Wesley
December 2025
We don’t see Ivy and Nolan until hours later. When they do appear, thinking about Ivy’s impending reaction to the surprise we have planned is probably the only reason I manage to summon a smile as she enters the ballroom to greet us with Nolan trailing behind her.
The space has been transformed with gilded décor that compliments the decadence of the night sky painted on the cavernous ceiling overhead. A few final event staff are making final touches on the frothy floral arrangements as the band does their final tuning on stage.
“Wesley, it’s good to see you here again and hopefully you stay longer this time,” Ivy says when she reaches us. A smile finds her lips but her hazel eyes remain cold and dark. I can see the resemblance to Avery, but only barely.
“Oh, I’ve already scoped out all the windows,” I say, earning a laugh from Ivy. It takes everything in me to stay calm. If this plan is going to work, letting Avery get the last word, I have to play along.
Jesus. I hate them. I hate them for taking her all those years ago and then later making her feel like she had to earn their love.
Ivy rests a hand on Avery’s arm. “And it’s so nice of you to come out this way to see us. I know what an inconvenience it must have been. Last we spoke, you said how you were struggling to find time for your hair, and I know you must be terribly busy. I thought I’d take care of that for you while you were here.”
Petra rushes up to us and whispers into Ivy’s ear.
“The first guests are at the gate. Thank you both again,” Ivy says before striding toward the entrance, Nolan trailing behind her.
Avery and I take our positions behind the stand-up microphones, and the band starts playing the first song on the approved set list. Guests start filtering in, paying little attention to us. Thirty minutes in, the room is full of swishing skirts and shining dress shoes. Ivy signals to us, and the music stops.
The lights in the room dim, conversation falls to a murmur, and Petra emerges from the shadows to hand Ivy a microphone that causes her voice to reach every corner of the room as she speaks. “Thank you all for being here at the Twentieth Annual Sloane Foundation Charity Gala. All the funding raised tonight will go toward essential medical research.”
Avery turns to the band members behind us, lowering her voice as Ivy continues her speech. “None of you have to do this, we wouldn’t want you to risk your jobs. Please don’t feel obligated.”
“I’d rather help you two out than play the same stale rich people music,” Barry, the saxophonist with an impressive quaff of silver hair, says. “And I’m about to be grandfather of the year for doing this.”
“The auction will start shortly, but in the meantime, please enjoy the food and music.” Ivy raises her glass of champagne and the crowd claps politely.
Just before the room settles back to its original state, I step forward and pull my microphone free from the stand. “We hope that the music has been up to your standard so far. I’m here with Avery Sloane, you may have heard of her and if you haven’t you need to get better taste.” I have to pause because of the cheers that erupt from the audience. “We have a little treat for all of you. I like jazz as much as the next guy, but don’t you want to hear some of her music?”
This time the reaction from the crowd is at least twice as loud, filling the echoic chamber with unbridled excitement.
Moments ago, we were invisible, set dressing. Now, all eyes are on us.
Ivy’s face reddens as it flashes with disgust, hollow cheeks puffing on a furious breath. She wants to ignore the beautiful, talented woman next to me? Not happening. They are going to stand here and see how many people love her and the music she’s sacrificed so much to make.
They’ll be asking about her for months. Ivy can’t escape this.
Avery starts to sing, and I step to the side. This is her show. I support her with background vocals and moments of harmony, and by the first verse, the crowd is singing along, raising their glasses. They dance and scream Avery’s name.
My favorite fucking sound.
We finish the five songs we prepared with the band, but I can tell the guests are still hungry for more.
A smile spreads across Avery’s face as she says, “Thank you for helping me feel welcome here tonight. The cause you’re all here to support is close to Wes and my hearts, so it means so much that you came. Please enjoy the rest of the party.” She puts the mic back in the stand and
I know this night didn’t go the way she hoped, but I think it might have gone the way it needed to. She got to see what I’ve seen for so long, that there are people everywhere who love and embrace who she is. Entranced by her fire without even thinking of extinguishing it.
I take her hand and we dismount the stage, heading toward the exit through the kitchen, where the caterers are still in constant motion preparing more hors d’oeuvres.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Ivy screeches, her shrill voice rising over the rhythmic thud of knives and clang of pans.
Avery comes to a sudden stop, and we both turn to face her grandmother.
“The nearest exit is this way, isn’t it?” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “You made us come in through the side, so I thought that’s how you’d want us to leave. Wouldn’t want to inconvenience your guests.”
“You are just like your mother,” Ivy spits.
