Chapter Twenty

“Hey, earth to Talia. Grab the salad bowl?”

Rose nudged her on the hip, and Talia snapped to attention. What was happening? Oh, right. Brunch.

She reached for the carved wooden bowl and the matching tongs. Was there anything in Rose’s new apartment that wasn’t perfect? She and Jason had crystal stemware and they weren’t even married yet. Meanwhile, Talia now had no apartment, no boyfriend—not even an occasional fuck buddy letting her crash with him—and no idea what to do next.

Everything felt upside down. At least I have my friends, she reminded herself as she helped Rose get ready for brunch. Once a month, the four of them got together for besties brunch, and this month was no exception. It had been Talia’s turn to host, and at one point she’d thought about asking Reed whether she could have it at his apartment. Maybe invite him to stay. Meet her friends. Be part of her life.

Then everything turned to shit. So obviously that question was out.

Thankfully, Rose had stepped in at the last minute. Why she couldn’t have let Talia stay in their enormous apartment even if Jason was there was a whole other question, one Talia was working on not blurting out to Rose while she was benefitting from her hospitality.

“Talia!”

Talia whirled around. “What?”

Amanda held up a bottle of champagne. “You’re on another planet today. Here, you need more of this.” She grabbed Talia’s empty champagne flute and refilled it.

“That’s definitely not what I need,” Talia said. Opening night was in two days—she should have been chugging water and stretching every muscle she had. But she sipped it anyway.

“Breakups require bubbly,” Amanda said. “Not cut with orange juice, either. Only the straight stuff will do.”

Talia opened her mouth to protest, yet again, that she hadn’t just gone through a breakup. But before she could remind Amanda that she and Reed were barely technically together to begin with—as he’d so helpfully let the world know in Long Island—Amanda held up a hand.

“Don’t give me that shit about how you weren’t dating,” she said. “You met his family. You slept in his bed. You were dating. Which means now you’re contractually obligated to wallow and feel bad.”

“Great,” Talia said, raising her glass. “Lucky me.”

She knew Amanda was just trying to cheer her up, and any other day, she might have appreciated it. But she didn’t have time to wallow and feel bad right now. She barely had time to breathe. Hal was working her extra hours, trying to get her prepared.

But it was hopeless, and she was pretty sure Hal knew it. The rest of the world was about to know it, too.

It wasn’t the steps—she had those down. It was something deeper. Something more. It was like she’d left all the music she had inside her back in Reed’s apartment. Back in his bedroom in Long Island, where she’d once felt such indescribable joy.

Now, there was nothing. She could put her arm or her leg where Hal told her. But she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t dance.

“At least you have the show,” Jessie said. “You as the lead, all of us screaming in the front row. They say living well is the best revenge. And you, my dear, are living fabulously.” She gave Talia a kiss on the cheek as she sashayed by, carrying a tray of bagels.

If only she were right.

“You can’t scream at a ballet show,” Talia said.

“Screaming metaphorically,” Jessie amended. “On the inside.”

“You didn’t seriously get front-row seats, did you?” She frowned, but Jessie was grinning.

“Shawn got a whole block of them.”

Great. Not only would she humiliate herself in front of Hal, the dance company, and every reviewer from every major newspaper, magazine, website, and blog that had any kind of arts coverage, so that she’d probably never land another role again, but her friends were going to be there, plus her parents, an aunt and uncle coming in from New Jersey… Everyone but Reed.

She pushed the thought from her mind.

“Don’t worry,” Jessie said. “You’re nervous now, but you always say that when the lights come on, nothing else matters and you just get to dance.”

But Talia wasn’t sure that was going to be true this time.

“You need a bagel,” Jessie said, ushering her to the table. “Soak up the booze.”

“Everyone needs bagels,” Rose agreed. “Boys suck.”

“What are we, twelve?” Amanda asked.

“Sometimes it feels like it,” Rose said with a sigh.

“What’s going on with Mr. Fancypants?” Amanda asked, taking a bagel, smearing it with cream cheese, and piling on a stack of lox.

Talia picked at the edges of her bagel. She didn’t feel like eating. Just looking at the table made her stomach turn.

But she couldn’t help noticing Rose’s momentary deer-in-headlights look, quickly smoothed over with a tight-lipped smile.

“Nothing’s going on with Jason,” Rose said quickly. “He’s traveling a lot for work. But we’re great. We’re really…”

“Great?” Jessie supplied when Rose fumbled.

“Exactly! We’re narrowing down wedding dates as soon as he gets back.”

Jessie caught Talia’s eye and gave a small, worried shrug. Ordinarily, Talia would be the first asking Rose what the hell “great” was supposed to mean, or why this engagement was taking forever. But right now, she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like she had any idea what it was like to live with a boyfriend for real—let alone a fiancé. She was the last person to be giving relationship advice.

“I said, have you at least talked to Reed?”

“What?” Talia hadn’t realized her mind had been wandering again. “No, he hasn’t called. Can’t say I’m surprised.” She grimaced at her uneaten bagel. “He’s not exactly Mr. Communicative.”

“But have you called him?” Jessie asked, passing the fruit salad around.

Talia stared at her. “Of course not.”

“Do you think it would help? I mean…at least to get some closure, so you feel better before the show?”

“Closure’s bullshit,” Amanda declared. “It doesn’t exist. Everyone these days just ghosts.”

“What she said.” Talia nodded toward Amanda, the only other one who knew what a hellscape dating in New York was like. “Besides,” she added. “Reed’s not the problem.”

She tried to sit up straighter. Tried not to feel the champagne swimming in her head. But it didn’t come out the way it had in her mind, like she gave no fucks. Judging by the looks on her friends’ faces, nobody believed it.

“Then what is it?” Jessie asked warily.

“The problem is that I suck.”

Her pronouncement was met with silence.

Then Amanda burst out laughing. Once she started giggling, Jessie couldn’t help herself, either. Pretty soon Rose had joined in, too.

Talia didn’t break a smile. “This isn’t some pity party. I really think I should sit down with Hal and tell him I can’t do it.”

“Fuck no,” Amanda said, at the same time that Rose asked if she was serious.

Jessie narrowed her eyes. “Who in the world can take your place this close to the performance?” she asked.

But Talia had already considered that. “Chelsea,” she said.

“Who the hell is Chelsea?”

“She became my understudy, so she knows the steps. At this point, she could probably do it better than I can. She’s a good dancer, even if she—”

Talia swallowed the rest of the sentence before it came tumbling out. Even if she’s buying from the dealer Reed’s trying to nab. That was opening too many cans of worms. Besides, she was trying to steer the conversation away from Reed. Not fixate on him all day.

“You’re writing yourself off before you’ve even had a chance,” Rose said. “You can’t do that.”

“Trust me,” Talia said. “I know myself, I know the other performers, and I know what it looks like to suck on stage. I’m tired. Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing for me,” she said quickly to Rose, before she could feel bad about her couch. “It’s just, you know. It’s not the same.”

“So.” Jessie folded her hands politely in front of her on the table. “If the problem isn’t Reed, then why is it, Miss Lassiter, that you think you’re distracted this week?”

“Could it be nerves about the opening night?” Amanda said, more to Jessie than to Talia.

“Too much wheatgrass in her diet?” Jessie responded. “Or not enough—I never can tell.”

“It might be the early-morning light in the living room,” Rose joined in on their game. “We don’t have good curtains.”

“Guys, I’m sitting right here,” Talia said. “And your curtains are fine.”

“Then it’s the wheatgrass,” Jessie deadpanned.

“Next time,” Rose promised. “Wheatgrass mimosas just for you.”

“Come on!” Talia threw up her hands. “I’m trying to figure out what to do here.”

“You’re just having a shitty week,” Jessie said, leaning forward.

“Yeah, I think that’s pretty obvious,” Talia said. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“No, I mean—you’re allowed to have a bad week,” Jessie said. “Without beating yourself up for it.”

“Try telling that to Hal,” Talia grumbled. “Or the New York Times.”

“You lost something important to you. It might take more than a few mimosas with your besties to get over it.” Amanda was never affectionate. But she was the one sitting next to Talia, and she dropped her hand in Talia’s and gave it a squeeze.

Talia swallowed. “It’s not about Reed,” she said. But the words came out quiet, like they’d gotten lost in the hollowness inside her. “It’s me. I can’t do it. And even though Reed didn’t help,” she added when no one else spoke, “it’s not like I can explain that to Hal. Sorry I’m dancing like crap, it’s because this guy I wound up living with told his mom he didn’t want to marry me. Come on. I’d sound like an idiot. It’s Max all over again. If I’m not careful, I’m going to get a reputation in the dance company.”

She rolled her eyes, trying to make fun of herself. Trying to make it all seem like the same sort of nothing. Talia bad with men. Talia choking on stage again.

But no one was laughing.

“Max was a douchecanoe,” Amanda said.

“Like Reed isn’t? Seriously, you guys. If I slept with him, you know it means he’s an asshole.” Talia tried to say it with a laugh. But it wasn’t funny. Just calling Reed an asshole felt…wrong. Not that he wasn’t, obviously. But then Jessie got up to bring more coffee to the table, carrying the container of almond milk just for Talia, and she felt tears prick her eyes. Hot, stupid, foolish tears she really could do without.

It was the sort of thing best friends did—took care of one another, knew what they liked, what they wanted. And the sort of thing Reed had done for her, making sure the apartment was stocked, and his mom’s house. Making sure Talia never had to do without.

Asshole-lite, she decided. But still not right for being her boyfriend.

“Give yourself a little credit,” Jessie said gently. “Reed didn’t sound like an ass.”

“You never even met him,” Talia said.

“I’d also never seen you light up so much when talking about a guy.”

“Well, that lightbulb’s been smashed, so don’t get too used to it.”

“I’m sorry.” Jessie squeezed her hand. “I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“It’s just that, well—” Rose bit her lip.

“You can say it,” Talia said. “You’re not going to hurt my feelings any more than that lump of a Bishop guy already has.”

“When Max screwed you over, you were mad for like a day. Then we all went out—”

“Got hammered on a Tuesday,” Amanda added with a grimace.

“Celebrated your newfound freedom perhaps a little too enthusiastically,” Rose amended. “And then you were fine. More than fine, actually. You bounced back like it had never happened.”

Talia wasn’t sure that was quite true. She’d thought about Max a lot after that. She still thought about him, truth be told. Worrying there was something wrong with her, some demented part of her that always picked guys who didn’t give a shit and then were gone.

But maybe Rose was right, in some weird way. Because when she thought about Max, it was to regret how wrapped up in him she’d been, how quickly she’d let him take priority over the other things that were important to her. Like dance. Auditions. And her friends.

She never sat around thinking about how much she missed him—his touch, his scent, the scruff of his jaw. The feel of his hand sliding in hers.

When she thought about Reed, she could barely care about how she was doing in rehearsals, or the pressure on her for opening night. The ache in her was too great to leave room for anything else.

“I miss him,” she said quietly, raising the champagne flute to her lips and putting it down without drinking. “I just really, really miss him.” She looked at her friends. “What am I going to do?”

“I wish I had an answer for you,” Jessie said. “Beyond the fact that it’s okay to be sad.”

But it wasn’t okay. That was what her friends didn’t understand.

If she was sad, she couldn’t dance well. But it was more than that, too.

If she was sad, it was because there was something to feel sad about. Not for an hour, a day, until the next good thing came along to make the bad times ancient history.

This was a different sadness, a hurt that went all the way to her bones. The sadness of real loss. Of longing. Of missing someone so much that a breakup became a kind of grieving, a mourning that a week and a mimosa couldn’t make a dent in.

She’d been trying to distance herself from that horrible morning at Reed’s mother’s house, from their fight in the car and her flight to Penn Station. If she could move past it, if she could get herself settled into another life—one where she had a place to live, a role on stage, where there was no reason to miss Reed because she was succeeding on her own—then she’d be absolutely fine.

But she knew now, looking at the sympathy on her friends’ faces, that fine wasn’t enough. She could do all right on her own. She’d always do all right.

But she wanted more than that. She wanted to stop crashing with random people. She wanted to glow as Giselle.

And she also wanted Reed.

It wasn’t an either-or. It wasn’t a choice she had to make. She wanted both. She wanted everything. She wanted to be greedy with her love. Her heart should have room for every part of her life—and then some.

“When you left Reed,” Jessie said softly, “did he know you felt this way?”

Talia blinked at her. She wasn’t sure.

She’d been upset—he definitely knew that. But beyond the shock of the moment, the heat of her tears, the rush of getting out of his mother’s house, had he known she was going to miss him? Could he guess how deeply she cared?

“I have to go, you guys,” she said suddenly.

“You can’t leave besties brunch early,” Amanda said.

“But you’re coming back to stay here, right?” Rose was immediately concerned.

“Of course.” Talia gave a wry smile. “I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. But there’s something I have to do first.”

“Are you calling Reed?” Jessie’s eyes widened.

“I can’t,” Talia said. And she meant it. Reed had been clear about what he wanted, and the fact that it wasn’t her. She wouldn’t go groveling at his feet, begging him to feel things he didn’t.

But her friends were right. She was allowed to have feelings, too. Lots of them. Good ones, bad ones. Ones that made her laugh and ones that made her cry. Sometimes, ones that made her do both at once. Embarrassingly. In public. When she wished she could hide.

No man could take that away from her. No man could twist her into someone else, someone who smiled blandly and went along with whatever he wanted. Someone who agreed to be his side piece until he found someone he felt serious about.

Reed didn’t have to like that about her. She wasn’t going to change. But that didn’t mean she had to sit back and be miserable, either.

She blew kisses at everyone, grabbed her purse, and took the elevator downstairs. In the posh lobby of Rose’s apartment, she pulled out her phone. She had Maggie’s contact information saved—they’d exchanged numbers at the party.

She was already heading out of the lobby when Maggie picked up. “Talia?” she asked, sounding confused.

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you at home on a Sunday, but I realized I had your number and I—”

“Is Reed okay?” Maggie asked immediately.

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know. But that’s not why I’m calling.” She took a deep breath. “Listen—is Aaron around?”