With A Twist

by Staci Hart

  I leaned against the door. “No, but I admittedly hid in Blackwell’s office most of the day. I didn’t want to see anybody, not after that party, which was a nightmare, by the way. Complete with a Simon Phillips dream sequence.”

  She groaned. “Ugh. Not that guy. What happened?”

  “Nothing, really. He just mouthed off, but I was already pissed because of Chris. She was dragging me around that party like a show pony. By the time Simon got to me, he didn’t stand a chance.”

  “I’m sorry, West,” she said sincerely.

  I smiled. “Don’t be. In a few weeks, we’ll know for certain who made it. If it’s him, he’ll never let me live it down. Ever. He might even defile my tombstone with something like Columbia’s Second Finest.”

  Lily made a face. “Is there seriously a chance he’ll beat you for a spot?”

  “There’s always a chance. A lot of factors play into it, and I can’t pretend to know where I stand. Simon’s an old money legacy, with generations of alumni in his family tree.” I sighed in an attempt to relieve the bit of stress that had crept into my chest. “I did my best, and that’s all I can do.”

  She nodded. “The waiting is the hardest part. Until I was offered a contract with the company, every rehearsal was pumped full of anxiety. I felt like I had to push myself as hard as I possibly could, because if I didn’t, I’d lose. I’d fail. Every rehearsal was driven by the absolute need to get a contract, to get asked to stay. In my apprentice year, I was a mess. I couldn’t sleep, barely ate … making it into the company was everything I’d worked for. Every one of my eggs was in that basket. Who knows what I would have done if I hadn’t made it.”

  “You would have gone to Juilliard and landed a prestigious job somewhere just as important as the New York City Ballet. There’s no way that your talent would have gone unnoticed.”

  “Thank you, West.” She blushed. “Anyway, I hate that you have to wait so long to find out about your application, especially while getting hassled by that shit-for-brains.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry about me. I can handle Simon just fine.”

  We pulled up to the Met, and I paid the cab driver before opening the door and climbing out, offering a hand again to pull her out and onto the sidewalk. We were quiet as we walked up the gradual steps, Lily on my arm, soaking up everything. The fountains in the courtyard were lit up, as were the massive arched windows of the Met Opera House. It looked like a chapel. In a way, I supposed it was.

  I snuck a glance at Lily as we walked, struck by her once again. Her face said what I’d been thinking about the buildings around us — her eyes full of wonder and lips in a small smile — and I followed the line of her jaw to the nape of her long neck where small tendrils of her blond hair curled against her skin.

  “I love this place at night,” she said as we walked past the bustling Lincoln Center on the west side of the courtyard. “I never come through this way, you know, especially at night. It feels like we’re walking into something spectacular, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” I answered quietly.

  She smiled over at me as we walked around the fountain to the entrance, all while I tried to make sense of whatever malfunction my brain was in the middle of. Things with Lily had always been easy, until a few days ago.

  Now I felt everything slipping away and rushing toward me all at once.

  I pulled open the door, and we walked the plush, red carpet, through the ticket master, and to the bar.

  An older woman and her husband approached us as we were waiting for our drinks. “Excuse me, miss?”

  Lily turned to her. “Yes?”

  “Forgive me for the intrusion, but are you Lily Thomas?”

  She smiled graciously and extended a hand. “I am. It’s nice to meet you.”

  The woman beamed and took her hand, placing her free hand on top. “Oh, I just knew it. I saw your debut principal performance of Firebird last fall, and it moved me, truly. You are an exquisite dancer.”

  Lily’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. “Thank you so much, ma’am. It means the world to me that you would take time out of your night to come say hello.”

  I thought I might burst from pride.

  The woman glanced over at me as she let Lily go. “Oh, is this your boyfriend? What a lovely couple you are.”

  Lily’s cheeks flushed. “This is Weston, a very dear friend of mine.”

  I extended a hand, and she took it. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

  “You as well. Miss Thomas, we have tickets to your Swan Lake opening show, and I must say that I’m thrilled to see you perform. I’ll be bringing my hanky.”

  “I only hope I can do it justice.”

  The woman patted Lily on the arm just as the bartender passed me our drinks. “Oh, I have no doubts, and neither should you. It’s so very nice to meet you both. We’ll leave you to your evening.”

  “Enjoy the show,” Lily said with a smile.

  The woman waved, smiling back. “You too.”

  Lily took a breath, blushing up at me as I handed her a glass of wine. “I swear, that’s the best feeling in the whole world.”

  “Better than performing?”

  “Okay, second best.” She took a sip, and I just watched her for a moment while she opened her program. Every move she made was poised and elegant, moving with absolute grace. Her hands were perfect, like a doll’s, even as she turned the pages lazily and took another drink of her wine.

  My thoughts skittered around my head too quickly to catch a single one. I didn’t know what to say, so I sipped my scotch and listened as she talked. The difference between listening to Lily talk on and listening to Chris was in high relief, the contrast of the two women almost blinding. I cared about every word that left Lily’s ruby-red lips.

  It wasn’t long before we made our way into the theater and took our seats behind the pit just as the house lights dimmed and the opera opened. I could feel her next to me — every breath, every movement of her body — her presence alone occupying all of my senses. I couldn’t sort it out, not through the first half of the show, not through intermission where we had a few more drinks. And as I sat through the final scenes of the opera, I couldn’t comprehend what had changed, when it had shifted. But I wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same.

  All those years, I thought Lily was out of my reach. We’d always been affectionate, always been close, but the boundaries were firmly in place — we were friends. I shared every victory and defeat with her, and she did the same. We were a part of each other’s lives and experiences, and we always had been.

  She was my friend, and I loved her.

  Butterfly was on the stage, singing with all of her heart about the love she’d lost, the love she’d never truly had to begin with. Singing of the sacrifice she would give, that she had to give for the sake of her son. She gave the tiny American flag to the boy and said goodbye, walked behind the curtain with her seppuku knife to take her life. But my eyes were on Lily.

  Her eyes were wide, brow bent with emotion, fingers on her lips. The tears in her eyes were illuminated by the stage lights, and when the music reached the apex, the lights flashed red. She blinked from the shock, and the tears she’d been holding back rolled down her cheeks, chest shuddering as she drew in a breath.

  I wanted to reach for her, pull her into my lap and hold her, kiss away her tears. The beauty of her emotion held me dead still, watching her feel. I couldn’t disturb that. And if she looked me in the eye in that moment, she’d know what I’d only just realized.

  No one was good enough for Lily. But I could be. I wanted to be.

  I loved her.

  My own emotion took over, my chest aching like a Lily-sized bomb had detonated in my ribcage. I was in love with Lily. How I’d made it all that time without realizing it, I’ll never know.

  I reached for my pocket square with shaking fingers and passed it to her, and she gave me a grateful smile before blotting her cheeks and nose, turnin
g her gaze back to the stage. Her free hand slipped into mine and squeezed, and I ran my thumb over her knuckles, knowing she didn’t know what the motion meant to me. I willed her to understand without words, willed her to realize that she loved me too. Imagined her turning to me with her eyes full of hope and finding recognition in them.

  Part of me wanted to drop to my knees at her feet and beg her to say she felt the same.

  But logic reared its ugly head, sprinkling dissension like the beginning of a rainstorm. What if she doesn’t feel the same? Drip. What if she really wants Blane? Drip, drop. What if I ruin everything? Drop, drop, drop. And then, the deluge of self-doubt began. I pictured her pitying me, the awkward hand patting and sympathy that would follow before our friendship drifted away. I imagined her angry and hurt that I would throw something like that at her after all these years.

  Was telling her worth the risk? Could I lose her forever?

  I couldn’t be sure, not until I’d sorted it out for myself.

  The music ended, and the curtain dropped as the crowd flew to their feet in a roar of applause. Lily was still crying — smiling and crying, like sunshine in the rain. We clapped and cheered until the cast had come and gone and the house lights went all the way up. Lily was still beaming as she took my arm once more, and we followed the crowd out of the theater.

  I had no words. None that I could say out loud.

  She was quiet at first, still reeling from the performance as we made our way slowly toward the exit behind the crowd, my hand over hers where it curled around my bicep as she leaned into me. It wasn’t until we’d stepped out into the cool night that she found her voice. And then the conversation didn’t stop as we went through what we’d seen together, the moments that struck us in the performance. She cried again in the cab talking about the ending, hand to her chest, long fingers clutching my handkerchief. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

  The walk into the building was quiet once more, the only sound in the stairwell our echoing footfalls until we reached her door.

  “I can’t wait to get these shoes off,” she said with a laugh as she dug through her purse. “Heels are about a million times worse than pointe shoes.”

  I only smiled down at her, standing close enough that I barely had to raise my hand to cup the back of her arm, shifting my thumb against her soft skin. Her hand stilled in her purse, and she looked up at me, her eyes so open I could see her heart. Overcome, that’s how I felt, as if nothing in the world could stop me from wanting her. The pull of her was so strong that I couldn’t deny it. I leaned into her just as she leaned into me, lips on an achingly slow track to connect. But before I could reach those lips, she blinked and stepped back, cheeks flushed.

  “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I must have had too much wine.”

  My hand dropped as I straightened up, crestfallen, palms damp out of nowhere. I tried to smile past the ache in my chest. “Must have. Sleep it off, Twinkle Toes.”

  She pulled out her keys and smiled. “You too. Thank you. That was … it was amazing, as always.”

  I slipped my hands into my pockets, clenching my fist tight. “It was. I’ll see you, Lil.”

  Lily opened her door and looked back over her shoulder at me. All I wanted was to stop her, push her up against the door and kiss her until she was breathless.

  “Night, West.”

  I watched the door close, putting distance between us that was instantly flooded with my thoughts, rushing in my ears, louder than they’d been all night. I peeled my feet off the ground and walked to my door, fumbling with my keys, unlocking my dark apartment and stepping in with my mind everywhere but where I was.

  I didn’t even see Patrick sitting on the couch, not until he spoke. “You all right?”

  I jumped. “Jesus Christ. What are you doing sittin’ in the dark like a goddamn serial killer?”

  “Reading.” He held up his phone.

  I rubbed my face and reached for the light switch, flipping it on before pacing through the living room.

  Patrick watched me with dark eyes. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I turned to span the room again, dragging my fingers through my hair.

  “Is it bad?”

  I loosened my tie. “Yes. Whatever this is, it’s definitely bad.”

  He folded his arms across his chest as I struggled with where to start. I turned and made a lap around the room once more.

  “So,” he prompted, “you went to Lily’s to pick her up, and then…”

  “…And then, we left. And nothing was different, but everything was different. She … I …”

  Patrick seemed startled and somehow entertained. “You’re speechless.”

  I shook my head and sat on the couch, elbows on my knees, fingers in my hair, staring at my oxfords. There was only one way to explain it. “I think I’m in love with her.”

  He nodded and said simply, “I think you are, too.”

  I eyed him, confused. “Why do you not look surprised?”

  “Because I’ve known for years. Did you really only just figure this out? I honestly thought you knew.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. “No. I didn’t know.”

  “You need a drink.” He rolled off the couch and strode into the kitchen while I tried to get regain my composure. He came back with a bottle of bourbon and two glasses, set them on the coffee table, and poured us each a shot.

  I took it graciously and slammed it. “What the fuck, Tricky.” I hung the empty glass between my knees. “What the fuck.”

  “Did you tell her?”

  “I can’t, not until I figure it out myself.”

  He shrugged and leaned back in the couch. “Seems pretty simple to me.”

  I glared at him, annoyed at the minimization of my crisis. “Says the guy in love with Rosie.”

  His brow dropped at the dig. “Hey, man. Not fair.”

  I sighed. “It’s not that simple. You know that better than anyone.”

  “It is, and it isn’t. Can you see yourself with her? Do you want to be with her?”

  I imagined what it would be like to be with her. Pictured her curled up in my lap with my lips on hers. Saw her face graced with a smile full of love, long body stretched out in my bed in the shadows of night. I thought my heart might explode. “Yeah,” I answered, my voice rough.

  “Then you have to tell her.”

  I huffed, wishing I could. “Not without a plan. Doesn’t matter that I want to knock on her door right now and tell her everything.” I scrubbed my hands down my face. “Tell me not to do it, Tricky.”

  Patrick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Just go tell her. Don’t make the mistake I did and keep it to yourself.”

  “But what happened with you and Rose is exactly why I don’t want to just go over there, guns blazing. I’ve got to be careful and do this right. The timing is bad, Patrick. Really bad.”

  He poured us each another drink, considering it. “I guess she is seeing somebody. Is she really that into Blane, though?”

  His name hit me like a baseball bat to the face. I’d forgotten all about him for a minute, forgotten that I was supposed to spend a whole night with him and Lily. “Fuck, man. I don’t know. She wants to be. Tomorrow is supposed to be the last shot.”

  “Look, you have to tell her, eventually. Can we agree on that?”

  There was no way I could keep it to myself forever. I nodded.

  “Do you think you can wait until after tomorrow night?”

  I picked up my drink. “If I have to.” I knocked it back and set the glass on the table again.

  He rubbed a hand on his jaw. “I don’t know. Maybe you should talk to Rose. She’ll know how to handle this better than anyone.”

  I sighed, shaking my head with my eyes on the empty glass. “How did this happen? When did this happen?”

  “It’s been happening for years, West.”

  “I didn’t know. All this time, I di
dn’t know. I didn’t think I could have her, and I now don’t even know if she wants me. But I want her, Patrick. Right now, I’ll tell you that for a fact. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” It was clarity I’d found, as subtle as a bucket of ice water down my back. “How can I get through a whole night watching her with someone else? How can I keep this from her?”

  “Maybe you should stay home.”

  My brow furrowed. “And leave Maggie and Lily alone to deal with a bunch of drunk assholes? No way.”

  He shrugged. “Then you’ve got to suck it up. Buy yourself some time so you can do this right. You’ve only got one real shot at it. Don’t fuck it up.”

  Don’t fuck it up. No pressure. “Maybe I just shouldn’t ever tell her.” I knew it was an empty threat as soon as I’d said it.

  He gave me a pointed look. “You really think you can keep your mouth shut forever? Because that’s not as easy as it looks.”

  I sighed again.

  Patrick leaned forward. “Listen. Cooper and I will keep your mind off Lily tomorrow night while we’re out. You can be there to check everything out without having to deal with it all alone. We’ve got your back. And tomorrow morning, talk to Rose. She’ll know what to do. If you can catch her early enough, you might end up with enough time to see to Lily before she leaves for the day.”

  Patrick poured me another bourbon as I rubbed my face. I sat back on the couch and sipped it, feeling like I’d aged ten years. “And for now, I wait.”

  He nodded. “You wait.”

  “And I have to tell her.”

  “You do. But not yet.”

  “I can’t not tell her.” I stared at a spot on the wall.

  “Nope.”

  “And she might hate me for it.”

  “Yup.”

  I glanced over at him. “How have you been doing this with Rosie for all this time?”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Because she knows how I feel. I have no choice. I fucked it up, and this is my punishment. There’s no talking about it, and there’s nothing to be done.”