by Kelly, Hazel
I sat back on my heels wondering where he came up with this stuff. Didn’t he know how easily checked that was? I’d rather chew gum I scraped off the sidewalk than run a fucking marathon. What the hell was wrong with him? Then again, the more I stayed out of the spotlight, the easier it was for him to imagine bolder and bolder explanations for why I was too busy to write songs for him anymore.
Last year he said I was planning to sail the world. The year before that I was supposedly volunteering in South Africa. I was starting to think he was genuinely embarrassed by the life I was actually living.
Fucking Everest. Asshole knows I hate the cold. And that get back in shape comment? I was never out of shape. That was him. He was the one who got addicted to pain meds and spent two years in rehab trying to hide the fact that he was the fat twin all of a sudden.
Back in shape. Unbelievable. I hoped my parents were watching this horseshit. Maybe then they’d understand why my visits were so few and far between.
It wasn’t just Max, though. I couldn’t stand L.A. Sure, the weather was great, but it was so hard to be real with people. Everyone either wants something from you or wants you to want something from them, and no one ever says what they mean, much less anything of substance. And having been in the spotlight before, it’s impossible to go unrecognized there.
But that fame? It's not real. If anything, it masks anything that is real. Which is why I couldn’t bring myself to be madder at my brother for inventing his own reality. After all, why shouldn’t he? He lived in a place where you were only as legit as the rumors you started about yourself.
I grabbed the small towel next to my mat and wiped it down before patting the beads of sweat off my brow. Then I slapped the towel over my bare shoulder and turned the TV up a few notches so I could hear his new single, which apparently launched last week.
Of course, you’d have to listen to the radio to know that, an activity I avoided since I found most of the songs littering today’s pop charts were exactly that: trash.
“How about that?” I asked Otis, pointing at the TV. “He’s playing the guitar.” Not very convincingly, but I was proud of him for trying instead of relying on his voice like he’d done in the past. Shame he hadn’t started sooner. He wasn’t half bad. Good enough to fool someone who didn’t know those four chords, anyway.
I listened to the song, genuinely hoping I’d like it, but the more I listened, the more forgettable it became. Even the bridge lacked punch. But that was only my opinion.
Sarah seemed to like it. So did the studio audience.
And I found myself hoping I was wrong, hoping it would be a hit. Hoping it would make him as famous and rich as he always wanted to be.
T H R E E
- Maeve -
My little sister was focused on her phone when I arrived at our favorite brunch spot, so I made it all the way to the narrow table before she looked up, her face brightening when she saw me.
“Hey!” she said, slipping her phone in the Coach purse I bought her for Christmas.
“Hi.” I took my coat off and shoved my scarf in the sleeve before hanging it over the chair across from her. “Hope you weren’t waiting long,” I said, taking a seat as my eyes dropped to the tiny Santa hat on top of the mini cactus in the center of the table.
“Not at all,” she said. “I got here early because I thought the place would be packed, but I guess people aren’t as sick of Christmas leftovers as I am.”
“Mom gave you leftovers? She didn’t give me shit.”
Maddy shrugged. “She split them between James and Quinn. I only got access through association.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said, sliding my napkin off the table.
“Agreed. But at least we know where we stand, right?”
My lips went slack.
“Did Kurt have a nice Christmas?”
"Yeah,” I said, though I hadn’t a clue. We’d spoken briefly on the phone Christmas Eve, but I hadn’t seen him since the holiday party. I hadn’t even had a chance to give him his presents, which included a voucher for an online chess class delivered by one of his personal heroes, a bottle of Brunello, and a riveting tome called 1000 Golf Courses You Should Play Before You Die.
She blinked at me and waited in vain for further explanation. “You guys going to make an appearance at Alicia’s New Year’s Eve Party?”
“I’m not sure.”
Maddy furrowed her brow. “Don’t tell me you’re staying in?”
I dropped my eyes to the menu in front of me. The truth was we hadn’t talked about New Year’s Eve yet. Not specifically. I mean, we’d sort of hinted at doing something—maybe a nice dinner—but we hadn’t made any reservations. That said, I hated her assumption that I was going to stay in, hated that everyone always assumed that. The only thing I hated more was going out. “I don’t know what we’re going to do yet.” It felt like a lie. Particularly the we’re part. Surely I should know already if Kurt and I were going to see each other that night? I kept reading the menu even though I always got the same thing.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said without looking up.
“Maeve.”
I lifted my gaze. “What?”
“You seem stressed.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I asked. “It’s the holidays.”
“Are you guys having problems?”
I sighed. I really didn’t want to vent to my baby sister, but I was in uncharted territory here, and I didn’t know what to do. “I don’t know.”
“Talk to me.” Her pretty face filled with concern. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I said, recalling my unceremonious departure from the Christmas party. I knew it was juvenile to play games, but I hadn’t texted him to say I got home safe and then…crickets. “It’s just…” How could I open up to her without sounding totally pathetic?
Her chin inched towards me.
“Do you think I might be…broken?”
“What?!”
I glared at her for answering so loudly.
“No,” she said, lowering her voice. “Why would you even suggest that?”
“Forget it.”
“Maeve.”
I waved a hand between us. “Broken’s not the right word. Never mind.” I wasn’t broken. I knew that. I was just being insecure, which wasn’t a good look for anyone.
“You’re the least broken person I know,” Maddy said. “For real. You’re like the person broken people come to when they need put back together.”
I smiled. What a lovely thing to say. If only I knew whether she said it because she meant it or because her world would spin off its axis if I didn’t keep it together.
“Did someone say something to you?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s more what hasn’t been said.”
Her brows knitted. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m a little worried I might’ve put my life on hold for a guy who’s never going to care about me the way…” Quinn cares for you. Or James cares for Brie. “I want him to.” God, this was pathetic.
“I thought things were going well with you guys,” she said. “What’s triggered this doubt?”
“I guess our relationship just feels a little stagnant. Like it isn’t where it should be.”
“Where do you want it to be?”
I scrunched my face. “Somewhere else?”
She cocked her head. “Care to elaborate?”
I shrugged. “I’d have a baby right now if I hadn’t met him.” When he asked me out, I’d narrowed my search down to three sperm donors. Three men who would’ve happily impregnated me without filling me with insecurities, cheap Chinese food, and the urge to feign interest in golf.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying he’s acting like he’s got all the time in the world because he does, while I feel like I’m in purgatory, drifting farther and farther from the things I know I want.�
��
“Maybe he’s not handling your promotion as well as you thought. Could that be it?”
“He said he was fine.” I thought back to the flowers he got me when the news broke. The fact that he was happy for me despite having been brushed aside for the position himself seemed a sign of maturity. Then again, our sex life had tapered in the last few weeks. Was my promotion the reason, and I’d been refusing to see it? “Am I supposed to not believe him?”
“I have no idea,” she said. “I’m just trying to guess why things might be off.”
“Maybe I’m not fun enough.”
Maddy laughed.
My eyes widened. “Is that funny?”
“Just because you’re a workaholic homebody doesn’t mean you’re not fun.”
“Gee, when you say it like that, it makes me wonder why there’s not a line around the block full of guys who want to take me out.”
“Come on, Maeve. That’s not exactly news.”
“‘Homebody’ and ‘workaholic’ are strong words.”
“Strong, maybe,” she said. “But not undeserved.”
I couldn’t argue with her since I was unabashedly those things. But I was also morally opposed to changing myself just so I could be more compatible with a guy who was imperfect in his own ways. Besides, since when was being a homebody socially unacceptable?
For the amount of Netflix everyone seemed to be watching, there was no way I was the only person whose happiness was directly correlated to how much time I spent in my pajamas. But that’s the hideous thing about relationships. They make you question how loveable you are, and there’s nothing more exhausting.
“I guess life was just easier when I didn’t care what anyone thought of me,” I admitted finally. “I much preferred focusing on my own interests to all this wondering whether I’m loveable and attractive and worth knocking up.”
“Maeve,” Maddy said. “You are all those things.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“True for me to say.”
I forced a smile, but opening up to her had only increased my frustration.
“I bet any guy in here would love to knock you up.”
“I don’t want just any guy to do it,” I said, dreading the thought of going back to the drawing board. “I want the right guy to do it.”
“It sounds like you don’t think Kurt’s The Guy anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” I said. “If he doesn’t want to be The Guy, I’m wasting my time.”
Maddy’s brown eyes shone with a pity that threatened to spoil my appetite.
“How did you know?” I asked suddenly.
“How did I know what?”
“That you wanted to team up with Quinn forever.”
She considered the question for a moment before answering. “I like who I am with him,” she said. “And I like the woman I think I could become with him by my side.
I nodded. “So he doesn’t make you feel like a lame party pooper?”
“No,” she said. “Never.”
“Fuck,” I mumbled. “Let’s get some drinks already.”
F O U R
- Finn -
I stood in the middle of The Third Policeman with my arms crossed and looked around.
Brian stepped up and laid a hand on my shoulder. “Not too shabby, eh?”
My eyes followed the silver and gold tinsel from one side of the dark bar to the other, my gaze dipping when it came to the Happy New Year banner hanging over the small stage. Beneath it, Jimmy was sound checking our gear. “Sorry I was a Scrooge about the balloons.”
He put his hands on his hips. “You were a Scrooge, but you’re probably right. It’s hard enough to hear orders behind the bar without drunkards ordering rounds in high-pitched helium voices.”
“Everything alright?” I called to Jimmy when I noticed his face was furrowed at his bass guitar.
“Fine,” he said without looking up. “Just trying to decide if I’d be better off with Mary tonight.”
“What’s wrong with Sheila?” I asked, walking over to him. Part of me felt silly calling his instruments by name. The kid wasn’t fucking BB King. Then again, part of me thought it was sweet. Reminded me of the good old days when I, too, preferred instruments to people.
“Her G-string keeps getting loose faster than the rest,” Jimmy explained. “It’s pissing me off.”
I glanced at Brian.
“New Year’s can be unpredictable,” he said. “Mary’s safer at home.”
“She sounded great last night,” I said, nodding towards the white bass. “But there are spare strings in my kit bag if you need ’em.”
“Make it quick, though,” Brian said. “There’s a toilet in the women’s bathroom that needs unclogged, and it’s your turn.”
Jimmy scowled at him as my phone buzzed in my back pocket. I excused myself and headed towards the back entrance to take the call. “Hey,” I said. “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year!” my folks cried in unison.
I stepped into the alley behind the bar, wishing my leather jacket had a collar to keep the biting Chicago cold off my neck. “I was just about to call you guys. What are you up to tonight?”
“We’re going to a neighbor’s house,” my mom said. “Same neighbors as last year.”
“The Spanish people who made you eat the grapes at midnight?”
“I didn’t eat the grapes,” my dad said. “And my year turned out fine.”
“Good for you, Dad,” I said, half-teasingly. God knows he had nothing against grapes, just other people telling him what to do and when.
“Why didn’t you tell us you wanted to climb Everest?” my mom asked.
I rolled my eyes and stepped back against the brick wall so a delivery truck could pass by. “I don’t want to climb Everest, Mom. Max wants me to climb Everest.”
“What?” she asked, her confusion palpable. “Why would he want that?”
I understood her bafflement. Despite the strained relationship I had with my brother, we’d done a good job leaving my parents out of it. So while it was obvious to me why Max liked the idea of me freezing my nuts off in Nepal, my parents didn’t get it.
They thought I left the band for health reasons, which was true. Mental health reasons. Like the anxiety I felt from trying to constantly suppress thoughts of punching sweet Maxy in the face. To his credit, though, he did look after them out in Cali, and for that, I didn’t think he was a total lost cause.
“It’s an inside joke,” I said finally. “He’s only daring me to do it because he knows how much I hate the cold.”
“So you’re not going to?” my mom asked. “Because your father and I looked into it, and it’s very dangerous.”
“More than three hundred people have died trying to reach the summit,” my dad explained.
“I don’t think he was suggesting I go to the summit,” I said, hoping they couldn’t detect the lack of conviction in my voice. Surely, he didn’t want me to die up there. Unless things were more fucked between us than I thought.
“Oh good,” my mom said breathlessly, as if she’d been aching for permission to stop ringing her hands.
“The trek to base camp is much safer,” my dad said. “Assuming your body can handle the decrease in oxygen. Some people can’t, you know. It’s biology. Nothing to do with how prepared you are.”
“I’m not climbing Everest,” I said, frustration invading my tone. “I’m staying put in Chicago. And I’m too busy with work to spend my weekends running up and down the landfills on the Wisconsin border wearing a weighted backpack.”
“You don’t have to get defensive,” my dad said.
“Yeah,” my mom added. “We were only trying to be supportive.”
Christ. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I appreciate that."
“I know you have a life there, honey,” she said, like she didn’t believe I had a life at all.
“But if you hate the cold so much, you could always come out here.”
“At least for a visit,” my dad said. “Would be nice to see you.”
“I miss you guys, too,” I said, deciding not to waste my breath explaining why I needed seasons. To each their own and everything, but being warm and cozy all year made people soft in a way I didn’t want to be soft. Plus, for as much as I detested winter, fall and spring inspired me, and inspiration was pretty much all that mattered to me these days. Besides The Third Policeman. And Otis. And those snotty-nosed kids at the Y whose enthusiasm for learning guitar was the highlight of my week. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can make it out to see you until next year.”
They laughed. “Good one,” my dad said.
“We’ll look forward to that,” my mom added.
“Well. Happy New Year, guys.” I pulled the heavy alley door open. “Have some grapes for me.”
I shoved my phone in my pocket and made my way back down the narrow hall, passing the bathrooms on my left and the door to the beer garden on my right. As soon as I entered the main room, Brian appeared and shoved a plunger at me.
“I thought it was Jimmy’s turn?”
“He’s restringing Sheila, and we’re running out of time.”
“But I’m The Talent,” I joked, my expression drooping.
“I appreciate that, Talent, but no one will enjoy your pretty voice if it stinks in here.”
I grabbed the plunger from him. “It’s times like these when I regret letting you have that extra percent.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, turning his back on me. “Come help me unload the dishwashers when you’re done.”
F I V E
- Maeve -
When Kurt told me he’d have to meet me at Alicia’s, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. I brushed it aside, though, choosing to focus on how pleased I was that he’d agreed to come.
After all, there was no way I could bail. I already promised James and Maddy I’d be there, and they were obnoxiously excited that I’d finally accepted an invitation to one of Alicia’s infamous parties. Plus, even though I always thought going out on New Year’s was for amateurs, something was stirring in me, and I was feeling strangely antsy in my own skin. Like something had to change. Like I had to change.