Page 33 of Silver Linings
“What’s in this?” I lift the glass, eyeing the concoction with skepticism.
“It’s better you don’t know. Okay! Time to cheers.” Kena picks up his shot, holding it out towards mine. “To new beginnings and stepping out of comfort zones.”
He’s more on the nose than he could ever possibly imagine. I nod my head and smile before clinking my glass against his, tapping it on the bar, and then tossing back the drink.
“Fuck,” I choke. “That was vile.”
Kena swallows his shot and throws his arms in the air while dancing in his seat.
“Kena! You’re up again,” the MC calls him over, and he hops off the stool.
He holds his hand out to me. “Let’s go, brother wife.”
“No. No way.” He can’t force me to do this. I won’t go up there and embarrass myself in front of Silver and her stupid date. No way in hell.
“Nope. Not an option. Get that delectable ass off the stool, stop moping, and let’s go have some fun.” He grabs my hand with surprising strength and drags me off my seat towards the stage against my will.
“Kena, I don’t want to do this.” He’s not listening to me.
I’m starting to panic a little, knowing I’m about to make a fool of myself.
When we get up there, he turns to me, deadly serious. “Tell me, brother wife, are you familiar with Disney Channel Original Movies?”
I roll my eyes, trying for a shred of false bravado to bolster my nerves. “I grew up with a sister who made us watch them constantly.”
“Don’t act like you didn’t love them.”
He turns and shows the venue MC his song of choice before leading us out to the center of the stage and hands me a mic.
“Alright, Spotlight! We’ve got a virgin here, so be gentle with him.” He winks at the crowd and then nods to the man to start the music and video feed.
“I’m Isabella, and you can be Lizzie. I’ll offer background vocals for support. Time to shine for our girl.” I’m momentarily confused before the opening notes of the song starts playing, and I realize he’s selected ‘What Dreams Are Made Of’ fromThe Lizzie McGuire Movie. It was one of Laurel’s favorites growing up…and mine because I had a crush on Lizzie. She used to make Maddox and I watch it constantly. A pang of sadness hits me over missing my sister before I realize it’s my part to come in, and the opening notes chase away the feeling, replacing it with reluctant but genuine fun.
I start singing, voice shaking slightly as I try not to think about all the people watching me or the nausea churning in my gut. It’s not bad, but it’s not good either. I look over to Kena, and he’s nodding encouragingly while dancing off to the side, just like Isabella does for Lizzie.
So, I embrace my inner pop star and this new group of friends I’ve made tonight, looking out into the crowd because I don’t need the lyric monitor. I’ll probably be embarrassed about that fact later.
Kena and I are perfectly in sync, even if I’m not in tune, and as we get to the part of the chorus where we sing“this is what dreams are made of”, I look out into the crowd and find Silver dancing with abandon, the light back in her eyes with full force, staring right at me with a laugh falling off her full lips.
And for the first time in the last two years—I feel lighter.
Kena’s words bounced around in my mind like a pinball machine for the rest of the weekend. They’re still bouncing around in my head now as I finish up the last bit of work on Silver’s ceiling. It didn’t need much work today. Now that the compound is dried, I just need to sand it down till it’s smooth and paint over it. It’ll be like the Niagara Falls of pipe bursts never happened.
She likes you, you know.
She’s smart and funny and beautiful; how could Inotlike her too? I can’t seem to stop thinking about her, about how she looked at Spotlight—ethereal, sultry and addictive. I’m dreading the fact that this is the last day I’ll need to work on her apartment but also relieved knowing it’s for the best to get some distance. She brought a date to karaoke; she’s moved on from whatever flirtation she was trying to start with me.
I can’t even act on my feelings anyway, not without risking my position at The Langham. If I lose my job, then the threat of having to move back to Seattle becomes very real. I know Jae wouldn’t kick me out, but I am a product of my father, and I’m confident my ego would get in the way of allowing his charity a second time. Then there’s the harsh truth that I’m too much of a coward to face all that I left back home. I don’t want tobe confronted by my mom’s sadness, Laurel’s disassociation, or Dad’s bitter resentment.
I left Seattle when I realized I would never not be haunted by the loss of my brother. After two years, we had all moved on in the only way a family can after weathering that kind of suffering. Dad dove further into work, his anger always on a short fuse, Mom focused on the kids still alive, Laurel started to party more, and I—well, I retreated into myself. Slowly, we all stopped talking about it, about him. I couldn’t take it anymore. There was always an inexpressible balloon in the room swelling with all the words left unspoken, and I was constantly on pins and needles waiting for it to pop.
I wouldn’t force anyone to talk about it and relive the singular, all-consuming torture of those memories, but I no longer wanted to be suffocated by the silence, by all the avoidance. So, I came back to the only other place that has ever felt like home: New York.
I didn’t give my family much time to adjust to the news of me leaving before I was gone. Next thing I knew, I was on Jae’s doorstep with a large duffle thrown over my shoulder. He had no idea I was showing up, and he didn’t ask questions as he took my bag to his spare room and then grabbed me a beer from the fridge while ordering takeout for us.
I made the right move, even though it hurts to think about my family, who no doubt feel betrayed by my swift departure.
“No, that can’t be right. You quoted me fifteen grand when we spoke last week.”
