardier.”
“That means nothing to me.” Wils shakes her head.
“You’ve never even seen the Les Mis movie?” I screech at my sister. She shrugs in response.
“Fantine’s the tragic mom, but Thénardier is funny as fuck ,” Natalia answers.
“Didn’t they do Les Mis when you were a camper?” Chelsea turns to me. “I bet you were Cosette.”
“Cosette’s the ingénue, so of course.” I flick my ponytail over my shoulder, hitting Nick. “Shit, sorry.”
“It’s fine, I love the taste of your hair.” He meant it as a joke, but the thought of Nick Harper tasting any part of me sends prickles across my skin.
I’m so focused on him and how close we’re sitting that my mouth keeps running before my brain catches up. “My ingénue days are numbered now that thirty’s looming. My range is too high for the quirky best friend, and I’m still too young to play the mom.”
“And god fucking forbid a woman be cast as something other than a love interest, a friend, or a mother,” Natalia practically finishes my thought.
“Exactly!” I slap my hand on the table. “Thank you.”
Her eyes light up and she gasps. “You should sit in on rehearsals.”
“I—me?”
“Yes!” Chelsea rubs her hands together. “Nat told me the kids adore your class.”
“Really?” My voice is an octave higher than normal, but this is news to me.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Nick’s hand slides across my lower back to my waist. “You were amazing with the students today.”
“I’m new to teaching. I kind of feel like I’m winging it.” I bite my lip, hoping I don’t come off flighty.
“Well, keep doing what you’re doing. An extra adult—that the kids respect—would be helpful in rehearsals. Just saying.” Natalia shrugs one shoulder.
“I don’t know …” What is wrong with me? This is exactly what I want! But when my eyes catch Nick’s, his face is strained. A heavy weight tightens my chest and I look away. By Monday, our week of pretending to date will be officially over.
Chelsea must’ve caught me glancing at him because she wiggles her eyebrows and says, “You can spend even more time with Nick. Plus, the kids are used to seeing you together.”
“You two are so cute,” Natalia squeals.
A soft smile lifts my sister’s face, even if her words are caustic as usual. “Yeah, it’s gross.”
“Totes adorbs,” Ethan pipes up.
“Please stop abbreviating things,” Nick groans.
“I need a lobotomy to forget you said that. Yikes.” Willow laughs.
“I, for one, love working with my wife.” Chelsea leans across the table, Natalia meeting her halfway, and they kiss.
Everyone looks at us expectantly.
Oh.
Oh .
Nick’s lips are so close, they brush the shell of my ear as he whispers, “What do you say, babe?”
My nose wrinkles as I reply, “Babe? Please pick a different one.”
“Noted,” he says, so close his breath is warm against my cheek.
Our gazes lock, his hazel eyes darkening as his pupils expand. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. His chin dips slightly, asking permission. I swallow and nod once, slowly.
He slants his lips over mine, soft and light, a whisper of a kiss, but I feel it everywhere. Fireworks pop and sizzle at my nerve endings, rocketing right to my core. My lips part to deepen the kiss, but he pulls away.
My throat closes until I’m sipping air through a straw, heart pounding behind my ribcage. That was the best kiss of my life, and it was barely a kiss at all.
Nick clears his throat, and I finally come back to my senses. The entire table has fallen silent.
“Uh, ladies’ room,” I squeak and slip off my stool lightning fast as I head for the dark hallway that leads to the bathrooms.
One minute, one full breath, that’s all I need. Then I’ll go back to the table and sit and laugh and drink like my whole world wasn’t rocked.