Page 29 of Silver Linings
“Who’s fault is that?” I snap.
“Silly—” she starts before I interrupt her.
“You don’t get to call me that, not anymore.” There is a distinct pause of silence that heightens the tension, and I’m glad no one is around to witness me like this. I pinch my brows between my thumb and forefinger, anxiety flooding my whole body thinking about why she’s calling. Does she somehow know about the store and wants to chastise me for spending the life insurance money like this? Better to ask and get off the phone as quickly as possible, minimize the damage. “What do you need? I’m swamped.”
A deep sigh resonates through the other end of the line. “Like I said, I’ll be in New York, and I want to see you. There’s things we should discuss.” Well, that sounds ominous, and therefore, I want nothing to do with it.
“Now’s not a good time. Maybe next visit, though.” I need a get out of jail free card, so I fake greeting a customer to make it seem like I’m busy in the store. “Sorry, I’m by myself, and I just had a group come in. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up before she can protest.
I spend the rest of my shift feeling off kilter. My mom calling never fails to leave me feeling the same way I did when I was a little girl, when I realized she was never coming back for me. I know I’m immeasurably lucky because I had Nan, but I don’t think the pain of your mother abandoning you in the wake of your father’s death ever actually leaves you. The number of birthday candles you blow out with a phantom wish that your mother will walk through the door never leaves you. The nights you wish you had your mom to talk to after a boy at school broke your heart, before you learned not to let them, will never leave you, as much as I want it to.
As a result, I’ve spent years cultivating my unbothered, confident façade, and all it took was one out of the blue phone call for it to all come crumbling down.
It’s around six in the evening when I make my way home. I can’t seem to shake the heaviness that makes it feel like there’s an oily residue coating my body, so I put on some nineties British punk music and head home to get ready for karaoke later. Hopefully, a night out with my friends will help me brush off this afternoon.
I’m nearly to the building when I see Tony standing outside, talking to one of the other neighborhood doormen. I wave hello to him but make my way inside to the elevator bank to avoid any chit chat, I’m not in the mood. I just want to get inside, have a glass of wine, and slowly get ready for the fun night out I desperately need. I’m shuffling through my bag, looking for my keys, when the elevator opens. I step on only to hit a wall—no, a chest—and look up to find Hendrix stoically staring down at me.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I quip, trying to lighten my mood.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks sort of pained, so I step out of his way to let him off the elevator. He nods at me in thanks and starts to walk away, but I stop him with a hand to his forearm.
“Are you going to come to Spotlight for karaoke tonight?”
He looks down where I’m still holding onto his arm, and his jaw flexes.
“Probably not a good idea. Thanks, though.” He stalks off. He’s so hot and cold. One minute, he seems to want to be friendly, and then the next, he’s aloof and distant. I don’t get it, or him. But the picture is loud and clear: he’s not interested in me. That’s fine. I’ve never felt the need to let my thoughts linger on a man before, and I’ve given Hendrix far too much space in my brain already. After the day I’ve had, I’m ready to let all the bullshit go and move on.
Putting my bag down on my kitchen counter, I move over to the fridge, pull out a bottle of wine, and pour a healthyglass. The drink flows down my throat, warming me from the inside and setting my resolve. To really put everything out of my mind, I need to get back to the old me. The me of a month ago wouldn’t be giving a grumpy, stoic, admittedly sexy man a second thought.
I reach into my back pocket and pull out the card John gave me earlier when he asked me out. I stare at it, take another sip of my wine, and pick up my phone.
Silver
Wanna come to karaoke tonight?
Silver
This is Silver from the bookstore by the way.
Finance Fuck
As long as I don’t get judged for my song choices.
Silver
No promises.
Kena is smiling a mile wide as he walks off the stage following hisfourthCeline Dion performance. If you’ve never seen Makena Williams receive an encore in a small karaoke bar line up, you haven’t truly lived. He struts his way over to where we sit, accepting adoration and accolades from every table he passes with a megawatt smile and mini bows, bathing in the praise.
“He seems to be enjoying all the attention.” John leans further into me, neon lights reflecting off the tumbler of scotchhe’s holding. He was already waiting outside of Spotlight when we arrived, rapidly talking to someone on the phone about investments and stocks.
I nod my head while taking a sip of my drink. “He’s a blackhole vortex for praise. This is just round one of his nightly performances.”
“You always ease them in with Celine before you dazzle them with Mariah.” Kena plops down between me and his boyfriend, Julien, who was sitting on my other side talking to Holly and her wife, Sera. In the background, the venue MC calls up the next person to the stage, and they start singing Careless Whisperincrediblyoff key.
I’m about halfway out of my funk. The second French 75 of the evening definitely has something to do with that. But the fog of the afternoon still feels like it’s looming over my head, waiting to descend again.
John sets his drink down on the table in front of us and turns his body more towards me. Crossing my left thigh over my right, I lean more fully into him and try to forget the first half of my day.
