The Cover Girls crowd isn’t what I expect it to be.
Sydney, Willa, and I are shivering on the sidewalk outside a tiny legendary jazz club waiting to get in. The line is full of college kids with undercuts, women in tight dresses who look like they’d be friends with my mom, and guys with goatees and graying hair. This is one of the few clubs in the city that admits people under twenty-one, but we’re waiting for Willa’s ex, Lulu, who swore she could get us in without paying cover (as long as we bought a drink) and promised she’d save us seats near the front.
“Jesus, it’s fucking freezing,” Sydney says. She’s wearing sparkling eye shadow that makes her look like she’s famous, and bright diamond stud earrings in the shape of stars. Willa’s pulled her choppy black hair up with dozens of bobby pins and circled her dark eyes with a dark blue liner that matches the night sky. I’m in the lacy black dress I wore to Sloane’s Halloween party, because I’m eager to give the dress a new memory, and Sydney let me borrow a pair of her earrings. Soft black tassels swing from my ears.
We huddle closer together with our arms interlocked, and Sydney threatens that her toes and fingers and the tops of her ears are going to fall off. “Nothing’s going to fall off,” Willa promises. She disentangles herself from us and cups Sydney’s hands in hers. As Willa blows on Sydney’s cold fingers, her messy bangs blow across her eyes and I can see why girls fall for her by the dozen. I pull out my phone to take a picture of them standing so close together and Sydney grins wide.
“Wasn’t Lulu supposed to be here by now?” I ask, just as the side door we’re standing next to swings open and nearly hits me. Sydney screams, and I laugh, and Willa says, “Yaaassssss,” and pulls a pretty Indian girl with long, straight hair into her arms. Lulu, I assume.
“OMG.” The girl actually says the letters, looking at us over Willa’s shoulder. “You guys look hot.”
“Lu, this is Sydney. That’s Cleo. Syd and Kid, this is Lucia Gupta, aka Lulu G,” Willa says, quickly introducing us. Willa bites her bottom lip and looks Lulu up and down. Lulu blushes. “You don’t look half bad yourself. Thanks for the hookup,” I hear Willa whisper. We say hello, slide past Lulu, and step inside the warm building.
Inside the club, the show hasn’t started yet. We have to buy a drink, so I head to the bar for a club soda with lime. Sydney gets cranberry juice and grabs Willa a Coke because she’s still lingering behind us, talking to Lulu. Sydney’s face is all screwed up.
“You pissed she’s flirting with Lulu?” I ask Sydney.
“No,” she says, way too quickly for it to be true. I tilt my head and take a sip of my drink, making a yeah, right face. “Maybe,” Sydney admits.
“Sorry I haven’t asked you,” I say, “but how are things with you two? In the feelings category, I mean. Do you still like her?”
Sydney looks across the small room. Lulu is pointing to three chairs in the second row where she’s tented tiny slips of paper that say RESERVED for us. Willa touches her on the elbow and leans forward to whisper something in her ear.
“Yeah,” Sydney finally answers. “But I’m trying not to.”
“How’s that working out for you?” I ask. She shrugs and pouts. “Have you talked to her about it?”
Sydney shakes her head. “I can’t. Or I guess I don’t want to risk it. We’re just getting back to being friends. But like, when she grabbed my hands outside, I thought I was going to die.”
“They’re going on soon,” Willa says. She’s suddenly just behind me, and she tosses her arm across my shoulders. “It was so nice of Lulu to save us those seats, right?”
Sydney smiles widely. “Sure was!” she says too brightly. I hand Willa her Coke, and as we make our way to our seats, I allow myself to get a little excited. The band steps out onto the low stage, and a tall woman who looks like Lulu will look in a few years pulls the mic from its stand.
“How y’all doing tonight?” she asks in a breathy voice. And soft whistles and applause spill from the audience. I cross my ankles and lean forward, wanting to be closer to the sound of her. Her speaking voice isn’t that different from the recordings of her singing that Willa had played for me. “That’s Daya ‘The Duke’ Lopez on the bass. Jimi ‘Jax’ Coleman on the keys. And I’m Charm. Just Charm.” More whistling and clapping fills the small room and I nudge Willa, who is right beside me.
“The nicknames,” I whisper. She grins and squeezes my hand.
“We’re the Cover Girls. Mind if we play you a few songs?”
They’re more amazing live than I could have imagined. Charm sings covers of Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Bessie Smith, and even a song by Etta James, the opening hook of which appeared in a really popular EDM song.
Sydney says, “Wait, this was an Etta James song first?” and I nod. “Is nothing in this world original anymore?” she whispers dramatically. And Willa shushes her.
Each song spills into the next, and I am completely enraptured. Some are fast, some are slow, and I soon realize that we’re in one of those all-night clubs where the music doesn’t end until the sun comes up.
“I’m gonna grab another drink,” I say to Willa.
“I’ll come with you,” she says.
“Want anything?” I ask Sydney. She shakes her head, her leg never stopping its steady bounce to the song the band is playing.
At the bar I order another club soda and check my phone. Willa orders another Coke and leans forward to ask the bartender something. I have a missed call from my dad and a text from him too.
Take a cab to my place after your show.
Your mother doesn’t want you on the subway this late.
I don’t want to go, but I’ve been avoiding him for days. And his place is much closer to the Village than Mom’s and mine.
Fine. But Mom said I could stay out till midnight.
I know, he sends back. And I want to tell him he doesn’t know anything, but I just lean against the bar and direct my eyes back to the stage.
“They’re so good, right?” Willa asks. I nod and smile a little, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes.
“You okay?” Willa says next. And I consider lying, but then I just…don’t. I shake my head and look at her spiky black hair instead of her steady, dark eyes.
“Not really. My dad’s an ass,” I say. Willa tosses an arm over my shoulder.
“Ah,” she says. “Mine too. He likes to think he’s the reason I’m gay. And I mean, I get it. He’s really full of himself and total trash, but it’s like he doesn’t understand that I exist outside and in spite of his idiocy. You know? I would have been me no matter what.”
Charm starts to sing “At Last,” and Willa says, “God, I love this song. It’s like, devastatingly romantic.” She looks over at me then and squeezes my shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re hanging out with us, dude! It’s like you were the missing piece to our puzzle.” I smile, feeling so grateful for both of them—for Sydney’s sincerity and Willa’s unmerited affection. For the beginnings of our tenuous but gentle friendship. It won’t be a snow globe. It won’t be perfect because nothing real ever is. But it will be ours.
Right before we head back to our seats, I stop Willa with a hand on her forearm. I think about Sydney, the hurt in her eyes every time Willa was a little too nice to another girl. It may not be my truth to tell, but I can’t tiptoe through the rest of my life—the rest of my relationships—hoping not to do or say the wrong thing. Part of real friendship is not keeping secrets, and I don’t want there to be anything between me, Willa, and Sydney when we’re all still so new at this. I say, “You should talk to Sydney. I’ll stay here.”
“What?” Willa asks. She looks from me to our table and back again.
“Just talk to her,” I say again. “Let the devastatingly romantic song give you strength.”
She still looks a little confused, but she makes her way
back over to our friend. She sits down beside her and starts talking. Sydney looks at me with daggers in her eyes, but I’d rather she be mad at me now than hurt by Willa later. They keep talking and Charm’s smooth voice fills the air and I watch them. Sydney shakes her head and looks down, and Willa places her hand under Sydney’s chin. Then it looks like Sydney wipes her eyes. And Willa’s go wide. I see her lips make the shape of “Really?” and Sydney nods. Then they hug, chins tucked over each other’s thin shoulders, and when they let go, they look up at the stage. I wait, just to make sure they’re done before I head over.
Neither of them says anything about what happened, and I don’t ask. I think I’m only realizing now that every friendship is an island. Willa and Sydney’s relationship doesn’t have anything to do with what’s between me and Willa or how much I care about Sydney. We are all important to each other in different but similar ways, and that’s all that matters.
At eleven-thirty, I tell them I have to go. They have later curfews than me, but after I hug Willa goodbye, Sydney walks me to coat check and stands with me while we wait for the woman in the closet to grab my jacket.
“Thanks,” Sydney says, and I know she’s thanking me for telling Willa to talk to her even though she doesn’t say it. She nudges me with her elbow. I squeeze her tight before walking out into the cold.
I’m about a block away from the club when I realize my gloves are missing. “Shit,” I say, checking the time. I should still make it home before curfew even if I go back to look for them, but I’ll be cutting it close. I retrace my steps quickly, heading back to the club, scanning the sidewalk as I go.
“Are there any gloves on the floor in there?” I ask when I push inside the club and squeeze through the crowd to get to coat check. “They’re black and leather with a fuzzy fringe?”
The woman says she’ll check, so I look back up at the stage while I wait. My eyes search the crowd for Willa and Sydney too. It takes a minute to find them because Sydney’s back is to the door. But when I do, Willa’s fingers are all tangled in Sydney’s curls, while Sydney’s hand is on Willa’s cheek. They’re kissing, I realize all in a rush, and my mouth falls open. I look away quickly, because everything about the kiss feels private and special—like something I wasn’t meant to see.
But a few minutes later, as I dig around in my purse for a tip after the woman hands me my gloves, and then for the whole ride home, I can’t stop grinning.
* * *
—
When I get to my dad’s, he’s waiting for me. He’s sitting on his small sofa and there’s a pot of tea on the stove. I kick off my shoes and pour myself a cup. I sit down across from him and tuck my feet underneath me.
“So, Baby Girl,” he says, not mincing words. “I won’t be able to sleep until we clear the air. At least a little. So do your worst. Where do you want to start?”
Even though it’s late, I’m wired from the show, so I ask him to tell me everything, from the very beginning. Did he think Ms. Novak was pretty the very first time he saw her? Did he leave Chisholm because he thought his feelings would go away? Why wasn’t he honest with Mom sooner? Or with me at all? Did he realize that they had ruined absolutely everything?
He answers every cruel question I throw in his direction. And he answers honestly. Something about how upset he looks as he speaks lets me know he’s finally telling me the whole truth. He was isolated after Gigi died because I was lost in my grief for her, and Mom worked more than she did anything else.
“It isn’t an excuse,” he says. “But I loved her too, you know. She was your grandmother, and she was Naomi’s mother, but she was important to me too. I felt like I couldn’t be sad because your sadnesses were bigger.” He stands up and pours more tea for both of us. “I was lonely,” he says simply. “Mia made me less so.” He watches me sip with forlorn eyes, and I watch him right back, trying to see past the person I thought he was and straight through to who he really is.
Just before I head to bed, I realize I have one more question for him. “Are you going to pursue a relationship with her?” I ask, thinking more of how this might affect Mom the most. I’m thinking about parent-teacher conferences and school fundraisers. I’m thinking about how Mom would have to bear witness to the painful truth of them being together.
Daddy looks at his feet. He clasps his hands, and then he looks back up at me. “To be honest,” he says, “I’m not really sure. She wants to, but I don’t know what a relationship with her would look like. Especially while you’re still a student at Chisholm.” He puts the tips of his fingers on the table between us, but then he lets his hand fall away. “I don’t want to do anything else that causes you or your mother more pain.”
For the first time, it occurs to me that Daddy might be the biggest loser in all of this. He gave up most of his life—a job, a family, a home—all for a love he may not even get to experience. But the heart is strange and life is even stranger. Sometimes love can devastate.
I tell him about the Cover Girls. It’s a small kindness I feel I owe him for being so honest with me about everything. I tell him about Charm’s gorgeous voice and how tiny the club was and that Willa and Sydney are new friends I hope I can hold on to. He listens and laughs and things feel as close to normal as they’ve felt in days. Then I say the most important thing. I stand up, still cupping my mug in my hands. I imagine this moment as something I’ll keep forever: us exactly as we are, encased in glass, glitter fluttering around us like stars.
“I think I forgive you. And Mom. But I’m still upset. And I probably will be for a while.”
He nods. “I know, Baby Girl. Sweet dreams.”
In my room, it hits me that I’ve always known that I wasn’t perfect. I screw things up all the time. So I don’t know why I expected Daddy or Mom or Layla to be any better than me. Anything more than human.
I text Dom.
You up?
Yeah, he sends back instantly.
Hi.
Hi.
I talked to my dad.
How’d it go?
I send a shrugging emoji.
You know that line from A Midsummer Night’s Dream: “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind”?
It’s late, he sends after a long minute. I don’t know if I can stay with you and your Shakespeare quotes right now but I’ll try.
I laugh a little.
I guess what I don’t get is how you’re supposed to start seeing things more clearly.
No one tells you that, and I don’t want to be blindsided again like I was with Layla. Like I was with my dad.
I want to love the people I love with my eyes wide open.
I can tell Dom doesn’t know what to say, and I guess there’s no easy answer to this. And I wish I could kiss him. I wish I could touch the smooth skin on the back of his hand and along the straight line of his collarbone.
I wish I could kiss you right now, he sends. And then, Tell me about the show.
I grin again, and I tell him everything.
EPILOGUE
Everything feels like a memory in the snow, but in the sun, everything feels new.
The day of Dolly’s Open Mic Night is unseasonably sunny and warm, and it feels like a sign, a good one, when I wake up to the day’s brightness.
In the end, Daddy probably helped spread the word about Open Mic Night more than anyone else. I asked him to hang up flyers, and he plastered the whole library with them, invited all the librarians, and told them to bring friends. Mom helped too, inviting some of her friends and even a few clients. I know my dad is going so above and beyond because he’s trying to redeem himself, and I won’t pretend that I’m not taking full advantage of his desire to make things right. Still, a part of me knows he can’t help how he feels about Ms. Novak, the same way I can’t help how I feel about Dom.
Willa tells the softball team, an
d Jase and Mase rope in most of the soccer kids. I tell choice people in my classes, and I put up flyers in the library, and even one right on the door of my locker.
So when Willa, Sydney, and I head to Dolly’s around six to see if there are any last-minute things we need to do, the dining room is packed, and there’s a line out the door. People are ordering small plates, and Dom is getting nervous they won’t have enough food to last the night since the program doesn’t even officially start for another hour.
“This is…unexpected,” I say.
“It’s so awesome, though,” Sydney squeals, flipping her soft curls to one side of her face.
“Can we do anything to help?” I ask Pop when I find him.
“If you wouldn’t mind hostessing—” he says, and Sydney cuts him off.
“Cleo will hostess, I’ll help take orders. Willa will handle the door. We should have charged a cover!” Sydney says. Pop just grins, but I can tell he’s relieved.
“I told you it would be great,” I whisper as I head to the hostess stand.
By the time seven hits, the diner is standing room only. I have a list of about ten people waiting to get tables and order food. Willa started taking names of people who actually want to perform, and she has a list that’s almost a page long.
I ask Sydney to take over hostessing for me while I walk up to the mic to do a short introduction.
“Thanks so much for coming out, everyone. Dolly’s is such an important pillar of this community that we wanted to reintroduce this place to some of our newest neighbors. We hope you enjoy the performances, and if this is an event everyone likes, we’ll bring it back next month.”
Everyone applauds.
“Without further ado, I’d like to welcome our first guest.”
Mason comes on stage and I hand over the mic. “I’m Mase. And I’m going to try some jokes out on you guys, if that’s cool.”
When You Were Everything Page 26