D aphne Craig was affectionate . That was a nice way of saying she wanted to tongue kiss everyone when she was drunk .

“Iris! C’mere …”

I tried to deflect her, honestly, but she was on the wrestling team, a fact Isaiah kept talking about while regaling to Jamie all the ways his prom date had pinned him to the bed the weekend her parents went to Indy for a high school reunion .

The girl was nearly a foot shorter than me and her blond hair was stiff with hairspray and what I suspected had been a row of cute crystals her hairdresser put in her up-do when preparing her for senior prom. She spun in a circle, still clutching my arms in the center of Jamie’s living room wearing nothing but one of Isaiah’s Guns N Roses T-shirts and his black boxers, making me feel overdressed in my jeans and tank top. Daphne wore too much make-up, most of which was smeared under her eyes, and she smelled of Mad Dog 20/20, the only liquor Isaiah could swindle from Hector’s stores under his stash in the back of the record shop office .

“Easy, lady,” I said, navigating her back toward the sofa where Isaiah and Jamie sat playing their guitars. It wasn’t an ideal post-prom after party, but we weren’t ideal seniors, either. “Here, man. Handle your woman.” Isaiah smiled, just pushing aside his guitar in time to catch Daphne. She curled her arms around him, laughing against his neck before singing out of tune .

“Ay Dios mío,” Jamie said, shaking his head at the drunken girl. His cousin barely extracted her from his neck before she seemed to catch a bout of energy and ran toward the stereo, squealing when Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” came on rotation. The volume had been low and as she darted toward the stereo, blaring the sound to ear-bleeding decibels, I wondered how she’d even heard it .

“You need to get a calm girlfriend,” I told Isaiah, eyes widening as she opened the cabinet next to the stereo and discovered Jamie’s stash of vinyl records .

“Hey! Watch it.” My boyfriend left the sofa, hands up as he tried to grab The White Album from her drunken hold .

“God, Isaiah, that’s not a Mad Dog drunk .”

He shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his face as we watch Daphne dancing, taking another album from the cabinet and Jamie trailed after her, following the drunk asshole into the kitchen .

“Pretty sure she dropped acid with Ellie Michaels at the dance.” He stretched, eyes rolling when a crash sounded from the kitchen and Jamie started cursing in Spanish .

“Everything okay?” I shouted earning a half-hearted “si” in response from my boyfriend .

“This is serious?” I asked Isaiah, nodding toward the kitchen .

“Not remotely.” He walked across the living room, setting a small stack of scattered records back into the cabinet. The music was loud, nearly as loud as Daphne’s off-key singing. Isaiah peeked around the doorway, into the kitchen, head shaking again before he picked up a half-drank bottle of tequila and sat down next to me on the sofa. “She’s fun to have around—most of the time,” he explained, passing the bottle to me. “But, well, hopefully with the possibility of a tour this summer I won’t have time for girlfriends or Willow Heights, si ?”

Something cold and twisting lock itself inside my chest and I held the bottle in front of my mouth, not drinking. I could only watch Isaiah, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. “Tour ?”

It took a minute for my shock and ignorance to register. Isaiah scratched his chin, forehead moving to push his eyebrows together as, I suspected, realization came to him. “Coño,” he said, eyes widening as he shot glances between me and the doorway, where Jamie had disappeared. Isaiah sat up straight, scooting to the edge of the sofa as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He didn’t tell you?” I shook my head and Isaiah rubbed his fingers into the corners of his eyes. “Coño,” he repeated, his voice awed. “I thought he’d have explained everything when he mentioned the gig in New York last week .”

“He only said the show had been okay.” I sat closer, fingers squeezing against the neck of the bottle. “I asked. I kept asking, but he’d change the subject.” Isaiah nodded, but didn’t speak, a frustrating little habit he had anytime he wasn’t sure if Jamie wasn’t giving me the whole story. They were thick as thieves. One wouldn’t betray the other’s trust or avoid keeping their secrets, but the proverbial cat was prancing around the bag. No need to stay tight-lipped. “Tell me .”

Once again Isaiah peered across the room, jerking his attention at me, though he kept his distance and remained staring at the doorway. “Ronnie Davies was there. We opened for Six Shooter.” When my mouth dropped open, Isaiah exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Does he tell you anything about our shows ?”

“Not lately, but that’s my fault. I’ve been stressed out about getting into NYU. I’ve been a bad girlfriend .”

Isaiah waved off my explanation and I knew it was because both he and Jamie were happy for me. When I got the acceptance letter, they both chipped in on a bottle of scotch and tickets to Hawthorne in Indy .

“He’s doing the modest thing again. My primo does that to a fault. Especially when it comes to you, chica .”

“What does that mean ?”

Isaiah took the bottle, emptying it before he answered me. “You’re both so tied up in each other that you don’t stop and look at the world around you.” He jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “With the exception of my destructive, drunken prom date, when the two of you are around each other, no one else exists. And, let’s be honest, he’s only in there to protect his vinyl.” He didn’t explain himself, and I watched Isaiah, wondering what I’d missed .

“We don’t…” but one glance at me from Isaiah, and that laugh that was all surprise had me shutting up. Had we become one of “those” couples? The ones whose only focus is each other? The kind of people that say idiotic things like “we are going to bed early” or “it’s our turn to buy the beer.” Those aren’t singular pronoun people; they become some sort of hen-pecked couple monster who can’t distinguish their individual wants and needs from the collaborative “we .”

“Okay,” I said, feeling stupid for how late I’d realized how much I’d missed in Jamie’s attempts to keep me front and center in our relationship. “So, I get it. I’ve gotten all the attention lately. But tell me. What did I miss? Omen has been invited on tour ?”

“To open for The Plebes .”

Surely, I couldn’t have heard Isaiah correctly. Their band was good, mostly because Jamie was excellent. But The Plebs? They were mainstream, not quite wide national exposure, but a massive indie following .

“It was the demo. Lily Malcom owns the Redfish. She got our demo to Ronnie who then sent it to Lenny Mars. Ronnie heard us playing and that was enough. It’s only a two-month tour, but is a northwestern gig. If we do okay, they’ll add us to the second leg.” Isaiah exhaled, grabbing his lighter from the coffee table. “He didn’t tell you any of this?” I shook my head and Isaiah watched me, gaze steely and sharp, as though there was something he was trying to figure out but didn’t want my help to do it .

Finally, when the scrutiny went on long enough, I pushed his shoulder, making his look away. “What ?”

“It’s not my place, chica .”

“I don’t mind .”

“My primo might.” He grabbed a joint from the small wooden box on the table and lit it, taking two long drags before he offered it to me .

I waved him off, crossing my arms as I turned on the sofa to watch him. “Yeah, well, he’s tending to your girlfriend .”

A thick coil of smoke lifted above our heads and the singing from the kitchen got lower, as though Daphne’s senses kicked in and smelled the weed .

“Here’s the thing,” Isaiah said, moving the blunt between his fingers. When he spoke again his voice was lower and his concentration was sharp. “I love Jamie. And you, chica , I like you. I know he loves you. I know you make him smile more than any other time in his life and that’s bueno, si? Muy Bueno . ”

“But?” I asked, trying to keep Isaiah from seeing how my fingers had started to shake .

“But, he can’t be trusted to think for himself. Not when it comes to you. He’s not rational .”

“You think I’ll hold him back? I would never …”

“No, you wouldn’t, but damn Iris, you make it impossible for him to remember the things that he wants.” He inhaled deep, holding the smoke in his lungs before he spoke again. “You’re making it damn hard for him to go after the dreams he’s always had for himself .”

“Jamie would never do that. Not for me. Not for anyone.” I stood then, worried that he could hear us from the kitchen. When I spoke again, my voice was quiet. “The music matters too much to him .”

“Months ago, yeah. Now? No.” He blew out a plume of smoke, head shaking. “He’s already told me he didn’t want to do the tour. He’s going to call Ronnie next week and turn him down .”

“Why?” I asked, my heart thudding .

“He says he’s going to follow you to NYU .”

“Yeah, for gigs and …”

“No, chica . He wants to leave the band. He wants to move to New York and wait around for you to finish. No plans. No agenda.” A crash sounded from the kitchen and Isaiah stood, leaving the joint burning on an ashtray. “Maybe you should put a stop to that.” Isaiah darted from the room, smoke trailing behind him .

Something in my stomach felt heavy, then coiled like bile as Jamie came back into the living room, shouting at his cousin over his shoulder. “Puta loco…” he said, but stopped when he saw me, arm immediately circling my waist .

“Come on, florecita . Let’s go to bed. I need you .”

He did. I knew that, but as Jamie led me upstairs, as he went about kissing me, stripping me naked, I wondered how deep that need went. I wondered if I was enough to fill him up .