Page 10 of Over the Edge

“I’m sorry, all right? Something came up with work,” I say. “Can we move on from it?”

“Only if you tell me how you convinced this nice woman to call you her grandson. If this is a hostage situation, I will call the police.” She pauses for a moment, brows creasing as she attempts to piece things together. “Wait.Isshe your grandma?”

If anyone’s a hostage here, it’s me.

“Not technically.” Though, if I remind Alina, all I’ll get is a lecture about gratitude.

“Then what are you doing here?” she asks as she settles back against the couch.

“I’m from here.”

“Prove it."

“Like most of the general population, I don’t carry my birth certificate with me so you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Well, according toTeen Vogue, and pretty much any other media outlet, you’re from Nashville,” she says disbelievingly.

It’s a false assumption I’ve fed into over the years. The stories always talked about how Fool’s Gambit started in Nashville when we were in high school, which is true. I left Hartsfall when I was fourteen after I passed St. George’s entrance exam, packed my bags, and stepped toward the future. It’s not like there’s much for me here, besides sour memories. The version of me I built in Nashville is the person I used to wish I was before I grew up and realized how diluted that fantasy was.

“I bet I know whyyou’rehere,” I say. She’s the exact type of person who would come to Hartsfall, like all the other optimists who don’t take a moment to see through the alluring veneer.

“Vacation.” She points an accusatory finger at my face. “And don’t you dare give me one of those judgmental ass looks.Avery has already given me an entire lecture about my choice of location. I don’t need shit from you too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

“Your eyebrows do this thing that makes it look like your face is telling me I’m stupid.” She waves at my face.

I try to correct whatever offensive expression I’m wearing. And maybe I am judging her, but only in the way that I judge all the other tourists. They come here with impossibly high expectations and this idea that the town will be a way of ignoring things that are irrevocably broken. If your relationship is doomed, a weekend here won’t fix a damn thing.

“That’s not my intention,” I say. Being here brings out a version of me that I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with her seeing.

“Well, you should reign in your eyebrows then. Or maybe try shaving them off,” she says, as if offering to be the one wielding the razor.

“Cosmopolitanput out an article a few years ago of celebrities without eyebrows, so I already know that’s a bad idea.”

“Oh yeah. You did look terrible in that.” Her lips quirk into a smile then she sits upright and points again. “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. It’s like the entire top half of your face is shaming me for consuming popular media.”

“Can we move past your impressive niche knowledge of my micro expressions? I’m not judging you. It’s that the article came out six years ago, so don’t blame me for wondering why you recalled it so easily.” Seems like she reads plenty of articles about me. But it’s not like she’s doing it on purpose, if I’m mentioned, her brother often is too. It's better if it’s nothing.

“Maybe I like looking at ugly pictures of you to make me feel better,” she says.

“How exactly would that make you feel better?”

“I don’t know, I’m bullshitting here. As if I spend my free time compiling photos of you in a folder on my phone.” She shrugs, and for some reason the reality of her joke disappoints me.

“Oddly specific for something you’re vehemently denying.”

A light clinking of porcelain comes from the kitchen and I take it as my cue to escape and help Alina. In the kitchen, she’s arranged a set of blue country rose teacups with gold inlays on saucers along with a matching tea pot on a polished silver tray.

“You’ll only need two. I’m heading out,” I tell her.

“You have nowhere to be but here. We have a guest. She’s agreed to play and why would you miss out on that as a fellow musician?” She adds a little jar of sugar cubes to the tray. “You could join in.”

I hesitate as a stone weighs down my stomach because the truth is, I miss playing music with people, being a part of something larger than myself. I miss it enough that it’s a bad idea to do it again. There was a reunion for the band in January that only reminded me how good we were, despite our squabbling. I spent weeks after throwing myself even harder into work filling the hole in my chest, reminding myself of the life I have right now. The one I always planned on having where I didn’t have to rely on anyone but myself. I promised a few years with the band to Wesley and that’s what I gave him.

“Fine,” I say, knowing because it’s Alina that this isn’t a fight I can win. “One song.”

I gingerly grab the tray, making sure to not take out my frustrations on the China that’s older than I am, and follow her out into the living room. Alina said she got the set from some prince or a Hollywood actor she had a tryst with back in the day. That’s who she claims most of her prized possessions have come from. I’ve lost count of her affairs. It might be better to keep track of the celebrities and public figures she wasn’t involved with.

---