Page 73 of Broken Romeo
I ask, “Maybe the weekend after?”
Why am I pressing this matter? Because you know they’re not going to come…
“The next weekend…” Mom says, “Oops. We have Derek’s karate belt ceremony.”
My jaw tightens and I look up at the inky sky. Somewhere behind the clouds and smog are stars—the same stars she sees in Indiana.
Mom gives a little chuckle. “You know your dad and I just aren’t city people. Why don’t you keep us posted and if this one actually pans out, we’ll talk about coming up for a visit?”
“Sure, Mom,” I whisper.
The truth is, she’s right. This one won’t pan out. So I’m not sure why I’m pressing her so hard for it, especially since my backup plan had been to go home to them in Indiana … and now I’ve made it impossible to do that.
“I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up feeling even worse than before.
More than anything, I can’t wait to throw on a pair of pajamas and crawl into bed to lick my wounds. The elevator ride up to my apartment is loud with the sound of music thumping through the walls.
Someone cooler than me is throwing a party. Good for you. As the elevator doors slide open onto my floor, the music blares louder and I groan, wishing the party wasn’t happening so close to where I want to bury myself in blankets and wallow.
I freeze when I see my apartment door propped wide open with at least twenty people milling about in the less than six hundred square feet of space.
I step cautiously inside and recognize a few of Jill’s friends from her critique group… and a whole lot of other faces I’ve never seen before.
It doesn’t take long to spot my bestie who’s standing on our coffee table dancing.
She finally sees me and, with a squeal, hops down and runs over to greet me with a hug. “You’re home early!”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Sorry! It started as a little get together with my critique group, but then they all asked if they could bring a friend and quickly it turned into this.” She waves her hands around the room. “Just don’t open my bedroom door. I’ve locked Junie in there.”
“Can I hide in there with your cat, too?” I sigh and reach for one of the many wine bottles on our counter, pouring a full red Solo cup’s worth. If they’re partying in my house, then I at least deserve some free booze out of it.
Jill’s face sinks. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“It’s fine,” I say, and then down half the cup in a few gulps.
Jill studies me. “You sure? You don’t seem fine.”
“Well, I quit today, then when I called my parents to beg them for money, I chickened out and invited them to the premiere of my non-existent Broadway show. But other than that, I’m peachy.” I fill the cup again and hold it up in mock toast to Jill.
Tears well in Jill’s eyes as she yelps a strangled, “What?”
“Now I can’t even move back home after I’m evicted without admitting that they were right. That another show slipped through my fingers.”
“Quitting isn’t slipping through your fingers.” A flash of anger lights in Jill’s eyes. “It’s tossing it out the fucking window!”
Guilt clutches in the pit of my stomach, and I press my palm against the growing ache in my belly. “You don’t understand, Jill. I had to quit.”
“Why?” Jill pouts. “You were so close.”
Don’t I know it.
Over the pounding bass of the music, I fill her in on everything that happened at rehearsal today.
Jill paces back and forth in our kitchen while I talk.
Our kitchen is only six feet long and, despite our serious conversation, is filled with people partying. So, really, her “pacing” includes two steps in one direction before she bounces off someone’s shoulder, pivots, then takes three steps in the other direction.