Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Nora Skye is a great friend .
Not even glitter boobs can distract me now.
I have, in fact, majorly fucked up.
FUCK indeed. Messages. From Otis. They covered my entire phone screen.
Heading over.
Where are you?
Nora?
When are you here?
I reserved a chair for you in the first row.
OMG, it’s so busy. Tell me when you—
I swear to Tim Curry if you don’t show your ass—
Nora, I’m freaking out. I need you to be here.
I scrambled to my feet, nearly face-planting as I ran half-wild out the door.
I jumped onto my bike, ignoring every red light and angry car horn on my way.
I practically threw my bike on the curb and sprinted up the stairs.
Just when I opened the double doors, people started streaming toward me—a crowd in fancy dresses, rice and newspaper covering the floor.
And across the room, in front of the stage, holding a flower bouquet and his boyfriend’s hand, was Otis.
He wore nine-inch heels, a corset, and bright red lipstick. He had never looked more beautiful. But as his gaze found mine, his elated expression froze.
Jeremy followed Otis’s stare, giving me a small wave, but he couldn’t hide his discomfort.
As the flow of people died down, I pushed past the seats, walking toward Otis with a head full of excuses. My friend leaned into Jeremy, whispering something into his ear, then disappeared through a side door marked Staff Only.
Naturally, I followed.
I called after him. He didn’t stop. But he also didn’t close any of the doors behind him. Otis didn’t turn until he stood in a changing room where a girl dressed as Magenta was taking her bra off. Her large boobs were covered in glitter, but she didn’t seem to mind us.
“Otis, I’m so sorry—”
He held up a hand, cutting me off.
I pressed my lips together. I was so glad to see him, so sorry I missed his big day, and all I wanted was to curl up on the sofa with my best friend. So I’d endure a scolding if I had to.
“You don’t get to talk.” He put his hand on his hip.
“I have asked you repeatedly to be there for me for this. You”—he pointed a red-nailed hand at me—“repeatedly stood me up. No—” His finger stabbed in my direction as I felt a protest forming on my lips.
“You’re the one listening now. I’m always there if you need me.
I’m there if you’re having a bad time with your mom.
I enable your denial about your love life.
But I’m no longer interested in being your friend if you can’t be mine. ”
His eyes were red-rimmed. My throat constricted.
“I need someone to root for me. Hell, I’m not asking you to answer all my calls, but maybe I don’t know, 45% of them?”
“If you just let me explain, Otis, this was an emergency—”
“Why?” He whipped his hand around. “Was there a house on fire? Did you have to rescue a kitten? Did you appear on an episode of ‘I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant’?”
“It’s John. He is—”
“NO,” he shook his head. “No. You don’t get to talk about your love life anymore. You don’t get to ask me to cover your shifts or use me as an Uber driver. I need someone who stands by my side.”
I shuffled on my feet. “I majorly fucked up.”
“Amen.”
“Tell me, how can I make it up to you? How do I fix this?”
He pressed his lips together, tilting his head toward the ceiling. I knew that face. It was his break-up face. It was just never directed at me before. He crossed his long legs as he leaned against the makeup table, picking stray glitter from his lashes. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I will take your shifts for the next month,” I said. I may as well.
His brow rose, but there wasn’t any fight left in him. “I quit.”
My stomach sank. “Why?”
“Because you can barely pay me. We both know that.”
It was time to study my feet again. I had to fix this, but I just didn’t know how.
“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” I said.
“What?”
I waved my hands. “Life.” I looked up at him. Now he was crying. He brushed a hand over his cheek, making a mess of his eyeliner.
I pressed my knuckles into my eyes. “It’s so fucking complicated. The whole thing with Mom and...with John. It’s a fucking mess.”
“Figure out what you want, Nora.” He straightened, brushing past me. One hand on the doorframe, he looked back, finding my pale face in the mirror. “I love you. I truly do. But I love myself more.”
Then he closed the door, and I was left alone with the devastated version of myself staring back at me and the half-naked lady now smoking a cigarette.
“Seems like you majorly fucked up,” she said.