I was wrong. A few hours in this dress might be the death of me.
“I can’t believe I let you convince me to leave the house in this,” I sneer at Ella and Delilah.
I try—again—to shimmy down the hot pink skirt that’s so short I might as well be wearing nothing at all.
“You look so hot though!” Delilah—who’s fully covered in her deep-cut, but still long and flowy dress—has the audacity to say.
I slump over to try and minimize the amount of midsection showing in this damn crop top. “I look like a troll.”
“Stop it.” Ella rolls her eyes like I forced her to leave the house in clothing that is considered illegal in certain countries. “You’re acting like a troll, but you don’t look like one.”
Eww.
Rude.
“I didn’t mean a troll that lives under a bridge and scares people, jerk. I’m talking about the movie Trolls. The main troll was pink, covered in glitter, and had hair out to here.” I gesture the length of my pink, glittered, big-haired body. “You styled me like the skanky version of a children’s movie character.”
“I know this is way out of your comfort zone.” Ella stops on the sidewalk after making the understatement of the night. “But you look great. You need to own it. Confidence sells everything, got it?”
I nod, not because I get it, but because they also styled me in four-inch stilettos and I’m pretty sure my feet are bleeding. I need to get to wherever we’re going so I can sit my ass down.
We turn a corner and Delilah points to the restaurant across the street. “There it is!”
She starts to skip and my steps falter…but not because of the heels adorning my freshly painted, possibly blood-soaked toes, but because above the door on the brick building she’s prancing toward is a sign with the words “Lightning Rod.”
When I said I didn’t want a big party, I did that for a lot of reasons.
Admittedly, I haven’t fully explored the nightlife scene in Miami. To be fair though, Vaughn worked at half of the clubs, which made it feel like eyes were always watching. Plus, the one time I did go, I almost got vertigo from the amount of Versace (and knockoff “Versace,” because even though I’m not into brand names outside of handbags, even I could tell some of that crap was fake) wafting around me. I was quick to learn that South Beach was not my neighborhood, so I went to a bar downtown that had great reviews. The vibe was much calmer…and also much douchier. Between the fraternity banners, framed photos of “southern greats,” and the way the bartender bro sneered when Delilah asked for a martini, I didn’t last ten minutes.
Clubs have never been my scene, which is part of what made me so nervous about tonight.
And now, heading into a place where I’m assuming the walls are plastered with posters of cars and half naked women, cheap beer is served two-for-one at the bar, and the playlist only consists of country songs that talk about shooting whiskey and beers, all while wearing this neon mini monstrosity, my hesitancy has increased tenfold. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good old-fashioned honky-tonk as much as anyone (I’m from the Midwest, after all) but this is definitely not where I thought the night would bring me.
“Ummm…” I stop walking, looking behind me to see how far away the car is and whether I could make it back without having to walk barefoot on the litter-lined street. “You know…I’m just not…”
I try to think of any words to get me out of this situation I most definitely did not ask to be placed in. Ella and Delilah must sense my desire to escape, because before I can turn and run, each grabs one of my wrists and begins to pull me toward the door.
“No way.” Ella tightens her grip when I try to wiggle out. “You’re coming and you’re going to have a blast.”
They drag me slowly across the street, less to give me time to think and more because if we moved any faster I would fall on my face in these damn shoes.
“Ready?” Delilah asks when she stops in front of the door, and I seriously consider filing for a friend divorce. She knows damn well I’m not ready! I nod anyway because there’s no point in fighting the inevitable. I clench my eyes shut as though I can pretend it’s not happening and they shuttle me inside.
Traces of the humid Miami air disappear with the gentle thud of the heavy door closing behind us, and when I open my eyes, I totally understand why this place is called Lightning Rod.
Because holy freaking crap…I definitely feel like I’ve been struck by lightning.
The warm pink from the overhead lighting is a stark contrast to the streetlights we just escaped. The exposed beams and ducts are draped with greenery that perfectly complements the emerald velvet couches lining the wall. Small gold tables are strategically placed throughout the bar, both close enough to converse with the new friends you’re bound to make, but far enough for a semblance of privacy if you need it. Pink, green, and gold art deco wallpaper covers the walls, giving your eyes not a single place to rest. A pink neon sign shines brightly from the far back wall. Its inspirational message Yes the F*ck You Can illuminates every patron, no doubt adding a little extra confidence to everyone’s step.
But even with all of that, the bar is still the crowning glory. The gold bar top sparkles beneath modern glam diamond chandeliers. Glass shelves holding all of the best liquor—and some of the worst—go up to the ceiling. Gold martini shakers fill up one shelf, while cocktail glasses in all different shades of pink fill another. Women of all shapes, colors, and sizes stand behind the bar in some version of a white shirt and dark pants. Where in some places the diversity could be a fluke, something about this place screams intention. Like they don’t want to just be about looking inclusive, but want to take the steps to actually be inclusive.
And that all happens before the hostess leads us to the private room and my little slice of heaven is revealed to me in all of its floral grandeur.
“Happy birthday!” my wonderful friends—whom I honestly don’t know if I deserve—shout in perfect synchronization.
As a person who rarely cries and also wasn’t really feeling this entire thing, I scoffed when Ella insisted I wear waterproof mascara tonight. But now, as my sinuses burn and my friends turn into a blur through my unshed tears, I know I owe her yet another apology.
It’s honestly just getting ridiculous at this point.
“Wow!” I look around the small, intimate room, fanning my face and hoping these damn tears don’t fall. The mascara might stay, but I can’t imagine my foundation won’t streak. “This is so amazing. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything!” Bailey pulls me in for a hug before shoving a shot glass into my hand. “Just slam it!”
“Slam it! Slam it! Slam it!” Delilah and Ella start chanting.
And because I’m trash for peer pressure, I don’t even ask what kind of shot it is before I throw it back, cringing as the familiar bitter heat of tequila burns the back of my throat.
“Aghhhh!” I groan, looking around for a lime or something to soften the blow but have to fight through it when I can’t find anything.
“Woot! Cocktail time hath arrived!” Bailey punches the air above her. “I ordered everyone a My-Mai Tai that I had the bartender create just for our Maya here. It has grapefruit in it and it’s phenomenal.”
“Sounds delicious!” I would’ve drunk whatever Bailey handed me. But she knows me well, and that actually does sound delicious. Maybe I’ll have two.
“Okay, okay, okay.” Bailey stands and taps her glass with her fork.
Our table is dripping with flowers and covered with empty plates and glasses. My stomach hurts from not only how much I’ve eaten, but how much I’ve laughed.
I know I said I didn’t want a party, but I’m learning that sometimes my friends know me far better than I know myself. This has been one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, and the only thing flowing more than the alcohol tonight is my gratitude. I should’ve trusted my friends and beloved little sister not to force me into something I would hate. This is small, intimate, and absolutely stunning.
“I know our girl here hates being the center of attention, but I just had to say not only how much we all love and appreciate her, but also point out how fucking gorgeous she looks tonight!” Her voice rises a few octaves at the end, and Ella and Delilah start to cheer and whistle. “I never thought we’d see you in a miniskirt and crop top, but good lord do you look hot! In the words of the great poet and prophet Megan Thee Stallion, cheers to body-ody-ody!”
We raise our glasses and shout “Body-ody-ody” so loud I’m sure people across town can hear it.
The My-Mai Tais have well and truly gotten me drunk. Instead of being embarrassed by the attention, I stand up and take a bow.
“Thank you very much,” I say to the round of applause. “But this was all Ella’s idea, so don’t get used to it.”
Ella stands from her spot opposite me and curtsies.
“Well.” Bailey, who might be the only other person as drunk as me, teeters on her heels. “She did a great job, and I think we need to let Vaughn know what a dumbass he was to let this go.”
Vaughn would die if he saw me now. As he started working more seriously in the nightclub industry, I couldn’t tell if my being so far removed was something he liked or hated. Either way, he would be shocked to see me out in Miami, drunk and in a crop top. I mean, who even am I right now and why do I love it so much?
Ella’s influence truly knows no bounds.
“We should take a picture and post it on Delilah’s IG.” Ella reaches into her purse to grab her phone. “He’ll definitely see it there. Let him see it and read all the comments talking about what a goddamn smoke show you are.”
“Why use a middleman when we can show him now?” Bailey asks, and my drunken haze begins to lift.
You know in movies when the main character is just skipping about, living their best life, and all of a sudden, tires squeal and everything goes in slow motion just as all hell is about to break loose? That isn’t just movie magic, because I swear that’s what happens now.
All conversations stop and all focus is directed at me. I swear even the waitress who has started collecting the empty plates stops to stare.
“I’m sorry,” says Ella, who’s still standing. “What are you talking about?”
“You know how I told you I had a connection here?” Bailey says. Her smile hasn’t dimmed and I think she’s the only person in this entire restaurant who didn’t feel the mood shift. “Well, I knew they had worked with Vaughn before, and when I brought it up, he told me they were friends! I invited them and he just texted me that they’re in the parking lot.”
“Bailey.” Delilah looks as horrified as I feel. “You didn’t.”
If I wasn’t frozen in panic, I would be relieved to know Ella and Delilah had nothing to do with whatever is about to happen, but I am too shocked to be able to process all of that right now. Of all the very worst-case scenarios I came up with for tonight, I can honestly say Bailey ambushing me with my ex was not featured anywhere on the list. Who would ever think that was a good idea? She knows full well I haven’t even spoken to him in weeks!
“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Her southern lilt slips out when we don’t react the way she anticipated. “This is going to be great! Vaughn is going to beg for her back after tonight.”
In the days after we broke up, this is all I wanted. But now? I don’t know what I’m more afraid of, that he’ll see me and want me back or that he won’t. Both are equally terrifying.
Before I can decide whether to think on it or run like hell, Ella’s eyes snap over my shoulder. The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the energy in the room becomes charged, and I’ve never sobered up so quickly in my entire life. Her lips flatten into a straight line and her gorgeous eyes narrow like they do every time she is in the presence of one particular person.
“Ralph,” she says, calling him by the name he hates so much, and even though this shouldn’t concern me, my anxiety spikes. “Would say it’s nice to see you, but we both know that’d be a lie.”
I turn around, and standing there, right in front of me for the first time in what feels like forever, is Vaughn.
He’s just as handsome as ever. I’d hoped if I ever ran into him again, I wouldn’t feel this. I hoped the butterflies in my stomach would be gone and I wouldn’t notice the way his smile—the one that landed him on the cover of a magazine during the height of his football career—lights up every room he walks into. I wanted to be over him, done for good. I wanted to feel exactly nothing if I ever saw him again. But if the rapid beating of my heart tells me anything, it’s that he still affects me, and the feelings I developed over ten years didn’t disappear overnight.
“Ella.” His deep voice is like butter, and my traitorous body can’t help the way it responds to hearing him again. “I didn’t know you’d be here. Nice to see that you haven’t lost your spunk.”
“You’re such a condescending piece of—” Ella says, and I’ve been around this song and dance too many times before not to cut in. I know if I don’t the tension in this room is going to be about a hundred times worse.
“Ella, don’t,” I say, and her eyes slice to me. “Please stop.”
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.” It’s easy to see that she’s pissed. But unlike all the other times we’ve fought over Vaughn in the past, I see straight to the pain. “Two seconds around him and you’re already protecting him. After the way he treated you? Come ON!”
“I’m not! I just—” I try to explain that I don’t want her to get worked up and mess with our night when it might still be salvageable. I want to tell her I’m not sure I want to even see him, let alone defend him. But Ella is passionate and she’s running hot. The years of my ignoring her and taking Vaughn’s side over hers are making it impossible for her to hear me. “There’s no reason to get all worked up right now.”
I’m so flustered that all my thoughts and words are jumbled, but even so, I regret the words as soon as I say them.
“You know what, Maya? Have him.” She shakes her head, and her lips curl in disgust. She takes a step back, holding her hands up in surrender. “Have Ralph. Be miserable. I don’t fucking care anymore. I really thought you were turning a corner for the better, but I guess not.”
“Ella, ple—” I try to stop her. Explain or apologize. Anything. But she doesn’t let me get another word out.
“Nope. I’m not interested.” She grabs her purse and puts it over her shoulder. “I don’t even know why I thought you were capable of living your life for anyone other than Mom. One second around him and you’re right back in the same position. It’s sad. No, you’re sad. And I’m done with all of this.”
All of the food I so happily indulged in just a short while ago threatens to make a reappearance as embarrassment and hurt twist my stomach into knots. I want to be pissed at her, but after the way I’ve behaved before, I can’t exactly fault her for feeling this way. I just wish she could’ve not screamed it in public.
“Always a great time when you’re around, Ella,” Vaughn says, goading her as she storms out.
“How about you go fuck yourself? Or actually…” Ella says over her shoulder before stopping and turning to face him. Dread shoots through my veins because I’ve seen this look before, and I know she is about to choose violence. “Since I know you cheated on my sister, why don’t you go fuck whoever? It’s clear she’ll take you back no matter what.”
I know she’s mad, but she couldn’t have cut me deeper if she tried. The patience and understanding I was trying to hold on to flies out the window and anger sets in.
“Get your stuff out of my place.” I can’t even look at her as I talk. My hands are trembling and all I want to do is cry. “I don’t want to see you when I get home.”
I’m sure she can sense my rage, but she remains untouched. “My pleasure.”
With one final roll of her eyes and a well-timed middle finger to Vaughn, she’s out of the room without so much as a backward glance.
Bailey is about three shades paler than usual, and Delilah is staring at her lap, discreetly swiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. The laughter and joy that was filling this room only moments ago is long gone.
I try to think of anything to lighten the mood of the room, but I come up empty. Anything I say at this point is meaningless. We all know this party is over.
“I’m really sorry about that, everyone,” Vaughn says after a few moments, acting like the host of this party and speaking for me despite being the reason my party was ruined. “But,” he says to me in a stage whisper, “is now a bad time to tell you that you look incredible tonight?”
Like a petulant child who can’t keep her mouth closed, even when she caused all of this, Bailey mutters beneath her breath, “I told them you’d say that.”
“Ummm…” The poor waitress who’s been laughing and joking with us all night comes in and takes in the mood. “Should I still bring the cake?”
And that’s it. I don’t know if it’s the absurdity of the night or the almost overwhelming urge to break down in tears, but something snaps inside of me. I slap my hand over my mouth, but it does nothing to stifle the snort of bitter, ironic laughter that escapes. It’s the only way to keep myself from crying in front of my friends. Before I know it, everyone, even Vaughn, is laughing along with me in an attempt to salvage what’s left of the party. The sound is thin and a bit forced, but I appreciate the effort.
Even though I’m still attempting not to cry, there’s really nothing else to do but go on with the show. As great as Delilah is on Real Love, she’s no actress. She’s trying to laugh, but I can still see a tear on her face, and Vaughn, ever the showman, is doing a thick, velvety stage chuckle, aiming to gloss over the lingering awkwardness. He moves toward me, and when I don’t step out of his reach, he wraps his arms around me. In this moment, the familiar touch feels like home.
“I’m sorry about everything,” he says into my hair. “I missed you so much.”
I close my eyes, trying to take in his words and figure out how I really feel about him, when I hear another voice from across the room.
“Maya? Sorry, I’m late,” he says. “What did I miss?”
I stiffen and push out of Vaughn’s arms to see a confused Kai staring at me with an expression much like Ella was wearing only moments ago. The tension in the room still hasn’t entirely dissipated, and I can see him figuring out what’s happened—with my luck, he probably even crossed paths with Ella as she stormed out.
Because of course.
“I was just stopping by to wish you a happy birthday.” His normally open, expressive face that I adore closes down before my eyes, and it breaks what’s left of my heart. “But something actually came up. I’ve got to go, but have a great night.”
“Kai,” I say, but before I can say more, he turns and leaves the room.
“Who was that?” Vaughn’s deep voice is way too close. The absurdity of the moment has passed and the reality is setting in. A reality where the two relationships I’ve cherished the most these past weeks are crumbling around me all because Vaughn is an entitled jerk, and the second I was around him again, I reverted back to the same person who never stood up to him.
And no.
Absolutely not.
I will not go back.
“You need to leave.” I don’t answer his question, not because I don’t want to tell him who Kai is, but because it’s none of his business and I owe him nothing.
“What? I just told you that I missed you. I apologized.” His brow furrows and he looks truly confused. “Why would I leave?”
If I wasn’t out-of-my-mind furious right now, I might feel bad for him. He’s a grown man and still doesn’t understand that his actions have consequences, that saying sorry doesn’t magically erase all of the hurt he’s caused.
“I appreciate the apology.” I struggle to keep my voice even while my eyes are starting to burn with unshed tears. “But it’s not enough. You hurt me and I’m not ready to be around you.”
In fact, I don’t think I want to be around anyone.
I spot my purse by my chair and shoulder past Vaughn, who looks like his brain might explode as he tries to process my rejection.
“I’m going to call an Uber,” I inform Bailey and Delilah, who stopped laughing a long time ago. “But thanks for the party. This was…well, it was something.”
And to think, all of this could’ve been avoided if my well-intentioned friends let me keep my ass at home like I wanted.
I’m never having another party.
Ever.