Am I? What do I love? I’m not even sure how to answer.
“My family,” I say after a beat. By which I mean my mom, but she doesn’t need to know the limited state of my family situation. That’s too personal. “And… books, I guess.”
“You guess?” She gives me a pointed glare and leans forward. “Come on, you can do better than that. What do you do when no one’s watching? When there’s no one around to judge you. What do you do when you can’t sleep at night? Or when you have a free hour in your day?”
Lately? Read romance novels. And write—when I actually can write. But I can’t tell her I read romance novels. Cosmos reads them and seems to feel no shame about it. But… I’m not like that. I’ll keep it vague. “I read and write.”
Ivy makes a soft humming sound in her throat and pulls a small neon pink flask out of her purse. “Don’t tell,” she whispers conspiratorially, before dumping a generous splash into what looks like a Shirley Temple. “So, what do you read and write? You gonna share your most recent work?” She juts her chin toward the stage, where someone is testing the mic.
“No. I don’t—I can’t.” I shake my head. Imaginingreading the scene I wrote last night makes my whole body flush with embarrassment. It’s way too inappropriate. “I’m not really a performer.”
“Ah.” She tucks the flask back into her purse just as I spot Cosmos making his way through the crowd, carrying my tonic water and what looks like a Manhattan for himself.
“Cosmos isn’t much of a performer either, but his stuff’s too good to hide away in a drawer. Someone has to push him.”
Cosmos sets our drinks on the table and ruffles his sister’s hair before sitting down. She gives him an annoyed look and smooths the flyaways he just created. Despite their gentle ribbing, it’s clear they care about each other. Seeing them together makes me feel something like nostalgia for what I’ve never had. I always wished I had an older brother. Someone to watch out for me, tease me, and… be my family long after my parents are gone. Cosmos seems like a good one. Not every brother would take his sister to a poetry reading and even promise to read something.
A man with a blue mohawk announces the first poet, and we turn our attention to the stage. A thin popsicle of a man takes the mic and reads a poem about clowns. It’s interesting. Okay, it’s horrible. Where is Kiara? She’d find this hysterical. I peek at my phone and see I’ve missed a call and a text from her.
Kiara:
Sullivan forgot to put gas in his car. Of course! So, I had to pick him up. We’ll be a little late. But at least I convinced him not to bring his cat.
I wonder if something’s going on between the two of them. But it’s not like she owes it to me to tell me every detail of her life, or every guy she’s interested in. I can’t exactly expect her to do that when I don’t do the same.
Clown Poet finishes, and we respond with polite applause. I lean closer to Cosmos. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask ever since his sister said he was going to read a poem. “What’s a doctor doing writing poetry? Or… how’s a poet end up being a doctor?”
I wince. It sounds like the start of a bad joke. This isn’t coming out right at all. I’m not even sure what I’m trying to ask. He already told me he reads poetry. It shouldn’t be all that surprising that he writes it, too. I guess I just never expected a doctor to write poetry. The two things feel incompatible, like opposite ends of a spectrum. Nerdy science stuff on one side and nerdy literary stuff on the other.
Cosmos stops clapping and glances at me out of the corner of his eye. He shrugs. “Like I told you, I like poetry.”
And romance novels. And apparently cutting into people with very sharp tools.
Before we can say anything else, Kiara squeals my name. She’s shimmying her way through the crowd toget to our table, Sullivan trailing behind her with his pointed features fixed in a deep frown.
Kiara plops down in the one empty seat, leaving Sullivan to stand. Correction, leaving Sullivan to squat, because just when he reaches the table someone yells, “Down in front,” and the next poet takes the stage.
We’re quiet while the poem is read. It’s short and not half bad. When everyone claps, Kiara pulls her wallet out of her purse. “If I don’t have a drink in my hand in the next two minutes, I’m going to kill someone. No, I’m going to kill Sullivan.” She gives him a pointed look.
“Wouldn’t it be chauvinistic of me to get you a drink? Or is it just chauvinistic when I try to open your car door?”
“Pig.”
“Whore.”
“Woah,” Cosmos holds his hands up. “That was uncalled for.”
Kiara laughs. “He can call me all the names he wants. It won’t make it true, no matter how much he dreams about it.” Her bracelets clatter as she digs a twenty out of her purse and flops it down on the table, tapping it as she smirks at Sullivan.
Sullivan turns his thumb in Cosmos’ direction. “Who’s this guy?”
My mom’s doctor? The guy who makes time stand still? The hottie I’d very much like to do inappropriately dirty things with.
“Yeah, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Kiaralicks her upper lip and eyes Cosmos like he’s an ice cream cone. A defensive, jealous sort of feeling crawls across my skin, but then I notice her eyes flick to Sullivan. Yeah, something is definitely going on with those two.
“Cosmos Romero.” He doesn’t bother with further explanation.
Kiara seems satisfied and quickly introduces herself and Sullivan, who promptly rolls his eyes, grabs Kiara’s twenty off the table, and marches off to the bar without another word.
