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The discomfort of walking to the door without panties is a clear sign that staying in New York isn’t the solution to this mess. I don’t need to turn around to understand that Evan is not following me, that he is still sitting on that couch.
I grab the handle and stop for a moment. “Call Faith at the office. She’s worried about you and killing herself at work to keep from running a record company you’ve all forgotten about,” I tell him before walking out and closing the door behind me.
The distance that separates me from the street and the taxi that will take me to the airport seems abysmal, especially with my legs trembling and my heart tearing in my chest with every step that takes me away from him. The skirt inching up my thighs while I sit in the taxi, so much I’m afraid the driver will notice I’m without panties, is a brutal reminder that accurately reflects how blindly I followed Evan without thinking about the consequences.
Two days after Emily’s dramatic exit, taking a piece of my heart and my dignity after I begged her to return and she turned her back on me anyway, I hear a knock at the door which I’m tempted not to go and open. Part of me hopes it’s her saying she regrets what she did, even though I’m well aware that when she decides something, she almost never changes her mind. Not because she’s stubborn but because she thinks her choices through, weighing the alternatives. Having sex with her didn’t help. It makes me act like a teenager—walking to the door, changing my mind, going back again, then pausing, not sure if I want to know who’s on the other side.
“Open the door. I know you’re in there. I can see the shadow under the door.”
My brother’s voice makes me sigh. I can’t believe he traveled from Los Angeles just to point out that I can’t even properly hide in my house.
“Did you fly across the country just to scold me?” I ask when he makes his way into my apartment without waiting for an invitation.
Of all the people who could come to see me, though, he’s the last one I expected, and my thoughts race to my father and family. Maybe he’s here to bring me more bad news I don’t need.
“No, I came because when Emily came back, she said you were a shitshow.” He looks around. “Christ, this place sucks. Have you at least taken a shower in the last week?”
I grab some clothes slung over the back of the sofa and throw them on a nearby chair. My brother raises his eyebrow as if to say, “Do you think I can’t see them?” I roll my eyes and put them in the laundry basket in the bathroom. Aaron can even make me feel guilty about my messy apartment, like I should explain that my house is usually immaculate. If he had visited me any other time, he wouldn’t have seen a dirty coffee table. I’d have had coasters to protect it from stains. But I don’t do that because it would seem like an excuse, a justification for my inability to be as perfect as he is.
“I asked the cleaning service not to disturb me while I’m working here.” I opt for a half-truth.
“Don’t you have an office?”
I think back to Damian’s words, and I don’t know if I do anymore. I was too chicken to call any of them. I locked myself here with all the documents I could scrape together and drove myself crazy for days. I couldn’t find any legal loopholes to get around the problem or fix it. But after a week, the Jailbirds haven’t made a peep. They’re not scrambling to make up with me. I assume they don’t want to see my face much. Not that I blame them after the mess I made.
“I don’t know,” I sigh as I slump on the couch, and my brother sits beside me.
“Tell me what the hell happened—from the beginning, and don’t leave out any details.” It’s an order, and, as always, I carry it out without objecting.
That’s how it works with Aaron, the perfect son, the one who always does everything right, the one who takes over the family business and bumps it to the next level. The one who wins awards, who turns everything he touches into gold. I’m the one who struggles, who fucks up, who’s nowhere near building an empire.
The more I go on with my story, the more serious Aaron’s face becomes. When I get to the end, he stays silent for an eternity. “The Red Velvet Curtains were right to fire you.”
I knew he would say it, but it doesn’t hurt any less. “I know.”
“Don’t give me that puppy dog face. You made a mistake, now learn from it and move on.” He reprimands me as usual, pushing me forward. No beating around the bush, no avoiding the obstacles. According to him, you face the situation head-on and solve it or learn by failing. My brother doesn’t expect failure, but he expects you to learn from it.
“I’m trying hard to find a solution, but there’s no legal way out of it,” I snap.
Aaron studies me for a few seconds with his eyebrow raised. I know that was the wrong answer, but I can’t figure out why. The sense of discomfort and inadequacy fills me every time I talk to him.
“I didn’t tell you to find a solution. I told you to go on with what you have now. There is no solution to the mess you made, Evan. If the Jailbirds weren’t your friends, they would have kicked you out of the company. In this industry, heads roll for much less. What you’ve done is serious. It’s a mistake that, in any other situation, would crush your career. You’re lucky to still have a job. Learn from this mistake and try to do better with your next clients.”
If he had slapped me, it would have hurt less. I know my mistake was enormous, but hearing it in person from “perfect Aaron” stings. How can he possibly think I could start all over again, abandoning my friends?
“I have no other clients,” I mumble, rubbing a hand over my face.
“Then stop sitting around feeling sorry for yourself and go out looking for some. The record company won’t survive if you don’t do something that produces income.”
“You make it sound so easy, but clients don’t just drop out of the sky. Do you have any idea how much work it takes to get a contract signed? I can’t find someone overnight. We needed the Jailbirds’ album royalties.”
“And clients won’t come knocking at your door if you stay locked up in here. There is no fixing what you’ve done. Make up your mind. Get to work on finding new artists and new albums to release this year because Jail Records will sink if you don’t do something. Your business partners can’t sit around waiting for you to finish crying and mulling over your mistakes. You think you’re the only one who screws up? People do it all the time, but they get up and keep going anyway.”
“You say that only because you’re never the one who fucks up.”
Aaron bursts out laughing, catching me by surprise. “Do you really think I’ve never been wrong?” He is genuinely surprised. “Do you remember when production on our flagship show shut down for two months, forcing us to postpone the release of the second half of the season?”
I nod curiously. “You had technical problems with a location.”
