by Gia Riley
“You finally understand,” he says.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Because I do get it. He must feel about Hollis and me the way I feel about Isla and him. The circumstances are different, but the principle is the same. There was a time they got close, and something could have happened.
But the past is the least of my problems. Right now, I’m curious why it’s so quiet.
What are they doing?
Wirth must think the same thing because he scrambles out from underneath me and takes another look. But he’s taking too long, so I tug on his shirt, pulling him back to the floor. We can’t blow our cover before Hollis and Maisie get here.
“What’s happening?” I ask him.
“They—they were—I don’t know,” he stammers.
He’s not making any sense, so I take a look for myself. I’m as stunned as he is. I even blink a couple of times, like my eyes are playing tricks on me.
“They’re making out,” I whisper-shout. “In our living room.”
“I know!” he whisper-shouts back.
“Fisher must be wasted.”
“Why Fisher? Maybe Isla’s high. He’s not her type.”
Isla’s a prima ballerina. She’s precision and class. Her life’s as choreographed as the dances she performs. And yet, she’s making out with Fisher—a simple guy who can burp the alphabet upon request.
Tutus and tights have met flannels and ripped jeans.
But opposites attract, right?
“I can’t unsee that, Chan.”
“Me neither.”
We sit in silence for a couple of minutes, and then the door opens again. Maisie and Hollis finally arrive along with a couple of other friends Hollis gathered along the way.
“Who wants a beer?” Hollis shouts.
After he turns on the kitchen light, he spots us on the floor.
Like two snakes, we slither to our feet.
“It’s not what you think,” I tell him.
“Why are you two hiding?”
“We wanted to surprise Maisie,” I admit. “And then they showed up, and we felt bad for interrupting.”
“There was nothing to interrupt,” Isla quickly adds. “Right, Fisher?”
Fisher shrugs and keeps their secret. I feel bad for him when he just says, “Hey, guys.”
I expect Isla to pull Wirth aside and explain herself, but Wirth doesn’t give her the chance.
Instead of addressing what we saw, Wirth pats Isla on the head and says, “Relax, tiger. It’s okay to have some fun.”
It’s in this moment that I realize Wirth has never had feelings for Isla. But Isla, she might still be in love with my boyfriend.
Left alone with Isla in the kitchen, I don’t know if I’m supposed to ask her about Fisher or pretend like nothing happened. I decide to let it go for now.
Her hands are shaking though when she reaches for a bottle of water on the counter.
As badly as I want to say something, I let it go, and we join everyone in the living room.
For the rest of the night, Isla keeps her distance from Fisher. The only time they speak is while playing a drinking game.
To Fisher, Isla’s a queen. He steals glances at her every chance he gets. But not once does she meet his stare.
I decide Isla’s scared. And I can’t tell if it’s because she thinks Fisher’s not good enough for her or if she assumes that’s what the rest of the world will think.
By one o’clock in the morning, I have my answer.
Isla leaves first, saying she’s worn out and ready for bed. I believe her until Fisher leaves two minutes later. When I look out the peephole into the hallway, Isla appears from around the corner, hurrying into Fisher’s apartment. They kept their distance all night, but they’re kissing before Fisher’s door is all the way closed.
What a weird night.
The apartment’s a mess, but I decide to clean up in the morning. I’d much rather climb into Wirth’s bed.
He’s already changed and under the covers.
“I’m exhausted,” I tell him as I slide in bed next to him.
“Me, too,” he says.
Rolling over, he wraps his arms around me. “You’re not naked.”
“I thought it’d be weird for you,” I tell him.
“Why would you being naked ever be weird for me?”
Laughing, I tell him, “Because your sister is in the next room.”
“So what? She can’t see anything. And we’ll be quiet.”
Before I can argue, Wirth pulls my shirt over my head and then starts to peel off my leggings. They’re halfway down when Maisie moans, and something hits the wall.
We can be quiet, but apparently, they can’t.
“Now, it’s weird,” he says, pulling my pants back up.
Still sexually frustrated, we lie side by side on our backs, staring at the ceiling.
“We need some noise. Where’s your phone, Wirth? I’ll put on some music.”
Another moan follows the last and then a scream.
Hollis’s voice is muffled, but the slapping is not.
Wirth throws the blankets off and gets out of bed. Pacing, he says, “Let’s go.”
I scramble to my feet, praying he’s not about to go in the bedroom and break up their last night together.
“Calm down,” I tell him. “Get back in bed. We just need a distraction.”
He shakes his head. “No. Nothing will distract me from that. We’re going to a hotel.”
Wirth
It’s been a week and a half since Maisie left New York. She said she planned to visit as often as she could—on a layover or for a couple of scheduled days. But we all knew it wouldn’t be anytime soon. So, when her name lit up my phone this morning at the crack of dawn, I thought something bad had happened.
After she assured me she was fine, she explained that her schedule would have her landing at LaGuardia in time for her to make it to the theater for opening night. Normally, I’d tell her it was no big deal, that she didn’t have to go out of her way to make it. But, with the way Hollis had been moping around, I practically begged her to come.
I’m glad I did because Hollis looks worse than ever today. He needs a shave, a long shower, and a haircut.
Flopping on the couch, he sighs so loud that Chandler hears him in the kitchen.
“You look like shit, Hollis,” I tell him.
“I feel like shit,” he says just as Chandler hands him a bowl of ice cream.
Ice cream is her go-to when someone’s feeling down. I probably should have warned her.
Just before the spoon hits his mouth, I grab the bowl out of his hands.
“What the hell?” he shouts.
“You can’t eat that, and you know it.”
“What do I have to lose?” he asks.
“Your job,” I remind him.
Chandler looks back and forth between us, wondering how ice cream would make him lose his job.
“Someone fill me in,” she says.
“He’s lactose intolerant, Chan. And not just a little bit.”
“I can take a pill if I really want to eat dairy,” he adds.
We both know he wasn’t going to take a pill.
Chandler sits down next to Hollis and places a hand on his arm. He refuses to look at either one of us.
“This has gone far enough,” she tells him.
“What has?” he asks.
“I almost killed you, and you weren’t going to tell me. You’ve been depressed since Maisie left.”
“What do I have to live for?” he responds pathetically. “Maisie’s gone, and I have to look at you two making out all the damn time.”
Laughing, Chandler smacks him in the head with a pillow. “Next season, you should audition for a role in the musical. You’re the most dramatic person I know, and you’re on the sidelines, watching.”
“I make you sound good,” he says, “and look hot in those costumes with my magical lighting.�
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I can’t get mad for that comment because Hollis is right. She does look smoking in those costumes.
“Maisie won’t be gone forever,” I remind him.
Little does he know that, in about an hour, my sister will arrive in New York. She won’t be here long, but she’ll be here for the opening of the show.
To save as much time as possible, I promised I’d have a car waiting at the airport, so she wouldn’t have to stand in line for a cab. By the time the show begins, Hollis and Maisie will be in the same building—and he won’t have a clue.
“I wish she’d just quit that job,” he says. “I know she loves traveling, but we could be together nonstop. And screw like bunnies.”
That’s a visual I didn’t need. But I remember when I thought I’d never see Chandler again. I was sure we lived in two different parts of the country and that our paths would never cross again. Had that been the case, I’d probably have been as miserable as Hollis.
“We were almost in your shoes,” I tell him. “We understand more than you think.”
Chandler gives me a sweet smile. I think we both realize how unique our situation is—a once-in-a-lifetime meetup that turned into this.
“Almost doesn’t count.”
I know it doesn’t, especially when you’re missing someone. I miss my mom every day. And I’d do just about anything to have her back.
But Maisie will be back. She’s alive and well.
“You realize Maisie’s from New York, right?” I question.
“What’s your point?” he asks with a confused expression.
“My point is, you can live together when she’s home.”
He thinks about it for a second and starts to smile. The smile vanishes pretty fast though. “Then, I’d have to move. I wouldn’t be able to stay here.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s not employed by the theater company, so she can’t live in this building.”
I didn’t consider that. Sometimes, I forget we all work for the same company because we’re doing such different things. “I’m sure there’s a way around it.”
Smirking, he says, “She could move in with Isla. She’s the only one who scored her own place.”
I’m all for that idea until I realize I’d have to be around Isla all the time. “We’ll figure something else out,” I tell him.
Laughing, he says, “That’s what I thought. I’m destined to be miserable. How long until we leave?”
I glance at my watch. “We have twenty minutes.”
Hollis sits up and rubs his hands over his face. Just as he gets up off the couch, Chandler rushes past him and darts into the bathroom.
“What was that about?” he asks.
“I have no idea,” I tell him. “But I’m guessing it’s her nerves again. She keeps feeling like she’s going to throw up.”
Before my shows, I was the same way. I’d get awful stomach pains. My hands would shake to the point that I didn’t think I’d be able to hold a microphone without dropping it. And it only made it worse when people told me to calm down. You can’t calm down when you’re in the middle of freaking out.
“Aren’t you going in there to check on her, Wirth?”
I’m secure enough in my relationship to know that what Chandler needs right now isn’t me. If she sees me, she’ll just cry again, and I’ve already spent most of last night holding her while she shook in my arms. Chandler’s an amazing dancer, but she’s psyching herself out.
I’m always going to be her shoulder to cry on, but what Chandler needs right now is someone to say a bunch of stupid shit to make her laugh. Who better to do that than Hollis?
“Why don’t you take this one?” I tell him.
Surprised, he says, “You want me to go in the bathroom with her? Alone?”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I remind him.
He laughs when he realizes I know about the first time they had a powwow.
Bathroom pep talks are kind of their thing.
He gives me the first real smile I’ve seen since Maisie left. Standing up, he takes determined strides toward the bathroom. And, for the first time in days, I stop worrying about the two of them.
I know they’ll both be feeling better in a couple of minutes.
Chandler
Opening night is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I knew the first show would be special, the one we’d all remember long after the show closed, but I can’t believe it is finally happening.
Thanks to Hollis, I made it out of the bathroom and to the theater. And the fact that Wirth had known Hollis could pull me out of my funk meant that much more. I knew I finally had my two favorite guys on the same page. There was no more jealousy or confusion. I had my boyfriend, the guy I didn’t want to be without. And Hollis, the brother I never had but always wanted.
“Fifteen minutes,” Ms. Sue announces as she rounds up her dancers and double-checks our costumes.
Isla appears from the dressing room, and I watch as she searches the room. I can’t figure out who she’s looking for until her eyes land on me.
I can either go over to her and tell her that I think she’s being crazy for hiding her feelings for Fisher or keep my mouth closed. Neither option sounds too appealing right now, so I send Wirth a text instead and then shove my phone back in my bag before I get caught with it.
It’s less than fifteen minutes until showtime, but Wirth appears in the doorway.
Hurrying over to him, I whisper, “Did you bring him?”
He nods.
Taking a deep breath, I make my way to Isla. She sees me coming and freezes.
“Did you come over here to humiliate me about Fisher?” she questions.
“That’s never been my goal, Isla. Just come with me.”
Her fingers are ice-cold when I grab her hand.
“I hope this helps your nerves,” I tell her. “Lord knows I needed all the help I could get earlier.”
She has no idea what I’m talking about. And she’s completely confused when I push her out of the studio and into the hallway.
I did enough eavesdropping from the floor in the kitchen, but I can’t help myself. I stand next to Wirth like a proud parent, watching Isla and Fisher publicly speak.
“Why are we spying?” he whispers.
“We’re not,” I tell him as I look away.
Wirth wraps his arms around me and says, “Break a leg, Chan.”
Just as he walks away, Fisher and Isla break apart, too. Their conversation was short, but from the look on her face, it was exactly what she was missing from tonight.
“Thank you,” she says as she passes by me and slips back into the studio.
Those two words are huge coming from Isla, and for a minute, I think that maybe we could be friends someday.
There’s no telling if Isla will ever admit her feelings for Fisher to the rest of the world. But, for those few minutes in the hallway, there was something real—something that she should be proud to show off. Because, when it comes down to it, it doesn’t matter who you fall in love with or what anyone else thinks. All that matters is that you find someone who feels like home.
Wirth
“Have you heard from your sister tonight, Wirth?” Hollis questions as he turns his phone off and then back on.
“No. Why?”
He shrugs. “She usually calls me by now. I have her schedule, and she’s supposed to be on the ground in Texas.”
Glancing at my watch, I try to think of an excuse about why he hasn’t heard from her. My sister’s still in the balcony, filing out of her row. I just need to stall for a couple of more minutes.
“Texas is an hour behind,” I remind him.
“That must be it,” he says. But I can tell it’s still bothering him because he’s typing out a text to Maisie right now.
He’s so focused on his phone that he doesn’t notice as she walks down the stairs and around the corner toward him.
“Whose idea was it
to sit me in the nosebleed section?” she jokingly complains.
Hollis’s head turns so fast at the sound of her voice. His mouth is hanging open. “Maisie?”
“Hi, babe.”
“What are you doing here? How did you get here? You were up there the whole fucking time?”
Now, I’m the one laughing. I knew, if I told him where she was, he wouldn’t concentrate on his job. He’d fuck up the lights and leave someone in the dark. It was better to leave it a secret. Plus, the look on his face right now is worth it.
“The show was amazing, Hollis.”
Hollis takes a step forward and grabs her face. His lips are on hers, and I have to look away.
Luckily, Chandler’s found us. “I missed it,” she says with her lip curled.
I notice she doesn’t have her bag or her coat. Or the dozen roses I sent to the studio during the show.
“Where’s your stuff, Chan?”
“I haven’t even made it to the studio yet,” she grumbles. “We had to go out the other door, and the hallway was clogged up with people, so I ran out here instead of waiting. But I’ll be quick.” She plants a kiss on my lips and then disappears.
Hollis and Maisie walk over to where I’m standing. The universe is finally back on its axis, and Hollis is himself again.
“I can’t believe you got her here, Wirth,” he says in awe. “I’ve been a miserable asshole.”
“Yes, you have,” I admit. “But, for some reason, my sister really likes you, so here we are.”
Hollis unexpectedly hugs me like we’re a couple of chicks. “You’re my best friend, Wirth.”
“I’m getting the biggest lady boner, guys.” Maisie wipes a fake tear from her eye.
That’s when I realize my sister is pretty much the male version of Hollis. No wonder they get along.
“Where’s Chandler?” Maisie questions.
I turn around, wondering that myself. Most of the other dancers have already left.
“I’ll go check,” I tell them. “You don’t have to wait. In fact, please don’t. Go do your thing.”
Hollis pulls my sister out of the theater, and I expect they’ll run the whole way home. At least I won’t have to listen to them when I get there.