Page 130 of All Twerk, No Play

Alex pulled into Dad’s parking garage. I rolled my suitcases through Dad’s building’s ornate marble lobby, he carried his suit bag and the cat carrier into the elevator. I pressed the button for the penthouse. Dad opened the door, dressed casually in a cashmere sweater and trousers. “Don’t look so happy about the big promotion.”

“I’ll be ready tomorrow,” I said, pushing past him into the foyer. “Where’s her litter box?”

I left Alex to take care of Jurisprudence, walked past the library, and shut the door to my bedroom. I hadn’t lived here since high school—even then, my boarding school dorm had felt more like home—yet all my awards still hung on the walls. A time capsule of who I’d been, who they still wanted me to be. Vickie Fucking Sinclair.

My stomach lurched. I sprinted to the bathroom and dropped in front of the toilet. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast—since Cruz wrapped those cold eggs in a tortilla—and my stomach had nothing to purge. After I’d finished dry heaving, I rested my cheek on the cold toilet seat until the dizziness stopped.

A few minutes later, Alex knocked on the door. I roused myself, silently took Jurisprudence from his outstretched arms, crawled into my bed, and fell apart.

"Silver Spring," Fleetwood Mac

Cruz

Thepoundingonmydoor was loud enough to hear through my headphones. Fuck, I couldn’t hide out from my tenants … even if I never want to leave my tiny basement apartment again. Aside from taking out the trash, I’d barely left since last night.

Pausing the song, I stumbled to the door on pins and needles, expecting a tenant with a clogged toilet.

Kate stood with her hands on her hips and worry on her face. Goddammit, I should have pretended not to be home. I’d canceled class because I wanted to be left alone … but I guess that was too much to ask.

“So you are alive,” Kate said. I turned around without speaking, pulling on my headphones and faceplanting onto my lumpy queen mattress.

“Worse than I thought,” she muttered. I turned up the volume to let Stevie Nicks rasp in my ears, questioning if it all was worth it, then flipped over to pick up my guitar and strum along. The headphones’ silicon caress harmonized with my heartbreak about falling in love with somebody who refused to love you back.

Kate sat on the bed beside me. “Want to talk about it?”

Of course I didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t even want to think about it.

Didn’t want to remember the numbness of watching her car drive away. Walking into our building and finding a manila envelope on my desk in the superintendent’s office. A thank you card stacked neatly with my name in her efficient handwriting.

Dear Cruz,

I’m sorry our time together has to end so abruptly. The moments we shared were precious, and the imprint you made on my life is indelible. You have been my rock, my confidant, and my closest friend … so you understand why I regretfully have to leave.

Please accept this token of my appreciation.

Fondly,

Victoria S. Blackstone

I don’t know how long I’d stared at her letter before I pressed my fingertips to my temples, fighting off the tension headache.

‘Fondly,’ she’d written.

I was fuckingin love with her.Yet she left with six hours’ notice, already looking backfondly.

With shaking hands, I unclasped the envelope … and a key fell out. What the fuck had she done?

I’d carefully slid her handwritten card and the paperwork back inside that awful manila envelope and walked down to my basement apartment, dropping the envelope on my kitchen table and climbing into bed. I’d called Mama, cancelled classes indefinitely, then put on my headphones to block out the world … yet there was only one song that captured the absolute devastation of being in love with somebody who’d already moved on.

Kate unplugged the headphones so Stevie’s voice echoed through my phone speaker, promising and threatening her voice would follow forever, that the memories of her would be inescapable.

“Interesting choice.” Kate leaned her head on my shoulder. “As far as heartbreaking Fleetwood Mac songs go, I would have expected the shattered illusions of love in ‘Gold Dust Woman.’”

She was trying to incite an argument, but I didn’t rise to the bait, no energy to fight. She pressed her song choice and we listened in silence. When it ended, she whispered, “That song got me through losing Nick.”

I stiffened, tilting to try to see her face, but she stayed curled up on my side, staring out my tiny basement window. I leaned back on my pillow and wrapped an arm around her shoulder instead. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want to relive the heartbreak all over again. If it makes you feel better, I didn’t tell Mallory until April.” My jaw dropped, and she ran a hand over her face. “She gave me the silent treatment for two weeks.”

---