Mom,Dad, and I walk into the Cal Convention Center a little before six p.m. From the outside, the white granite building looks judicial, with the columns of pillars surrounding the front. Mom stops to check her jacket, her long, black sequined dress swishing behind her as she and Dad walk across the white marble floor to the coat check attendant. A sweeping staircase opens up in front of the entrance, and I smooth my hands down my black velvet tuxedo jacket before climbing to the second floor.
I continue into the banquet room, following an usher as he escorts me to a table close to the stage, reserved for the Wilmington and Jackson families. Using the few minutes I have to myself, I breathe deeply, taking in the dark room. Centerpieces with white tea lights glow at every table, and blue and white silk drapes from the ceiling artfully. A projector illuminates the wall behind the stage, welcoming everyone to the Twentieth Annual Reed Tech Gala.
It all looks fancy and magical, and yet, I can’t seem to care about any of it. I don’t want to be here. It’s been a long day. My face hurts from fake smiling, and I just want to go home andgo to bed. I check my phone for the time, starting an internal countdown for when it will be acceptable for me to leave. Being jostled from the side snaps me out of the little pity party I’m throwing for myself.
“Bruh, you good?” Hunter asks after sliding into the seat next to me.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” I say flatly, finding it hard to throw that mask back on my face.
“You just look sad, man.”
I look at him, unable to say a thing. He’s not wrong. I am sad, and the more tired I get, the harder it is to care about how I look. I nod and shrug, hoping he’ll leave it alone.
“So it’s probably not a good time to tell you Kayla’s walking through the door right now, is it?” Hunter gestures with his chin, and my head turns before I can think better of it. There are people standing in front of the entrance, filling up the tables behind ours, but as they sit, I see her. Sandwiched between Kendall and Ashlie, she’s dressed in a black velvet floor-length gown. Her hair is twisted intricately around her head, landing in a swirl over her shoulder. She’s even more breathtaking than I remember, and if we were together, we’d look like a matching pair. But we’re not, and my stomach drops to the floor.
“What the fuck, Hunt!” I grit my teeth, rubbing my forehead as my pulse pounds in my ears. “Did you know she was coming?”
“Uh, yep. I invited her. And you’re welcome.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wouldn’t be a surprise if I would have told you. You wouldn’t have come either. Look, just talk to her.”
“Ican’t,” I say, shaking my head. “She doesn’t want that.” My scalp prickles with sweat as panic floods every nerve in my system. A lump forms in my throat, and I try to swallow it down to no avail.
“How do you know?”
“Because she fucking told me, man. She… I can’t…” I scrub my face, groaning as I realize we’ll be at the same table all night long. I want to throw up, knowing I can’t take seeing that look in her eyes again—the cold repulsion mixed with resentment. I’m barely hanging on as it is.
“It’s been months. Things change.”
“Not this… I need a drink,” I say, scooting my chair back from the table. I walk in the opposite direction, toward the open bar. Whiskey. Maybe I can lessen the agony of being this close to her with whiskey. Or Bourbon. Hell, maybe both. I’ll try anything.
Leaning against the bar, I knock back a shot, and then take a glass on the rocks back to the table. Mom and Dad have found their seats, and I try my damnedest to keep my eyes from straying across the table toward Kayla.
“Hey, Chase,” Ashlie says, putting her hand up in a small wave. I raise three fingers off my glass in return, keeping my eyes on her face, successfully avoiding the jade eyes next to her. That wasn’t so hard. Maybe Icando this. Hunter kicks me under the table to get my attention, and I kick the asshole back without looking.
I manage to make it through dinner by keeping to myself. The conversation around the table is light and fluffy. Since no one asks me anything directly, I don’t offer up anything. The ice in my third drink has all but melted, and I’m tempted to go grab another when the lights dim.
The noise level in the room drops significantly as the host for the evening introduces the history of the Edward Reed Award. But all I can think about is how much time I have left at this table. I’ve fixed my gaze on the corner of my place setting the entire night, except for when I look at the stage. It’s helped give me something to focus on, but it’s not sustainable. Every time I hear Kayla’s voice or listen to her laugh, my neck twitches and I have to make a conscious effort not to raise my eyes in her direction.
Dad and Kendall accept their award, giving speeches I couldn’t tell you a thing about. I watched the whole thing—their walk across the stage, each taking turns at the mic—but my mind was elsewhere. They make their way back to the table witheveryone around us offering whispered congratulations as they pass. My knees feel like loaded springs as I anticipate leaving. I just need some air, and space, and another fucking drink. There’s one more performance standing between me and freedom.
A Black, middle-aged songstress walks across the stage, the lights twinkling off her silvery dress as she croons. The song’s opening notes sound familiar, with her sultry voice starting low and slow, ebbing and flowing like the waves of the ocean. I’m overtaken by the memory of ocean waves, me and Kayla, hands wrapped together casually as I drive to the beach. And another, listening to Kayla singing karaoke after the train ride. The performer sings the words, and I know exactly where I’ve heard this before:
Sometimes
What you’ve lost, you’ll find
And you’ll fall in kind
To some kind of forever.
I do it. I look across the table at the only person I’ve wanted to see for months, and she’s looking right back at me. Kayla bites her lip in the way she does when she’s feeling self-conscious, and so many things rush at me at once. My heart fully pounds out of the little box I’ve wrapped it in. An army of butterflies invades my core, and my fingers twitch as I think about how it would feel to hold her right now. I let myself wonder if her velvet dress feels as soft as that spot on her neck, just below her ears.
It doesn’t matter. Taking a deep breath, the sobering hit of oxygen catapults me back down to earth. My eyes drop to the table, all hope pulverized by the echo of the last words she said to me.
When the music stops, thunderous applause fills the room around me. The MC announces the start of dancing and partying, gesturing to a small doorway across the room. I shoot out of my chair and loosen the jacket button at my waist, tugging at mytie as I race for the door. I’m suddenly roasting in my tux. I need air…and space. And another fucking drink. Hurrying through the tables of guests, I manage to snag a half-empty bottle of booze from the open bar on my way out.
