“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because we’ve only just started sleeping together, thus making me the newest entry on your list of things you can tolerate.”
“You’re not giving yourself enough credit.” David leaned against his counter, abandoning the cleaning supplies and lending me his full attention instead. “You’ve been an entry since Weston’s birthday party.”
“What an honor,” I teased.
“When did I become an entry for you?” he asked.
I knew that slight twist of his mouth. The crossing of the arms nearly hid the flexing of his fingers. David was fishing for something vital. Some assurance amidst uncharted waters. I was too wrapped up in him to deny a simple request.
“When you met my family,” I said. “When you told me you liked how mean my brother was to you because that meant I had someone to protect me.”
“I’ll take it.” David nodded with a smile. “It’s a little later than expected, but I’ll take it.”
I laughed. “I’m glad you approve.”
33
The rain poundedagainst the metal roof of the warehouse like a budding threat. Dark clouds had taken up residence this morning and continued unpacking until late in the evening. The unusual wet winter storm felt like a bad omen. I didn’t say as much out loud when I shed my rain jacket and flicked on the lights of the warehouse.
“How’s it looking?” I asked Haven, who’d been uncharacteristically nose deep in her phone all morning. I continued to flip on lights and straightened up a couple of tablecloths as I waited for her answer. The rest of our org members were en route, ready to put a couple of final touches on the space before we opened the doors tonight.
The other orgs failed to send people to help with set-up and went ghost in our group chat. Fury burned through my veins these last couple of days as we did our marketing push and barely got so much as a repost on anyone’s end. But I couldn’t let it drag me down. I focused on doing whatever it took to make them regret not believing in us, or this, or me. My road to non-vengeful, non-petty thoughts was long and full of hazards.
“Haven?” I stopped in front of the makeshift stage when I realized she wasn’t following me. Her glossy lips and red-stained cheeks did wonders in emphasizing her dismay. My stomach dipped, mind racing to solve a problem I wasn’t yet briefed on.
“I haven’t checked the ticket sales in a couple of days.” She looked up, eyes wide as tonight’s full moon. “It was getting so dire.”
My shoulders sagged. “Okay… that’s fine. What is it now?”
We couldn’t survive with low numbers this late in the game. My face burned at the thought. I held my head high and considered everything I put into this event. I hadn’t gone down without a fight, and that was something to be proud of.
“Yara, we’re sold out.” Haven came to my side, holding her phone so I could witness it for myself. But even with the screen brightness turned all the way up and the font large and clear, I couldn’t make out a thing.
“Three hundred and fifty.” Haven bit down on her bottom lip, holding back a squeal.
“This is a cruel joke,” I whispered.
“It’s the truth.” She swatted my arm with the back of her hand. “Log in to your phone and see.”
I did just that and saw the same beautiful number. “Holy… what happened?”
Haven shrugged. “Covee’s brilliant marketing push? Indie’s work on word of mouth? Your boyfriend?”
“My boyfriend?” I frowned, confused about how David, a complete left turn, had anything to do with this.
“See this spike in stats right here?” She pointed to a line stretching past the thousand-view mark. “David posted about it on his socials.”
“You follow David on his socials?” I laughed, amused as I studied her.
“Yeah, after you refused to, but still wanted to look for dirt.” She playfully poked her elbow into my side. “Remember?”
“Oh, right.” That was eons ago, sophomore year, before I built up the courage and fuck-it mentality to just text the guy. “He didn’t tell me.”
“You know what this means?”
I blinked, lost in a daze of gratefulness for David and my girls. “What?”
