His Royal Highness(72)
Ah, of course.
My dad takes it from her.
“Here, your mom got you a shirt.”
It’s held up in front of me like he’s checking the fit.
“I’ll put it on later.”
I might as well have just told them I’ve been convicted of murder with the way their faces fall. After battling the lumpy sofa bed for half the night, I have no fight left in me. I put the shirt on over the sweater I’m already wearing and the three of us leave the apartment.
On the mat, outside their door, a courier has dropped off a dense bouquet of blood red roses. I lean down quickly to snatch the accompanying note. It reads:
A rose for every time I wanted to kiss you during parade rehearsal. I think you still owe me…
I smile to myself, pocket the note, and carry the flowers back inside so they’ll be the first thing I see when we get back.
My parents assume someone sent the flowers for Avery. I don’t correct them.
Down on the New York sidewalk in our matching pink shirts, we draw the stares of everyone we pass. After a subway ride and short walk later, we find ourselves in the theater district. On the way, I’m treated to a bastardized summary of Avery’s musical. Apparently, it’s a parody of American sorority culture, hence the name Rush. Avery is one of the leads, an incoming freshman hoping to land a coveted spot in Kappa Zeta come bid day. She faces off against an arch-nemesis (a sassy rush captain) and finds love along the way (in the form of the sorority’s hunky house boy). My mom thinks it’s very cool how inclusive the cast is. “There’s even a girl from Spain!”
I stare wistfully at oncoming traffic just before I spot Avery standing in front of a diner with a black backpack slung over her shoulder. She’s scanning the crowd, looking for us, and when our eyes lock, she runs straight for me, wraps me up in her arms, and spins us around. I moan that I’m going to be sick and she finally stops, stepping back to hold me at arm’s length.
“God, I miss you. Why don’t you visit more?”
We both know the answer to that, so I don’t bother with a reply.
She gives me a once-over. I smile sheepishly, hoping I don’t look half as tired as I feel.
“How are you so grown up!? You’re supposed to be my baby sister, but you’re not a baby at all. You’re freaking gorgeous. Look at these cheekbones.”
She squishes my face in her hands. My lips pucker like a fish. She is the only person on the planet I would allow this from.
“I think she needs to eat more,” my dad points out with a frown.
Avery rolls her eyes, ignoring him, and takes my hand to steer me toward the diner. We use the lead on our parents to our advantage.
“I see they forced you into the t-shirt,” she says with a wink.
“It wasn’t worth the fight.”
“Why are you staying with them, anyway? Do you want to stay with me tonight? Please? Come! It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t want to upset them.”
“Oh, believe me. I know. It’s your life motto.” I frown and she rolls her eyes, not pressing that issue. “Whatever, just think about my offer, yeah? I’ve got extra space. Well, kind of. You’d have to sleep with me on my twin bed.”
My dad catches wind of our conversation inside the diner and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. That commune isn’t even safe enough for you. I won’t have Whitney there as well.”
“It’s an actor’s co-op, not a commune.”
“Not now,” my mom reprimands my father as we slide into a booth near the window. The red upholstery is sticky with syrup from a previous customer. “Avery has enough stress already. I don’t want any arguing today. Now, Avery, tell us how your dress rehearsals went last night.”
And that’s that.
There’s not a single moment of the breakfast that doesn’t revolve around Avery. Oh, she tries hard to curve the conversation toward me, but my parents swivel the spotlight right back on her. I’m actually okay with it. This is comfortable, like slipping on a worn pair of shoes. I sit and listen and eat, content to be an understudy.
We don’t even have the check when Avery looks at her phone and curses.
“I’ve got to get going. Dave wants us all there extra early today. We have press.”
She leans over and kisses my cheek and when she leaves, she takes all the energy with her. After that, there’s an overwhelming feeling of What now? None of us makes eye contact. I rearrange the sugar packets. Fortunately, it doesn’t last long. My parents have to get to work, after all. I have a day to myself, and I make the most of it. Right after I yank off that bubblegum pink t-shirt.
The next day, my parents and I spend a tense, awkward morning together in their crockpot of an apartment. We stew in each other’s space. I suggest we go out and sightsee, but my mom thinks it’s better if we stay in. We have a big night ahead of us, she reminds me. The musical starts at 7 PM and my mom wants to ensure we get there with plenty of time to find our seats. After, we have late dinner reservations at a restaurant my mom keeps describing as “very fancy” while giving me a pointed look.
It’s like she thinks I’m going to roll off my sofa bed, slide on some shoes, and proclaim myself ready to go.
A long walk outside by myself around the city at lunch time is the only thing that keeps me sane.