Page 2 of We Used To Be Magic

‘Champagne?’

I turn to see a guy about my age wearing a crisp shirt and tie combo, smiling faintly, proffering a silver tray of sparkling flutes. There’re a few others like him floating around with canapés, because ofcoursethis thing is professionally catered. Maggie’s not really a pizza and paper plates kind of person.

‘Sure,’ I say, taking one. ‘Thanks.’

Having a drink isn’t the same thing as getting drunk, and maybe I need to be a little less sober in order to be convincingly enthused about being here. This’ll be enough to soften the edges until I leave, which’ll be soon. Honestly, I doubt anyone’ll even—

‘Ezra.’

I still, panic flaring at the familiar voice. My first instinct is to hide the glass, which is stupid. I take a deep breath instead, forcing a smile before I turn to face him. He’s smiling too, which probably requires similar effort.

‘Dad,’ I manage. ‘How are you?’

He looks the same as he always does – tired and well-dressed, his jet-black hair swept away from his face. Maggie or Caroline or anyone else not on his payroll really ought to tell him that if he insists on dyeing it, it’s time to transition to a vaguely credible colour. At least he’s retained most of it, boding well for my future hairline.

‘Good.’ He nods. ‘Good to see you. All well?’

I notice his gaze scanning my face as he speaks, catching on my less-than-perfect nose. The doctor that set it post-break did a pretty good job but it’s still a little crooked, a small bump of cartilage at the bridge.

‘Yeah. All good,’ I reply. ‘Good’ is the only adjective that either of us know, apparently.

‘Settling into the new place okay?’

‘Yeah, it’s great. Thank you.’

Those words taste a little bitter in my mouth, but I don’t really get to be self-righteous when he’s bankrolling my existence. I couldn’t afford a subway fare without him, let alone a one-bedroom apartment in Midtown.

‘Great,’ he echoes. ‘That’s great. Caroline said she’d helped you pick out the furniture.’

‘Right, yeah. Have you seen her tonight?’

‘She went to get some air, I think,’ he replies, a frown tracing his features as his eyes drop to my cigarettes, not-so-conspicuously stuffed into the jacket pocket. He knows that Caroline and I both smoke, occasionally, but given that he himself smoked like a chimney for two decades before pivoting to green juice and jogging, I find the chagrin a little jarring.

‘Right, well – there’re a few things I’ve been meaning to mention to her,’ I lie, sensing the best chance I might get to jettison this conversation.

‘Sure. And maybe later, we could have a proper chat.’

‘Yeah. Sure,’ I say, surprised. He nods and claps a hand on my shoulder in response, a possible stab at paternal warmth. I offer another smile in lieu of reply, knowing full well that I’ll have left this party long before ‘later’ rolls around.

I find Caroline on the fire escape, alone and wearing the same blue dress she dons for every formal occasion. Her neck looks impossibly long, her dark, shaggy hair grazing her jaw as she turns to face me.

‘Nice jacket.’

‘Oh, this old thing?’

She smiles, stubbing out the remnants of a cigarette. I take one of my own and Caroline lights it for me with a paint-stained hand, the flame briefly illuminating our faces. I nod in thanks as I inhale, resting my elbows on the metal railing that stands between me and certain death. The traffic below is sluggish, a river of light snaking its way between buildings. I’m not sure that there’s such a thing as darkness in this city. Or silence.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ Caroline says. ‘Especially not looking so dapper.’

‘Always happy to exceed everyone’s crushingly low expectations. Why’s Romy not here?’

‘Working. She might swing by later, depending on how crazy the dinner rush is.’

‘I wouldn’t bother. I have no idea who any of these people are.’

‘Obviously. They’re Maggie and Tomas’s friends, which means they either work inPRor … do whatever Tom does.’

‘We should bail. This is mind-numbing.’

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