by Staci Hart
I tried to make sense of it, wondering why now? After all these years, why tonight? The realization that Chris had been working an angle, trying to manipulate me, was still fresh. Maybe whatever was happening was some sort of rebound, emotional fallout from ending things with Chris. But that would mean that I had cared about Chris — the only discernible feelings I had for her were laced with surprise and disgust.
Lily would never do something like that to get what she wanted. She was an optimist, an honest, good-natured woman. She didn’t hide her feelings, didn’t skirt around her intentions. She didn’t have to. Lily knew what she wanted and went for it with every bit of her heart. That was the kind of woman I wanted.
Shock ripped through me at the realization. With every step, I tried to push the thought away, but it clung to me like a magnet. Me and Lily? That had disaster written all over it, and the cost could ultimately be our friendship. Nothing was worth losing that for. I saw what happened to Rose and Patrick, and I never wanted to be the reason Lily hurt like that.
Lily hung on to my arm, her skirt flouncing with each step.
“You look beautiful. Thank you for accompanying me tonight,” I said.
She laughed, her red lips stretching wide. “Thank you. You sound so Southern when you say things like that.”
I smiled down at her.
She glanced over at me with approval written all over her face. “Where have you been hiding that suit? It looks like it was made for you.”
I stood a little straighter, puffing out my chest. “I had to appear in front of a panel and present my doctoral proposal, and for that, I needed a good suit. So I got one. There just aren’t a lot of places to wear it.”
“Well, the opera is a great excuse.”
“That it is. I wish I’d splurged sooner. I’m never as well-dressed as you are when we go to the opera.”
“Tonight, I think you have me beat.”
I shook my head with my chest aching. “Not a chance. Not a chance in all of creation.”
She smiled down at her feet as we descended the last flight.
“How did the rest of your day go?” I asked.
“Up and down. Rehearsal gave me a boost. Serenade is such a beautiful piece, and it’s almost like being a part of the corps again, which I miss. I’m so glad we’re performing it this week.”
“Did you end up talking to Blane?”
She tightened her grip just a little. “Briefly.”
We walked up to the door, and I pushed it open, holding it for her as she passed. “That bad, huh?”
She sighed as we walked up to the sidewalk. “I just don’t get him, that’s all.”
“What happened?” I asked as I stepped up to the curb and threw a hand in the air, sticking two fingers of my free hand to whistle. A cab pulled up almost immediately.
Lily’s brows pinched together as I opened the door. “One minute I feel like he really likes me, and the next …”
I took her hand to help her in. Part of me didn’t want to know what she was going to say, but I spoke up anyway. “The next he what?”
She slipped into the cab, swinging her long legs in behind her silently.
I climbed in behind her and addressed the driver. “The Met, please.” He nodded and took off, and I angled to face her. Her eyes were on the street beyond the window. “You don’t wanna talk about it?”
Lily looked back at me. “It’s not that. I just hate not understanding what’s going on. I’m not used to this. I just want someone who will tell it to me straight, you know? I don’t like being toyed with.” She sighed. “The problem is, it’s so bad with him that I don’t even know if I’m being toyed with or not. I can’t tell, and that makes it worse than anything.” She gave her head a little shake and smiled. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore, though. You didn’t run into Christine today, did you?”
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 y
our 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, turning 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.
