Chapter Twenty-Three
Staccato: making each note brief and detached, the opposite of legato, notated with a dot above or below the head of the note
Charlie
Dinner with Damian, Lauren, and Natalie starts off great. We pick a movie from the in-room rental options after Natalie gets back with our Thai food. Settling down with our takeout containers around the TV, conversation is sporadic, and mostly centered around the believability of the situations the romantic leads find themselves in.
Things take a turn when Damian’s phone rings. I hit pause while he stands, moving to the entryway to take the call, not that it makes a difference. We all hear his half of the conversation.
“Wow. That’s great.” Even with his back to me, I can tell he’s smiling. And when he turns, his smile takes my breath away.
But then Lauren makes a strangled noise from her seat next to me. I’m distracted at first, because Damian’s eyes lock on mine as he continues talking, agreeing and thanking the person on the phone. When I finally tear my eyes away to look at Lauren, she has her eyes trained on him, anguish written all over her face.
This is the call. Damian won the competition, which means that Lauren did not. They were competing in the same category.
She blinks hard, her gaze dropping to the half full takeout container in her lap.
Damian ends the call, and his elation dims as he takes in Lauren.
She looks up at him, a forced smile on her face. “Congratulations. I’ve heard you play the Dvořák. I’m sure you deserved it.”
“Thanks.” He slides his phone in his back pocket, then sticks his hands in his front pockets. “I, uh—”
Lauren shakes her head and stands, setting aside her food. “Don’t. Just … don’t. I appreciate that you want to make me feel better, but …” She flashes that smile again, tears glittering in her eyes. “I, um, I need to go. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
Standing too, I move toward her. “Are you sure, Lauren? Do you want me to—”
But she cuts me off too, wiping her hands over her face and slipping her shoes back on. “No. No. I’d prefer to be alone. I’m sorry. Thanks.” She flashes me that same pained smile and heads for the door.
Damian and I remain frozen in place as she leaves. Several seconds tick past after the door closes loudly behind her with no one moving or saying anything.
“Well,” Natalie says, finally breaking the silence. “That was really awkward. But, uh, I think I’ll go finish watching this in my room. Without all this”—she waves her hands in a circular motion at Damian and I standing in the middle of the room—“unresolved tension.”
We remain in place as she grabs her bag, slips her shoes back on, and leaves as well, food in hand.
Damian looks over at me, hands still in his pockets.
I clear my throat. “Congratulations. I’m really happy for you.”
“Thanks.” He looks around, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. He clears his throat. “Well, uh, I should probably go too. My parents will want to know. And Dr. Weber.”
“Yeah. Of course.” My voice sounds too loud, but my default to cover over awkwardness is to talk. Be loud. Distract people with my smile and bubbly personality. Or sarcasm. Whichever seems more fitting. Except right now, nothing seems fitting.
I don’t want Damian to leave. And I’m torn between wanting to invite him back to celebrate and going to check on Lauren.
He gives me a polite smile. “Thanks for dinner again. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later.”
“Sure. Anytime.”
Before I can say or do anything else, like give him a hug or a kiss or … anything at all, he’s gone. Leaving me alone in my room, trapped and restless.
The movie’s still paused, but I don’t care about it anymore. I turn it off and flop down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. But I’m up again after a few seconds, pacing the floor and chewing my thumbnail, trying to decide what to do with myself. I grab my phone and send Lauren a text to see if she wants me to come commiserate with her, but she just says, No thanks. Talking to Gabby.
Of course she is. Never mind that idea, then. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. Gabby would understand better than me how she feels. I know this. And the fact that I’m torn between being happy for Damian and sad for Lauren doesn’t help matters.
Then there’s what happened with Damian before Lauren showed up …
She interrupted before we had a chance to talk about it. Then the calls about the competition happened. Nothing’s resolved.
But there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it now. Damian clearly didn’t want to stay. And I can’t go to his room. That’s risky. What if someone sees me?
My gaze lands on my laptop sitting closed on the desk. There’s always work to be done, so I settle into the plush desk chair and open my computer, pulling up my email.
I respond to an email from my manager and another one from my PR person. And delete one from my mom without reading it. She occasionally tries to make contact. The first few times were her trying to browbeat me into moving back in with her and Dad, where she could control me again. When that didn’t work, she acted like she was just checking in, like a normal parent does with their child. I actually talked to her a bit then, but it soon became clear that she was only interested in trying to worm her way back into my management team. And that’s not happening.
Sometimes I read her emails or listen to her voicemails. But tonight I just don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with her. Deleting her email is the best form of resolution I can get right now.
There are more emails, more decisions I need to make, and I just can’t right now. Another email from my manager asking where and when I want to schedule my next pop-up show, and the only answer I can come up with is I don’t know.
I can’t send her that, though.
So I close my laptop, frustrated that I’m so wound up that I can’t even work.
All these conflicting feelings—happiness, disappointment, confusion—leave me itchy and unsettled. Damian and I always talked about everything. So not talking about all of this—the sex, what we’re doing, his win—feels wrong.
That’s the only word I can come up with that fits. Everything’s all wrong.
I know he wanted to call and talk to his family, but it’s been over half an hour. That should be enough time, right?