Eastern Lights

by Brittainy Cherry

  22

  Aaliyah

  I knew wealthy people existed. I wasn’t naïve about that fact. I’d seen enough episodes of Keeping Up with the Kardashians to know some people live a very different type of lifestyle than I had. Plus, for the past few weeks, I’d lived in Jason’s penthouse. Still, I’d never seen anything like the property I was standing in.

  I’d never seen so much luxury in one place, so much…money. When the people began arriving for the showing, I could tell they were the types who could afford a home like that. They moved like wealth, as if they belonged in said home. The level of confidence they oozed inspired me.

  Marie always said I had to act more confident in situations, but it was hard for me.

  “Fake it till you make it, darling,” she’d say.

  I was going to miss her knowledge. I was going to miss her.

  Connor handed the reins of the showing off to Damian, who turned into the most well-spoken individual when interacting with potential buyers. That was the first time I’d seen him smile, which was a very nice look on him. He should’ve done it more often.

  Yet the moment the buyers turned away from Damian, his smirk would drop and he’d return to his normal somber personality. It was funny how different he and Connor were. Damian was shadows while Connor was light. They balanced one another out nicely, it seemed.

  “He’s nervous, but you can’t tell, can you?” Connor whispered as we stood off to the side, taking everything in.

  “No. He’s so well-spoken.”

  “He can turn it on and charm the life out of anyone. This is the biggest property he’s had to pitch. I have no doubt he’ll have an offer by the end of the day.”

  “I think it’s sweet how much you believe in him.”

  “He’s a good kid who was given a shitty hand. He deserves a shot at life, and he shows up daily, demonstrating exactly why he is going to take over the world one day.” He brushed his thumb against his nose. “So, shifting gears—how is this whole interview process going to go?”

  “Right. I was thinking about the interview and the next steps. I came up with three different topics I’d love to explore for the article. I think it would be great if you took me to three places that reminded me of your past, your present, and your future. For example, today is great for seeing your present. That way, I can see your complete story and where it is leading you.”

  “My beginning, middle, and end.”

  “The perfect novel.”

  “What if the ending sucks?”

  I smiled. “There’s no way Captain’s ending would ever suck.”

  “I like that,” he commented, nodding toward me. “That you still call me Captain.”

  “I like when you call me Red.”

  He grinned and looked away for a second as if he had something to say, but he shook it off before saying, “Anything else I need to be aware of?”

  “Yes. I have some dates to shoot over to you for the photo shoot. We can always shift the date because I know you’re a very busy guy, but I pulled at least five dates. Once we choose, we can set up a photographer and a shoot location.”

  “I’m not much of a model,” he warned.

  “Trust me, you don’t have to do much of anything to look good.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Did you just call me handsome?”

  My cheeks flushed a bit, and I moved my stare from his blue eyes to a couple roaming the kitchen, opening cabinets. “Don’t act surprised. You know you’re good-looking. That’s why people are calling you the hottest bachelor in NYC.”

  “Is that what they are calling me?”

  “That is definitely what they are calling you. Don’t be surprised if ABC calls you to audition for their show.”

  “Hard pass for me. Back in my hometown, my closest friend, Jax, used to watch that show with an older neighbor. I stopped by once and couldn’t stand it. I could never survive being on that show.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t want to go lady to lady, test-driving the car without any true desire to purchase while the whole world watched.”

  “Well, sometimes you have to taste a few different fruits before you know what you like.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t shove a banana in your mouth while still chewing on a peach.”

  I chuckled. “Did you just so happen to pick the two most sexual fruits you could think of?”

  “What? I get the banana, but what is sexual about a peach?”

  Now it was time for me to raise a brow. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Serious as two kangaroos fighting.”

  “You have the weirdest comparisons.”

  “And you have a beautiful smile.”

  I felt my cheeks heat, but I rolled my eyes to take away from that fact. “Oh my gosh, bachelor. Do these lines really work on other women?”

  “Truth or truth?”

  “Truth.”

  “They really work on other women.”

  I nudged him in the arm. “Let me guess—this is the part where you tell me I’m not like other women, right?”

  “No, I never understood that.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “I mean, what’s so terrible about being like other women? Women are amazing. All kinds. I feel like guys use that line to flatter a woman while at the same time putting down all other females. And who wants a cocky asshole who has to put others down to lift someone else up? It’s like a backhanded compliment.”

  I pursed my lips. “I’m trying to determine if that’s reverse psychology or not.”

  “Good. I’m hoping to keep you on your toes. So, back to the peach.”

  “What about it?”

  “How is that sexual?”

  The bashfulness came back to me, and I knew he noticed, but I tried to play it off. “It’s what the youngsters use as an emoji to speak about someone’s butt. You know, because butts are…juicy and plump.” I made a hand gesture to indicate a round bottom, and I regretted it instantly when Connor began cracking up in laughter.

  He made the same motion as me. “So a peach.”

  “Yup.”

  “Aren’t peaches fuzzy? Wouldn’t a plum make more sense?”

  I tossed my hands up in surrender. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

  He looked so perplexed by the whole idea as he shook his head in disapproval. “I think we should start a petition to change peach to a plum.”

  “I’m sure that would take off if you get gen Z in on the switch. They can make some TikToks with plums. It would go viral in a week.”

  “Are you a TikToker?” he asked.

  “I’m a professional lurker but refuse to post anything. I have a strong fear of people judging me.”

  “You know the best way to get over people judging you? Putting yourself out there and realizing their opinions don’t matter.”

  I laughed. “Aw, but the fear is strong.”

  He shrugged. “We might as well do whatever it is that makes us happy. Life is short.”

  If only he knew how short life can be.

  “So you’re telling me you put yourself out there?” I asked.

  “Oh, on the regular.” He scrunched up his face and cringed a bit. “I have a confession to make. I’m a TikTok celebrity.”

  I burst out laughing. “What? No, you’re not.”

  His hands flew to his chest, and he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, why is that so hard to believe? I’m definitely qualified to be TikTok famous. I have over three million followers.”

  “No way. That’s insane. What do you do on TikTok that would make you famous?”

  “I give real estate tips.”

  The way I laughed at him included a hardcore snicker and my head tossing back. “That’s how you’re getting our generation to engage on TikTok? With real estate tips?”

  “Hey! You’re never too young to learn about the real estate world. Plus, people get really screwed over when they purchase their first homes. They need to know more
details. Plus, this way, I can help more people around the world find their dream homes instead of just in New York, and they don’t end up broke doing it.”

  “Don’t get me wrong—I think that’s brilliant and just more proof that you are a genuinely good person. But…it seems bizarre that you’d have so many followers for giving useful tips.”

  He bit his bottom lip, and I watched as he nibbled on it.

  I poked him in the arm. “What are you leaving out?”

  “Hmm? What makes you think I’m leaving something out?”

  “Uh, the fact that you have no poker face and you look as if you’re avoiding giving me all the details of your TikTok. You know what?” I reached into my back pocket and grabbed my cell phone. “Let me just pull out my phone and look you up and—”

  “Okay, wait!” he said, tossing his hand in front of my phone. “Okay. So there is a little bit more to my TikTok.”

  “Do tell.”

  “I give the tips while dancing…”

  “You do TikTok dances?”

  “As if it’s my day job.” He narrowed his blues and shook his head. “You’re judging me.”

  “I’m not. I just…the image of you doing those dances brings me more joy than I thought possible. I bet you do them shirtless,” I joked.

  The way his face read guilty made me jump up and down.

  “Oh my gosh! You do, don’t you? Connor…” I glanced around the penthouse to make sure no one was listening, and I moved in closer to him. “Do you set up thirst traps?”

  “I do not set up thirst traps!” he whisper-shouted. He went back to biting his bottom lip and sighed. “Okay, I set up thirst traps, but you have to understand…supply and demand is the way the world works.”

  “So you supply your knowledge, and they demand your abs?”

  He gave me a wicked grin. “You think I got abs, Red?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Look at your arms, Cap—your biceps are growing their own biceps. I’m sure your stomach exhibits that same level of fitness.”

  “What, these ole things?” He smirked as he not-so-casually flexed his arms, posing as if he was the freaking Rock.

  “Oh my gosh, stop,” I whispered, feeling my cheeks heat as people looked our way. “People are staring.”

  “Should I take off my shirt and give them a real show?”

  “Only if you do a TikTok dance.” I laughed. Even though he was so embarrassing, he made me laugh more than I had in a long time by simply being a dork.

  “I like that, too, you know,” he said as he stopped his dramatics. “When you laugh.”

  And just like that, he went from making me laugh to making me swoon.

  I tried to shake off the butterflies that had no business existing within me, but still, they lingered.

  “It weirds me out a little,” he confessed, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “How easy it is to joke around with you. I mean, I have a pretty easy time being around most people—it’s in my character as a people person—but being around you is effortless. You make it easy.” He looked up toward Damian, who was staring our way. He gave Connor a single nod, and then Connor nodded back. “Those people Damian just spoke to will probably put an offer in tonight.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because Damian almost smiled. It’s a done deal. Come on, let’s wander a little bit more.”

  I began walking with him and suddenly felt extremely light-headed. I blinked a few times as my vision blurred. The room began spinning faster than I could handle, and my heart began racing faster as I reached out for the closest wall to steady myself.

  Connor instantly grew alert and moved in toward me. “Aaliyah, are you o—?”

  Blackness.

  Syncope.

  Noun.

  Definition: The temporary loss of consciousness caused by a fall in blood pressure.

  Also known as the medical term for passing out.

  Two years ago, I didn’t know what syncope was. Two years ago, I didn’t know a lot of medical terms. I didn’t know the ins and outs of a hospital room. I didn’t know that sometimes it took hours to be seen in an emergency room. I missed those days when I didn’t know.

  I sat on the uncomfortable hospital bed after being given a script for medications due to my fall. I didn’t remember exactly what happened, but when I came to Connor was standing over me with concerned eyes.

  I remembered a warm sensation tickling down my face as I placed my hands against my skin, then pulled my fingers back to see red painted against my thumb.

  “I’m bleeding?”

  “You hit your head on the side table on your fall. We should get you checked out at the hospital,” Connor said.

  I disagreed.

  I didn’t want to go to the hospital.

  He disagreed with my disagreement.

  He worried about a concussion.

  I worried about my heart, and what the hospital might’ve told me.

  I knew that wasn’t a good reason to not go get checked out, but it seemed every time I went into a hospital, I came out with worse news than before. All I wanted to do was be normal for a moment. All I wanted to do was interview Connor, get a look inside of his world, and become a senior editor.

  Regardless, Connor won the hospital visit argument. I was too tired, and my head pounded too intensely for me to put up much of a fight.

  So, now I sat in the chilled hospital room, with a nurse bringing me my discharge paperwork and prescriptions. They’d given me five stitches to my forehead, and some pain medicine to help with the recovery.

  I knew Connor was still in the waiting room, and the biggest wave of embarrassment flooded my mind thinking about facing him. Not only did I faint in front of him, but I did it in the middle of his work event. I passed out and bled inside of a multi-million-dollar home in front of dozens of people.

  There were so many days I wished I wasn’t me.

  That day was high on the list.

  “I’m going to need you to be more careful with yourself, okay sweetheart? If you ever start to feel lightheaded, find a close seat. Or, lean against a wall and lower yourself to the ground. Eating enough can help with the dizzy spells, too. And try not to take your heart medicine on an empty stomach, okay? And don’t forget to follow up with your primary doctor.” The nurse spoke to me as if I were her own child, filled with nothing but care and concern.

  “I will, thank you.”

  She smiled and squeezed my hand. “Of course, honey. You take care of yourself.”

  Over the past two years, I was quick to learn that nurses were never appreciated enough for what they did. To them, I was nothing but a stranger each and every time, but they treated me as if I were their own family. They tamed my fear when it ran rapid.

  “Come on,” she said smiling. “Let me walk you out to the front lobby.”

  23

  Connor

  I hated hospitals. Especially emergency rooms. They always reminded me of the time I’d spent in them as a youth, waiting for my mom to come out okay. No matter what, she’d never allow me in the back room with her until the doctors made it clear she was okay. Mom worried about scaring me too early on with her first go at cancer.

  The second time around, I was a teenager and old enough to know what was going on—but Mom still didn’t allow me in the back. Instead, she always made sure I had cash in my pocket for the hospital vending machines. It was due to that time in my life that I vowed to always have cash handy. That afternoon, I was thankful for that as I waited for Aaliyah to come out from behind those two automatic doors that led people to the back for examinations.

  I’d hit up the vending machine and emptied it of all the bags of Cheetos. The items looked as if they hadn’t been changed out since the eighties, but lucky enough for me, the chips tasted fine as day.

  When Aaliyah came out from the back, she thanked the nurse practitioner profusely, then thanked the receptionist repeatedly, and she thanked the other receptionist
nonstop, because that was who Aaliyah was as a person—she was thankful, even on the days when she had a million reasons not to be.

  I stood from my chair the second she turned my way, and a small smile curved her lips as she nodded me over. It was so good to see her doing okay. When she’d blacked out, I had been terrified that she wouldn’t be all right. She’d managed to hit her head when she fell straight onto the corner of the nearby coffee table.

  “Now, that medicine they gave you will make you a little loopy,” the nurse said to Aaliyah before glancing my way. “Are you the one in charge of getting her home safe tonight?”

  “I am.”

  “Good.” The nurse placed her hand on Aaliyah’s forearm and squeezed it lightly. “And thank you again, Aaliyah, for the prayer for my son. It means a lot to me that you took the time to do that.”

  “Of course, Janet. I hope he aces his audition.” Aaliyah beamed. “Nice meeting you, too, Randy!” Aaliyah waved to the other nurse. “Cheetos?” she asked as I poured the remaining chips into my mouth from the third bag.

  I crumpled up the bag then pulled out the fourth—and last—bag that was tucked under my arm. I held it out to her.

  Her button nose crinkled up, and she shook her head. “No, thank you. I hate Cheetos.”

  And just like that, the perfect woman revealed her first flaw.

  “I think it’s very rude of you to make such a harsh comment,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “Cheetos are the chips of all chips.”

  “That’s not true. They don’t even make the top three list of chips.”

  “Okay, so what are the top three?”

  Aaliyah’s brows lowered, and she bit her bottom lip as she thought. “Okay, first is Doritos, obviously, then Ruffles Sour Cream and Cheddar, followed closely by Fritos.”

  “Are you kidding me? Those are such lame choices!”

  She shrugged. “I’m not going to be judged by a man who orders boneless chicken wings.”

  “They are delicious.”

  “They are chicken nuggets. Besides, anyone who doesn’t think those are the best chips on the market, are wrong.”