“Hey Nessa! James! It’s so good to see you! It’s nice to have everyone together.” Hazel is beaming, her long dark hair framing her face in carefully created waves that make herequally dark eyes pop. She’s hands down the kindest person I’ve ever met.
Her pale hand is tangled with Beck’s brown, tattooed one on the table, and he gives me a smiling nod, shaking his standard half-up-do. We’ve never been close, but I’ve always respected the guy and the way he’s looked out for my little sister when I couldn’t. It’s part of the reason that I was comfortable leaving her to go on tour in the first place, knowing someone had her back no matter what.
Mel and Maria are deep in conversation at the far end of the table, sparing me a brief hello before leaning their heads together again conspiratorially. I’m not sure what Mel, a tall black woman in med school, and Maria, an Ecuadorian chef and Beck’s cousin, have in common, but they are locked in on each other.
While Nessa’s friends gather around the table, laughing and mingling with each other, my eyes are pulled to the honey-haired woman on the far side. Dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit and sporting a riot of curls she’s styled into her hair, she sits in animated conversation with a bright, genuine smile that takes over her whole face. I want to know what made her smile like that.
I want to do it myself.
Nessa drops herself down between Beth and Maria, leaving the only spot left directly across from Stella. Her shoulders tighten as I settle in and grab a menu.
After our meals arrive, I do my best to tune out. I focus on my food, shoveling in bacon, eggs, sausage, and whatever else is on my plate. They’ve got weird dishes here and I’m not entirely sure of what I’ve ordered.
I’m completely caught up in my own head when a torrent of ice water splashes across the table into my lap. I jump out of my seat, cursing angrily. The conversation at the table screechesto a halt, all heads turned towards me as I take in the tableau. Hazel and Beck are staring, open-mouthed and amused, Mel and Nessa are laughing at me, and Stella…
Stella is turned sideways, facing the rest of the table, her arm stretched towards me, directly next to the pitcher of water the waiter had left for us.
“I’m s-so sorry!” she stutters, realizing what she’s done. Her face is crimson as she gapes in horror, making me instantly feel bad for my intense reaction.
“It’s fine,” I grind out. I grab the useless fabric napkins from the table and start trying to wipe myself off as the others burst into motion, clearing the mess on the table, although it appears that myself and my food were the only victims in this assault.
“Has anyone seen the new tour dates for Sabrina Carpenter?” Hazel asks in an attempt to redirect the conversation from my drenched lap to literally anything else.
“She’s extended her Toronto tour dates, right? Maybe we could all go!” Beth chimes in, and I’m thankful for her for being here. I give her a curt nod as she drags everyone’s attention away from me, something she knows I hate, as I settle back into my seat, now a little damper.
After a few minutes, Stella leans across the table. “I really am sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” The crease in her forehead deepens. “I can replace your meal,” she offers.
“It’s fine, I was done anyway.”
“You weren’t even halfway through,” she argues back. I’m snagged in her doe-eyed gaze, her eyes pleading with me for absolution. I stonily return her stare, trying not to let my resolve to be in a piss-poor mood slip. Her expression wilts at my coldness, and I almost feel bad about it, but I still can’t take my eyes off of her as she tries half-heartedly to rejoin the group conversation.
Instead of listening to the upcoming opening acts of some pop star, I find myself taking her in, documenting in my head how alluring she is, the way her hair falls perfectly over her shoulders, how she devotes her attention to whoever is speaking and never interrupts, the way her eyes sparkle when she laughs. I try to pick away at my soggy food, but Nessa catches me, her face twisted in disgust until I give up and chug my latte.
I can’t take the awkwardness of trying not to stare at Stella’s bee-stung lips anymore and excuse myself to the restroom. I try to awkwardly stand under the dryer, angling my pelvis and abdomen to hopefully dry off enough to be comfortable. After a few minutes, I realize it’s only succeeding at making me warm and putting a kink in my hips, and decide to simply suffer through it.
Much like I was at the table.I’m paranoid that someone might have noticed how I was looking at her. What if it was Nessa? Or Hazel, and she tells her? What if my pain in the ass little sister developed telepathy and can hear all the thoughts rolling around in my head of things I want to do to her friend? Or what I already did?
It’s no big deal, you made out, and no one suspects anything. This isn’t junior high. All you have to do is stop thinking about it.
I’m trying and failing to talk myself down. Seeing her in her bright orange jumpsuit and wild curls, watching her every time she licked her lips…
At least the ice water was good for something.
I’ve been explicitly warned away from her, and we both know that nothing is going to happen between us. Now I need my dick to get the same memo.
Can’t hide in the bathroom forever, I think to myself as I force my feet to carry me out the door. When I take my place again,I pretend to be engrossed in my phone, determined to muscle through the rest of this social obligation.
I’m so caught up in my façade that it takes a moment for me to notice that I no longer have a plate of soggy food in front of me. Instead, there sits a clean plate with a few strips of bacon and a croissant. I look up across from me and see Stella observing my reaction. I raise a brow to her in question, to which she shrugs her shoulders.
Did she buy me breakfast?I move to push it back to her but she fixes me with a dry, unimpressed expression until I pick up a piece of still-warm bacon and take a savage bite, never once taking my eyes off her. She barely holds back a smug smile as she turns to the rest of the table again to jump into the conversational fray.
The conversation flows easily between this group, something that stirs up an uncomfortable jealousy behind my sternum. Even though I’ve never felt out of place with them, they’ve always struck me as Nessa’s friends instead of mine, somewhere I almost fit, but not quite. My core group used to be my bandmates, but slowly, over the years, someone would leave and be replaced by a new member, and eventually, one by one, they all left. I’m the only remaining original member of Heartbreak Tuesdays.
It reminds me of a question we got asked in a high school philosophy class—let’s say you have a ship, but you need to make repairs, replace things that break. Eventually, over time, you find you’ve replaced every single part of it, down to the nails. Is it still the same ship? Am I the only part of the ship left? Hanging on until I’m no longer useful and need to be replaced?
Fuck, that’s depressing.
It’s nice that Nessa has pulled me into her group, and they’ve welcomed me with open arms, even if it’s still unsettling. On the other hand, Stella seems to fit in no matter where you puther. She’s so sweet and genuine as she asks people about their families and their current work gripes, which is funny to watch since, for most of them, their boss is sitting right there. Beck is good natured though and takes it with a tempered humour.
