by Zoey Castile
“What the fuck?” I yell as Aiden and Vin launch themselves on my bed. One of them hits my ribs with his elbow like we’re in the ring of an MMA fight. I work my way out of the tangle of my comforter. “What are you guys doing here?”
Fallon pushes himself up from leaning on the wall. His blue-green eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, I relive that terrible two-day ride. He doesn’t approach me, giving me space. But I decide to nut-up and hug my brother.
“We got an SOS from Ricky,” he says, and slaps my back.
Vin makes an “aww” sound from the bed, and Aiden chucks a pillow at his head.
“You should really start locking your doors,” says Gary, a smirk on his clean-shaven face. His brown hair is longer, but still not as long as mine. “Anyone could walk in.”
Something wells up in my chest as I greet all of them. Even Lucky Kris and Greg are here, and I haven’t seen them since before Vegas. They’re all here. I wonder how many times I’m allowed to apologize before my words stop meaning anything. But I have to start somewhere.
“Guys, I’m sorry. For everything. That night, I was a dick to each and every one of you.” I look around the room. Make amends, Ricky had said. “I can’t believe you’re here after some of the things I did. Aiden—”
Aiden sits up against my headboard. He combs fingers through his black hair away from his eyes, a beard cropping up. “We would have come sooner if you’d called.”
“I guess, part of me didn’t want to test that theory.”
Wonderboy wags a finger to draw attention to himself. The only reason I can tell him apart from his twin brother, Vin, is the new beard. Did everyone grow a fucking beard in the last year?
“I want to point out,” Wonderboy says, “I wasn’t even invited to the premiere. But I’m not bitter.”
They all laugh, and some of the weight on my chest the last week alleviates. “Come, I’ll make breakfast.”
“Yo, you can cook?” Lucky Kris asks, genuinely confused.
We go downstairs to the kitchen. Vin plugs in his music and the rest of the boys disperse to have a good look around. Aiden stays to help me get things out of the kitchen.
“Spit it out,” Aiden says. “You have this look like you want to ask me something.”
The last time I saw him, he was getting ready to propose to his girl and I told him not to do it. “How’s Faith?”
Aiden rips open the packet of breakfast sausages, a wide smile on his face. “She’s good. Engaged. To me, in case you were wondering.”
“Good, I’m happy for you, really.” I crack eggs into a silver bowl next to the counter. “When’s the wedding?”
Aiden smiles, and when he does, he still looks so young. He reminds me of Jack. Jack who isn’t coming home, either. He opens the cabinet and has a look around. “Next year. We’re taking things slow. Holy shit, where did you get this?”
He brings out a bottle of seasoning. It’s the stuff Lena puts in everything. I frown, but his laugh is contagious and in moments, I’m spilling my guts to him. Everything I can say out loud about Lena, I do. The other guys come in and listen to me go over the highlights. This thing I’ve been missing feels like it’s starting to piece back together as I talk about her. Everything Lena did and said that shook me awake out of a long sleep. Everything I did to ruin it.
Aiden takes over the cooking and Greg brings out the beer in the fridge. This is the first time I’ve had people in the house this way. They’re a little invasion, opening drawers and closets, but that’s family. That’s my family.
We eat standing around the counter, piling eggs and sausages drenched in ketchup. Vin fills his orange juice with the expensive champagne I was saving for New Year’s.
“Look, we’ve all fucked up,” Aiden says.
Gary huffs and puffs. “Speak for yourself, I’m a prince.”
“Fine, most of us have fucked up,” Aiden continues. There’s something changed about him. Easy. Confident. Grown. “Which means we’re experts on groveling.”
“Ricky’s girl says you need help with a romantic gesture,” Greg says.
“But you have to mean it,” Fallon says, and for the first time, I see the ring on his wedding finger. Fallon got married and I wasn’t there.
“I mean it,” I say, knowing that this is my last chance. “I love her. I love her more than my own life. But Scarlett already told me Lena’s unenrolled from Bozeman. She’s not coming back.”
“Leave it to us,” Vin says, with a wink.
“You’ve never made a romantic gesture in your life,” Wonderboy says.
“Listen, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, go get the shit out of the car,” Fallon says, sighing like a—well—dad. I don’t tell him as much, though.
“What stuff?” I ask.
“Decorations, bro,” Greg says, making a face. “Christmas is in a week and this place looks like a ghost town.”
“Don’t worry,” Aiden says, which is exactly what makes me worry. “We have a plan.”
“Come on,” Fallon says, slapping my shoulder. “We brought presents.”
LENA
The Airbnb I rented through New Year’s is right by Central Park. Despite it being in a prime neighborhood, it was super inexpensive. Within a week of coming home, I’ve managed to get my paperwork together to file transfer papers from Montana State to Hunter College, as well as adoption papers for Ariana.
As much as it irritates me that Patrick never cashed my rent checks since September, at least I have some extra money I can show in my bank statement. My stepmom is making it easier by giving me legal guardianship in the meantime. It’s the holidays, and offices have come to a halt, so I know it’s going to take time. I don’t think I’ll be able to breathe properly until everything is signed. Not to mention, we have to find somewhere to live.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Ari.
She’s brushing her hair at the window with a view of the snowy Central Park. A carriage rides down the avenue and shoppers bundled in winter clothes trudge through the snow. She shrugs. “I don’t know yet.”
“Talk to me.” I take my coffee mug across the room and sit on the wide window ledge beside her. Her hair is long and curly at the ends. She’s got her mom’s features, but we share our dad’s long lashes and lips.
“I’m still mad at my mom, and I want to hate her. But when she calls me, it’s a little bit better, I guess. I don’t know why you keep ignoring Patrick’s calls if you love him.”
I brush her hair away. I could say something about how her mother is family, but Patrick is family, too. Or he was. “Things don’t always work out.”
“I know, but you were so happy. Besides, couldn’t we just explain that the picture thing was my fault?”
I shake my head and drink my coffee. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
But I still feel the ache of him. I had to shut down the Instagram and Snapchat accounts I only kept to stay up to date in Ari’s life. I’ve gotten thousands of people searching for information about me and leaving me emails and comments. I’ve even had an offer of representation to be a media personality, whatever that is. The attention will die down, and I can only hope that my feelings for Pat do, too.
“Merry Christmas Eve, I guess,” she mutters. “At least you came home.”
When Dad was with us, we would have a small party and invite the neighbors. We’d roast a slab of pork and dad would butcher my mother’s empanada recipe, but we would still eat them after we broke off the burned corners. We drank Bacardi in hot apple cider and Ariana would be in charge of putting the baby Jesus in the nativity scene at midnight.
This year, we don’t have decorations, but we have Chinese takeout and each other.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Ari’s eyes are wide and full of mischief.
“Depends on what it is.”
“Well, my friend, uh, Sarah, told me about this artist. She’s so dope and amazing and she’s having a show in the Lower East Side on New Year’s Eve. Can
we please, please, please go?”
I think of all the paintings I left behind in my studio. Patrick’s house. After all that work, I had to call Professor Meneses and drop out. Again. I could call Kayli or Scarlett to go and get them back and ship them to me in the new year. Hell, River offered to break in in the middle of the night and load them up. She was chuckling in that serious, dark way of hers, but I knew she meant it. Maybe they belong there, away from me, marking a time in my life I can’t get back.
I don’t want it back, I think.
Yes, you do want him back.
I don’t know if I can be around another person’s work the night before the year starts. But this year is about to be hard to Ari, being away from her mom and all. Of course, I say yes.
Then, I get a call from a number I don’t recognize. Part of me is nervous that it’s Patrick because the area code is 406, but after it goes to voicemail, I lock myself in the bathroom and hit play. His voice strikes a chord in my belly because he sounds just like his brother.
“Hey, Lena? This is Jack. I’m still in New York and a mutual writer friend of ours says you are, too. I know it’s not my place, but I wanted to reach out and say hi, since I won’t be going home any time soon. Don’t feel obligated, though. Merry Christmas. Bye.”
“Ari?” I shout from the bathroom.
“What?” she shouts back.
“Get dressed, we’ve got one present to deliver.”
PAT
“Hey, stranger,” I say as I knock on the door.
Jack looks up from his bed. There are crutches leaning against the door and a stack of what must be recent presents on a chair beside him. He’s grown a beard, his hazel eyes bright under dark eyebrows.
“Pat,” he says, like he can’t believe it. Like he expected literally anyone else to come through that door but me. He scrambles out of his bed. He isn’t grabbing for his crutches, but I grab him before he starts to fall. I hold my little brother and I don’t let go until we both stop shaking.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“It’s Christmas.” I touch the left side of my face. It’s become a habit, like I’m trying to make sure the scars are still there. “I’m on my apology tour.”
I pull up a seat just as a nurse comes to check on Jack. She fusses over him, making sure he’s taken his medication, that he’s feeling all right, and he’s eaten. She winks at me on the way out, which is a strange feeling. Even stranger, is sitting in this room. But the day has been filled with moments like this. There was the moment in the cab, the driver’s eyes going to the rearview mirror over and over again. Before that, the flight over direct to JFK. The stewardess who did a double take before schooling her face from shock and into that practiced calm, and then real kindness. No matter what the reaction has been, especially since the XYZ post, I keep moving. I get from place A to place B, like Chris said.
Some of the boys made the trip with me. But seeing Jack? I knew I had to do that myself.
“You didn’t come home,” I say. “I talked to your doctor. You were cleared as long as you kept up with your PT and all.”
“I wanted to.” He nods, but I recognize the shame in his eye. “I don’t know. I’ve been here for so long. I’m—I’m scared of what’s waiting for me. What am I supposed to do?”
“You’ll figure it out. We can do it together. Even if you want to stay in the city for a while longer. We can rent something. We can even take a train home.”
He shakes his head, but laughs. “There’s no train home.”
“Buses, then,” I say. “I should have been here sooner, and I wasn’t. You’re my brother and I was supposed to be there for you.”
“We would have been no good together,” he says. “I wasn’t in a good place and neither were you.”
I think of our calls when he was cheerful and laughing. He always sounded like he was steps ahead of me. “You always sounded like you were fine.”
He shrugs, and in this moment, I remember the boy who ran away from home and I had to find. “I wanted to put on a brave face for you.”
“You don’t have to do that anymore. Come home.”
“Okay, Pat,” Jack says, finally. “You got a place here?”
“I’m staying with the guys. Just until New Year’s Day. Depending on how Aiden’s plan works out.”
“Aiden?” He looks surprised. “They’re playing a show? Wait, are you in the show?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not. It’s safe to say, my professional dancing days are over. But, there will be a different kind of show—”
Another nurse comes in, highly disappointed that Jack is going to be leaving right away. She says she’ll bring boxes for his presents.
That’s when I see the painting sticking out behind the boxes of sweaters, books, and DVDs. It can’t be here. And yet, I recognize our faces right away. The painting is of me and Jack and Ronan. Three little boys running around on a hill. It’s her color palette, her brush strokes. I know shit about art, but it has to be hers. I know her.
“Lena,” I say her name. I turn to Jack, unable to ask every question running through my mind. Lena was here? Lena spoke to Jack?
He grins. “She was here yesterday and came to see me. We talked about home, about being here.”
Did she talk about me? I want to ask but I don’t. Everything inside me hurts. I beg every single god and spirit in the universe that I’m not too late, and this gives me a little bit of hope.
“Do I still have a shot?” I ask.
“Depends. Tell me more about Aiden’s plan.”
21
Waiting for Tonight
LENA
New Year’s Eve
The gallery Ariana drags me to is tucked between a ramen place and a sneaker shop. Ari is in a pretty blue and green sequin dress that makes her look like a mermaid who wanted to ice skate. I was going to go with jeans and a T-shirt because that’s the mood I felt. But Ari would have none of it. She marched me a couple of train stops to the mall and picked out a sleek black dress with gold accents, since my fifteen-year-old sister insisted that I needed some bling for the new year.
It has been two weeks since I’ve spoken to anyone from back home—back in Montana—with the exception of Kayli. On a night like tonight, I find myself missing Mari’s laugher. I want to know how her finals went and if Scarlett turned in her book on time and if River picked out a wedding dress yet.
As we weave through the throngs of partygoers and news vans covering the partying all over town, I feel the kinetic energy that I’ve only ever been able to find in New York. There are girls in fur coats and glittering mini dresses waiting in long lines to get into clubs and parties. What would we be doing if we were in Montana? I remember the champagne we bought in preparation. I was also going to get grapes, a New Year’s midnight tradition that both of my parents shared with me. I even picked out new underwear. You’re supposed to pick the color of the thing you want to manifest for the new year. There’s green for wealth, yellow for luck, red for love. I stick with a lace yellow because, though it might be an unsexy color, you can’t have too much luck. Plus, no one is going to see it.
“Let me make sure you don’t have lipstick on your teeth,” Ari says, tugging my arm.
“No one will care if I do,” I say.
“What if you meet a super-fly guy, Lena? What if—”
I cheese if only to get her to stop theorizing. “What’s the name of this artist anyway?”
But when we step into the gallery, I am blindsided with a flash. If I wasn’t wearing eyeliner, I would rub my eyes because I’m seeing things. I have to.
“Scarlett?” I ask.
She grins so hard her eyes are narrow slits crinkled by laugh lines. Her hair is brushed back in pretty auburn waves, and she’s in a simple blue velvet dress. I hug her and she pats my back, smoothing it, because of course I’m crying.
“What are you doing here?”
“No tears yet,” she whispers. “The ni
ght has only just started.”
Clearly. The room is full of new and familiar faces. But the most arresting part is that the long, narrow gallery is full of my paintings. My paintings. How did they get here? I turn to Ariana, who is cheesing and giggling behind her gloved hands.
“What is this?”
“Surprise!” my little sister says, barely containing her enthusiasm.
I look back at the walls. These were all in Patrick’s house. I search for him in the crowd but he isn’t here.
A high-pitched squeal comes from around the corner and Mari comes running in her sharp heels. “She’s here! Bring the champagne!”
There’s a hot waiter dressed in all black right behind her, carrying a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“You’re early!” Mari says, her lush brown curls bouncing in a halo around her. Her minidress is gold covered in thousands of dazzling beads. “Okay, everything is perfect. Can you believe this is my first exhibit? I mean, yours, too. I always knew we would do this, but I thought it would be later. Like, way later. When he called, I wasn’t sure what to do, but it came together seamlessly, really.”
Her words fade away as I stare at my work from this semester. The closest is the one I gave Jack. Jack, who is standing right beside it, supported by his crutches! Seeing him blurs my sight with tears. I embrace him gently, before I’m surrounded by hugs and kisses and well wishes.
My old friends from when I worked at the Met, former classmates, cousins that only Ariana could have invited, including some of her friends and their parents. They stare at my work, especially the one of my mom and dad. Others point at a particular painting covered by a black cloth. It’s the only one that isn’t out in the open. My stomach twists with nerves because I know what’s under there.
“Oh God,” I say when I walk farther into the gallery and see the massive canvas. Pinks and greens and blues. Watercolors that were spilled when Patrick and I were rolling around it. Heat burns my cheeks to a blush as I see Professor Meneses walk up beside me.
