WHAT DO I DO?!? – Katya “Bay,” Luka says, eyes pooled with concern. “What is it?”
“Katya sent us a group text.” I show him my phone since her text might be stacked beneath his cousins’ and brothers’ panicked messages.
Luka reads rapidly, and then he puts his phone back to his ear. I can’t understand all of the Russian, but as soon as he hangs up, he fills me in. “I told Erik I’d call her favorite restaurant, see if she’s there.”
A lie, obviously. “You realize that you’re simultaneously loyal and disloyal.”
“You realize my little sister has your new phone number when I don’t even have it.”
I shake my head. “Not the point.”
“It’s my point.” His smile fades quickly, the buzzing reigniting.
I cup my phone, about to text Katya back. “We can’t rope her into this.”
“She’s already in it.” Luka holds out his hand towards my phone like I’ll take care of it. “The three of us—me, Katya, Timo—we cover for each other all the time.”
I have plenty of these memories. When I was thirteen, we all snuck out for ice cream at 3 a.m. and ate freezer-burned popsicles from a 24-hour convenience store.
Three nights later, Timo went alone to that same convenience store. When his family tried to find him, Luka lied to Nik about Timo’s whereabouts, but Luka caught up to his little brother and joined him. So he’d be safe.
“But you all don’t lie for each other if it’s serious,” I say, also remembering that he’s ratted Timo out to Nikolai before. Concerned about Timo’s late-night club-hopping.
Likewise, I was around when Timofei told Nik that Luka stole from an Aerial Ethereal office. Just an ugly paperweight, but Luk was pushing it too far. I was as worried as his family, and he tried really hard to stop stealing after that.
He didn’t always succeed.
“Yeah,” Luka says as he texts his sister, “but Kat won’t see you and me as a bad thing.”
I nod, knowing that she wants us all to be friends again.
My phone buzzes.
Rose Calloway would know what to do – Katya I’ve seen Katya watch a few old reruns of Princesses of Philly, a cancelled reality show that starred the infamous Calloway sisters and their men. It aired when I was split apart from Luka.
“Rose Calloway is her favorite,” I realize, somewhat downtrodden. Because when we were younger, I would’ve pegged her as a Daisy Calloway fan. But Rose is basically the equivalent to Posh Spice. Always chic-looking, a fashion designer, ice-cold but tough-as-nails.
“Yeah, don’t get her started on PoPhilly,” Luka says. “She’ll literally discuss the ‘dichotomy’ of Connor Cobalt and Scott Van Wright for hours.”
I almost gag at that name Scott Van Wright. “Don’t say his last name.”
“Why not?” Luka looks up.
“I don’t want to hear you say my last name with Scott Van attached.” He’s disgusting and a villain masquerading as a romantic love interest for Rose when she clearly had feelings for Connor. “I’d rather the name be synonymous with Neal & Joyce Wright.”
His gaze softens and he nods, but he’s hung up on something because he keeps staring at me.
“What?”
Luka sends a text and pockets his phone. “You watch Princesses of Philly?”
My cell buzzes. “Everyone does.”
I quickly read the text.
Unhide and tell Nik you just came back from dinner at Retrograde with me. And I got stuck talking to a girl (not Bay) at the bar. Sound good? – Luka A girl.
Not me.
An imaginary scenario shouldn’t put a bad taste in my mouth, but picturing him chatting up another girl at a bar—who could be Mrs. Right—feels awful.
Katya replies with a thumbs-up emoji.
Luka’s brows furrow. “You didn’t used to like watching TV or reading Celebrity Crush magazines.”
He thinks I’ve changed.
I slowly pull out my five-dollar bill, trying to figure out how to approach this conversation. “I tried a lot of things after we…ended.”
“But TV?” He digs into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. “You used to cry at the detergent commercials.”
“They were emotionally manipulative.”
“Bay,” he says like I know you. I was with you.
I can’t exactly stand my ground when past evidence has shown that television doesn’t help my depression. It doesn’t always make it worse, but it hasn’t been my greatest outlet either.
Listening to music helps more. And being with people. Even if “being” is just lying together. Somewhere, anywhere. A park, a bench, the floor.
“Depression doesn’t just go away,” I tell Luka. “What’d you think—we broke up and I’d be happy?”
“Come on.”
“No,” I say, defenses rising. I exit the booth, the waitress and mustached man nowhere in sight. We’re alone here. “You were gone, Luk, and I had to figure out how to cope without feeling like the world was pointless. So I watched some television, and I liked it.”
“Oh yeah?” He throws down cash. “How’d it go afterwards? Screen is black. It’s quiet. You’re alone in your bed. What’d you feel then?”
Fine. I felt fine, and I’m allowed to watch television if I want to—but this is deeper than all of that. “You don’t have to worry,” I say. “It’s not your job or burden—”
“Come on,” he repeats, like I’m punching him in the heart. “Don’t push me away now, please.”
I take a deeper breath, about to toss my own money down.
“Let me pay,” he insists.
I hesitate.
“Please.”
“Okay.” I leave the booth, and as he follows behind, I decide to spin around. To confront him.
But I collide straight into his chest. My heartbeat is stuck in my throat, and Luka clasps my shoulders to steady me.
Our eyes descend each other in a boiling wave.
Then he drops his hands, much faster than I truly want. Distance separates us, this sliver of space that I want to close. If I listen to my heart at all, I know what I need to do.
“Okay,” I say again, but this one has so much more meaning.
“Okay…” He scrutinizes me head-to-toe. “Okay to the list?”
I haven’t agreed to his proposal yet, but the answer is right here. I’m irritated at an imaginary girl and an imaginary chat between her and Luka. It’s obvious.
I need him. Whether it’s closure or something else, I don’t know. But I’m ready to take the risk.
I nod confidently. “Yeah, the list.”
“Okay,” he says, more assured, his lips beginning to rise.
“Now what?” I wonder.
Luka skims me again but then he nods to the door. “I’ll call a cab. We need to get back to the Masquerade before Nik and Dimitri catch on, but tomorrow, the next day, we can figure it out.”
“Okay,” I say, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Like this just turned into a first date—wait, he paid for me. Was this actually a first date in his eyes?
It’s all I can think about when he holds open the door for me.
I step onto the concrete sidewalk, the night sky dark. In fact, the whole street is nearly pitch-black except for a dim street lamp nearby. We’re in a lifeless part of town.
We move closer to the lamp for light. Further away from the diner. A red brick wall is behind us—what looks like the side of an abandoned mattress factory.
I glance at Luka more than a few times. He’s mostly nonchalant as he calls us a cab. Casual and cool, but he’s almost always that way. I can’t gauge his feelings.
I wonder if his stomach is fluttering like mine. I’m nervous again, but a more excited-nervous than before.
“I can take the bus,” I offer. “It’ll be cheaper, and that way we won’t arrive at the Masquerade at the same time.” We’re doing this. Being together secretly.
This time, for the list.
Luka shakes his head. “I’ll just pay for the cab fare and get dropped off at the Bellagio.”
“That wasn’t…” I take a breath, my nerves jumbling my words. More clearly, I say, “I didn’t mean for you to pay.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Pocketing his phone, he faces me, his back to the street.
“We’ll split it then.” I put my stamp on that, and before he protests, I add, “Did you see the Mets last year? They were so solid.” I make a batting motion. I doubt he’s kept up.