Infini

by Krista Ritchie

  Just co-workers. Always co-workers.

  I stare at the carpet, my stomach clenching.

  Camila twists the lid on her highlighter. “You really weren’t together? Like boyfriend-girlfriend? Friends-with-benefits? Nothing?”

  “No,” I lie and try to subtly deflect. “I can tell you which Kotovas are single, if you’re looking.” I’ll selfishly omit Luka off that list.

  “Not looking.” Camila dusts extra glitter over Katya’s eyelids. “I’m actually seeing someone.”

  “What…when?” Thora asks, collecting the purple-wrapped wardrobe box from the drawer and an envelope.

  “Last night. Craig apologized for being standoffish, and then we had makeup sex.”

  By the shock on Thora’s face, I feel like this isn’t a good thing.

  Thora frowns. “What happened to not touching his dick with a forty-foot pole?”

  “He’s the only dick I’ve ever touched,” Camila says honestly. “He’s my first everything, and I can’t give up on him yet.”

  I empathize with that currently, but not the standoffish part. “What’d he do?” I ask.

  Thora and Camila exchange a heated look. I sense that Camila would rather tell a half-truth but Thora isn’t an advocate.

  “We have a very passionate relationship,” Camila explains vaguely.

  Thora is upset, but she keeps quiet.

  “You and Craig are on-again-off-again?” I realize.

  “More on than off, but for about three years. I was nineteen when I randomly met him. I was eating off the strip at a little café with family, and Craig and I were both waiting for the tiny restroom to free-up. We started talking and instantly clicked.” She uncaps a burgundy lipstick and asks Katya. “Yes? No?”

  Katya smiles. “It’s pretty.”

  And then the loudest, most raucous clamor enters the suite. Rowdy footsteps and too many Russian words and phrases to untangle. We all pause and look at the bedroom door, but no one pounds the wood or slips inside.

  “Damn,” Camila whispers, her honey-brown eyes alight in shock. “Is that all of ‘em?”

  “Probably,” Katya says in a louder voice. “Unless they’re my brothers, they won’t come in here. So they won’t bother you.” She has a rule about “no cousins” allowed in her bedroom, and they all respect her wishes.

  We flinch at the sound of glass shattering, and I roll my eyes. I’m afraid for Rudy. Seriously, I left my potted cactus on the coffee table in the living room and there’s a chance someone will knock him over on purpose.

  Guys, in a huge pack, are idiots. Not all the time, but most of the time, it’s true.

  I’d go save Rudy, but running into a huge hoard of Kotovas is never a good idea. There will be teasing. Inappropriate jokes in Russian and English. If they know you’re cool with it, they’ll even pick you up and throw you over their shoulder.

  I’m not cool with it, but Dimitri will mime the gesture to try and piss me off. I don’t get angry that easily, so it’s a futile mission.

  Camila finishes Katya’s makeup: dark smoky purple, sparkly gray, and shimmery silver. Her orb-like eyes appear less youthful and more sultry. Even with all the glitter.

  Katya can’t stop grinning at her features in the mirror. “Thank you.” She’s about to cry.

  Camila hugs her tight. “I can always show you some tricks and tips when we have more time.”

  “That’d be amazing.”

  I jump at another crash, followed by cheering and laughter. “Shit.” I expel a breath, hoping Rudy is in one piece. Their noise drowns out the soca music—that’s how boisterous they are.

  Returning to my seat on the floor, I apply ruby red lipstick.

  “They’re probably trying to slap Nik’s ass,” Katya tells us. “They always do this two days in a row since we celebrate both of our birthdays on my actual birthday.” Nikolai turned twenty-seven yesterday.

  Camila presses her ear to the door and listens but also whispers to us, “I’m close to my family, but there’s enough girls to offset the rampant testosterone. John is the one with all brothers…” she trails off and her jaw drops. “Oh my God.” She makes a face that sits between humor and what the fuck? “They really love the word tits.”

  I shake my head with a wince. “I don’t know why they can’t call them nipples.”

  “Or nips,” Camila adds.

  “Boobs,” Katya chimes in, carefully opening the envelope.

  Thora stares at the ceiling for a good response. “Breasts?”

  We all laugh with Thora, and then Camila goes quiet, trying to hear through the door again. “Wait,” she says, “they said Baylee.”

  Do I want to know?

  Kind of. Maybe.

  Okay, yeah I do.

  “Someone mentioned ‘tits’ and your name together,” Camila says and pauses to listen more. “Rude, what the hell.”

  I already know, and I don’t care. “They talk about which girls have ‘small tits’ all the time. I’m on the list.” I have A-cups. It’s not a secret, and this list isn’t glamorized. It’s a “meh, don’t touch that” list. I couldn’t care less about their fantasies.

  “Let’s talk about their dicks,” Camila says, crossing her arms. “Which one has a small wiener? I’ll yell it.”

  I’m all about ribbing Dimitri. So I say, “Dimitri has the tiniest dick.”

  Camila grabs the doorknob, but before she opens it, she asks Katya, “If I just stick my head out, will they come in here?”

  “Nope. They’re not allowed.” Katya unfurls Luka’s letter and the actual gift falls to her feet.

  “Perfect.” Camila cracks open the door, not enough to be seen but to be heard, and she yells at the top of her lungs, “DIMITRI HAS THE TINIEST DICK!” Then she slams the door shut.

  We all burst out laughing. I lie on my back, my stomach rising and falling and I have to cover my face with my hands—my smile hurts.

  I hear the commotion outside. Russian curses and then in English, a lot of them shout, “Who was that?! Who is that?”

  I roll on my side, a laughing cramp forming. And then slowly, my humor wanes and my smile softens. I see Katya reading Luka’s letter.

  Love in her glassy eyes, she tries to suppress waterworks because of her makeup. She delicately picks up the fallen item.

  An ID.

  “What’s that?” Camila asks.

  Katya flashes the present. “Luka got me a fake ID. It has my own picture and everything.”

  “Cool brother,” Camila says, and her eyes flit to me with a smile. Like she knows I feel something at the mention of his name. How can she know for sure? I just met Camila.

  My love for Luka can’t be that obvious. Can it? We would’ve been caught from the start of the list.

  Suddenly a few hard knocks rap the door. I flinch.

  Camila backs up and plops down on my bottom bunk, sitting forward in intrigue.

  “You’re not allowed in here!” Katya calls out.

  I strain my ears for the response.

  Act Thirty-One

  Baylee Wright

  “It’s me, Kat!” Luka.

  That was one-hundred percent Luka Kotova. I keep smoothing my lips together, and my arm loosely hangs onto my bent knee. Nervous-excited at even the thought of seeing him right now.

  Katya springs off the desk chair and cracks the door. I piece apart the chaotic shouts. Most of them yell at Luka, “Who’s in there, Luka?! Find out who! Who said Dimitri has a little cock?!”

  Luka ignores his family like it’s just any other day.

  Katya speaks in Russian to her brother, and after a couple exchanged words, she opens the door wider and Luka slips inside. He kicks the door closed.

  And his eyes instantly find me on the floor, his lips surely rising.

  “You’re Luka,” Camila states.

  Luka glances at Camila and nods.

  She swings her head to me. “Accurate description. Spot on.”

  “What?” Luka sm
iles bigger at me.

  I shrug, but I smile off of his as usual. “I described you to her.”

  His brows jump, his grin curving even higher. “You did?”

  I nod and lose track of my next thought. I notice a baggie of ice in his left hand, along with a potted cactus. Rudy.

  Before he nears me, he hugs Katya to his side and says Happy Birthday, Katya in Russian.

  She hugs back and then rises and falls on her tiptoes excitedly. Speaking eagerly in the same language, I assume she’s thanking him for the gift.

  “You already opened it?” he asks in English, his voice tighter than normal.

  “Was I not supposed to?”

  My stomach nosedives like maybe I forgot to intervene. Quickly I double-check our text thread, but Luka never replied to my not yet answer. So whatever he planned, he didn’t inform me.

  “No, it’s…” He stops himself as Katya’s face falls, and he sweeps her makeup with deep, tormented thought. I seriously think he regrets gifting the fake ID.

  Luk.

  I wish I could hug him and remind him that his sister is older than she sometimes appears. She’s seventeen.

  She’s tough-skinned and sweet-hearted. And Kat has the best directional sense. Whenever I forgot where a really good food truck was located, she’d remember and tell me which block it was parked on. I’d trust Katya Kotova with my life, and usually Luka would too.

  So what’s his deal?

  “Luka?” Katya’s voice breaks a little.

  “It’s okay.” He nods a couple times like he’s trying to believe it. They share a look that I can’t translate perfectly. If I had to try, I’d say it’s Katya reassuring him that she’s not naïve and she’s allowed to grow older—and Luka trying to accept this fact.

  Then Luka shakes the baggie of ice and gestures to me.

  Katya smiles and nods like go to her.

  I’m about to stand, but Luka already towers above me, dressed up in dark jeans and a white button-down. Squatting, he becomes eye-level with me. He passes me the ice but hangs onto my cactus.

  I roll up the sleeve of my robe, genuinely scared about Rudy now. The ice touches my bandage, and my shoulders relax at the cold that soothes my second-degree burn.

  I have no idea if the other girls are watching us. I’m concentrated on the potted succulent more than I probably should be.

  “He’s not in pieces?” I ask, seeing an intact ceramic pot.

  “Still alive,” Luka assures me. “He just has a little more character than before.” He waits like he’s ensuring I’ll be okay with the incoming news.

  My features plummet. “Who took a knife to Rudy?”

  “I don’t know,” he breathes, not denying that someone cut my cactus.

  My fingers touch the watery corners of my eyes, and I try to speak—to say something like: it doesn’t matter or it’s just a cactus. It’s just a thing.

  I must not believe those words because I can’t find the strength to say them. I gather my thoughts, and softly, so only he can hear, I ask, “What kind of character?”

  Luka reaches out to touch my cheek, but he stops short. Hesitating. He drops his hand, and my chest caves with his. Hold me.

  Kiss me.

  Luka licks his lips and then hands me the pot. “You have to turn it.”

  I rotate Rudy, and my face contorts.

  The bulbous lump on Rudy’s backside has been hacked off. I try to process this into an emotion other than heavy sadness. I keep swallowing and swallowing. I see no point in racing out to the living room and accusing every Kotova. It doesn’t really matter who did it.

  What’s done is done. Yelling feels worthless.

  Still, it hurts. “He looks awful,” is all I can say. My nose runs before my eyes leak, and I wipe my upper-lip with my arm.

  Luka can’t hold back any longer. He wraps a strong, sturdy arm around my shoulders and draws me to his chest. I place Rudy down and clutch Luka’s sides tightly.

  Kiss me.

  He kisses the top of my head. Taking the risk in front of the girls. Then he tugs my body even closer, and his heartbeat thuds right against mine.

  My cheek to his collar, I eye the round cactus, and I think about how Luka found this pot in a chaotic living room full of men. And he knew to protect what was left of Rudy for me.

  Immense, boundless affection swells inside my body, and I inhale a deeper breath than before. “Thank you,” I say in a whisper.

  Luka cups my cheek, not resisting anymore. Lips to my ear, he murmurs, “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here, Bay. It’s not a dream. It’s real life.”

  I try to believe in a reality where we can touch in front of people.

  And hold one another.

  It’s happening right now.

  It’s happening.

  I breathe easier, and I lift my head to see all three girls trying not to gawk. But they see us. Luka kneeling on the floor. Clasping my cheek with tenderness and care. Me gripping his waist like I’m afraid he’ll leave soon.

  I’m the first to reluctantly let go, and he slowly follows suit. His gaze travels with mine to Thora, Camila, and Katya. I don’t know what to say, but I rise to my feet with Luka, our fingers the only part of us that consistently touch.

  Camila is the only one who doesn’t know the “cocaine” rumor, so I’m not surprised by her curiosity. “You’re really not together?” she asks while untying her messy bun. Curly brown hair cascades down her chest.

  “No,” Luka and I say in unison.

  He’s less tense than me. Casual. At ease. He stuffs his hand in his jean’s pocket. “We used to be best friends.”

  “Best friends who kiss, right?” She wears a teasing smile.

  Katya, sitting cross-legged on her desk chair and clutching the wardrobe box, interjects, “They couldn’t; Aerial Ethereal has a huge rule about minors not being allowed to date or hook up inside the company, and they were friends as teenagers.”

  Technically I’m still a teenager at nineteen, but thankfully an adult in the eyes of society.

  Camila recoils. “What kind of rule is that?”

  A terrible one.

  Luka and I stay absolutely silent. Like our secret history is seconds from being broadcasted. In this room, no one knows that we’ve confronted this rule.

  “It makes sense,” Katya says. “They employ kids, and they want everyone underage to focus on the profession, not hooking up. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen in secret, but everyone who’s been caught has been fired. So most don’t even try.”

  Camila has her chin in her palm, looking between Luka and me. “Why’d you two stop being friends?”

  I can’t tell if she’s connecting all of these tiny pieces together and finding the real picture that we’ve been sworn to hide forever.

  I open my mouth, but I notice Katya pondering so hard that her brows pinch together. Just as I’m about to say our lie (drugs), she swivels on her chair to Luka.

  “You two…you never secretly dated, did you?”

  He has to lie.

  He can’t tell the truth.

  Luka shields most of his heartbreak, but I see it shatter in the creases of his eyes. I know that pain. I feel it every single time I lie to Brenden.

  Meeting Katya’s gaze straight-on, he says, “Never. Baylee and I were only just friends. Nothing else” He goes even further. “I promise I would’ve told you…” if he could have.

  It hurts to hear him lie to someone he loves.

  Katya nods, believing him without falter. “That’s what I thought.”

  Luka swings his head to Camila. “We stopped being friends when we were caught doing drugs.”

  “Wow.” Camila has nothing else to add but that, and I try to compartmentalize my feelings. I pick up Rudy and place him on my windowsill. All the while, I feel the heat of Luka’s gaze.

  I nudge Katya’s chair with my foot. “You can open your present from me.”

  Katya slips off a tiny card
beneath the bow. Flipping the card, she laughs and flashes the script to everyone. I wrote: For Posh Spice.

  Then she begins unwrapping the purple paper.

  I still feel Luka staring at me. It makes me curious. I’m supposed to be the observer here.

  Maybe he’s wondering how I am. I take a breath, and I brave a glance his way.

  Luka leans coolly against the wall, a Nova Vega show poster hung above his tousled dark hair. The longer I observe him, soaking up his features—his nonchalant, relaxed posture and radiant eyes—the more his lips upturn.

  And then he mouths, I love you.

  I feel my smile emerge, and I press my fingers to my lips. My eyes dart cautiously to the other girls, but their focus isn’t on this captivating, heartbreakingly gorgeous guy.

  Luka acts like he’s invisible, but I see him. All of him.

  His earnest grin grows brighter. Like a shooting star across blanketed, quiet night.

  Katya gasps, and our gazes break.

  She springs to her feet, eyes big. Tissue paper flutters to the floor, and a sequined, gunmetal gray dress is draped over her arm.

  With shaking hands and fixated eyes, she reads a birthday card from the designer of that particular dress.

  “What is it?” Camila asks.

  Katya tries to play it cool, but she’s almost hyperventilating. “Rose Calloway wrote me a birthday note. She’s my…” role model. “She means so much to me.” Katya sniffs loudly, stifling tears. “She wrote ‘Katya, confidence starts within, and I believe this dress will help add fire to your strut. Be you. Be proud. Happy 17th Birthday, from one powerful woman to another.’” Kat looks to all of us. “Rose Calloway called me powerful.”

  We’re all tearing up at Katya’s reaction to that. She wafts her hand by her face. I can practically hear her don’t ruin your makeup chant.

  Katya sniffs again and then she wraps her arms around my shoulders. “Thanks, Baylee. This was…”

  “You don’t have to say.” I hug back, my arms around her waist. “I know what it means to you.” I wish I could’ve given her Marvin, but our stuffed dinosaur is part of a past that has no place for our future.

  We’re both grown. And moving somewhere else.