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“Alicia?” I heard. Footsteps came closer and closer. I quickly rinsed and shut off the water. I grabbed the towel just as Michael stepped into the bathroom. His face fell. “You’re not ready yet?”
“I’m so sorry, I got out of work late, and then I was researching the Leroys—”
“What about the Leroys?”
“I didn’t tell you?” I searched my memory and realized with a start that I hadn’t. I called Andrew first thing. “The Leroys want to talk to me about being their photographer.”
“Really?” Michael sat on the toilet seat and frowned. “Do they tour all over?”
“Just in the area,” I said quickly. “I would never be far, just a few hours at most.”
Michael made a noise of dissent. “How long would you be gone for each time?”
“I haven’t even interviewed yet, so there’s no way of knowing.”
“So you don’t even know if you have the job yet?”
“No, Michael, I don’t.” How would I fucking know that? I wanted to ask but held my tongue at the last moment. The last thing I needed right now was a why do you use that language talk. “That’s what the interview is for.”
“Okay, so nothing’s set in stone.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. It gives us time to talk about it.”
“Yeah,” I said though I could feel what kind of “talk” it would be. “I interview on Monday, so it gives us the whole weekend.”
“Okay, good.” He brightened. “Now, are you ready to have the best meal of your life?”
“Sure,” I said. My sinking-heart feeling stayed, and I felt suddenly deflated. “Let me go get ready.”
* * *
I picked at my steak absentmindedly as I thought about the photographer job. I could picture it: my heart slamming against my chest as my eye pressed to the viewfinder. My blood singing in my veins to the lyrics of my favorite Leroys song, Take it on Faith. I would feel the energy of thousands of hearts beating to the same wild drum solo. And then, there he is. Running his hands over my shoulders, down my body, his warmth enveloping me, his murmur whispering across the bare expanse of my shoulder.
We would fit perfectly together.
“…so I said to her, ‘you’d better not put that picture frame under your dress!’” Michael slapped the table for emphasis and I jumped. I blushed furiously as I tried to suppress my thoughts.
“You alright, babe? You’re not usually this jumpy.” Michael frowned. “And you’re picking the skin around your nails again. Did you read that article I sent?”
“Yeah.” I put my hands under the table but kept picking. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I just don’t want you getting some funky bacteria.” He smiled and reached across the table to pat my shoulder. I tried not to grimace. “I worry about you, babe. You need to be taken care of.”
I’m fine on my own. Always have been.The thought came with a bitter edge that tasted like burned toast and black coffee. “I can take care of myself, Michael.”
“But you shouldn’t have to.”
“Why not? I’m grown.”
“Yes.” He frowned. “But we are one. Or soon to be, anyway.”
“Yeah.” I fiddled with my napkin under the table. “I know.” The edges of my soap bubble of happiness squeezed until it popped. My shoulders sagged under the weight of reality.
I wasn’t going to get the job. Even if I did, Michael would never let me tour with a band all across the state.
Well,I thought. It was a great dream while it lasted.
* * *
That night, as I was getting ready for bed, my phone pinged to let me know that I had a text. I picked up my phone and sighed heavily.
