“He’ll also talk about his magic dick at some point.”
Katya nods. “And if you’re above eighteen and not related to him, he’ll hit on you.” She opens an eye and looks at the short blonde beside me. “Thora knows.”
Thora grabs a makeup wipe. “Yeah, it wasn’t…good.”
Camila smiles and quips, “Unfortunately.”
She’s better at banter than Thora, but I think Thora would say that most people are superior than her in that area.
I go still while I watch Thora rub costume makeup residue off her eyes, the silver streaks from her performance earlier tonight. She hasn’t missed a single Amour show, and I can’t believe that AE is making her perform aerial silk while she’s pregnant. It’s unfathomable to me.
My heart hurts for Thora. Because I know what it’s like to be boxed into a contract and dark threats. It’s a terrible, powerless feeling. I can’t ask if she’s okay or reach out since she still hasn’t announced her pregnancy to the troupe.
She also doesn’t know that Luka and I overheard the news, but I think she’s aware of my suspicion. I’ve seen her rush to our suite bathroom, her face pallid with nausea.
“Pick a color, birthday girl.” Camila raises four tubes of lipstick to Katya. I think we can all tell Katya is debating what’s the “right” color.
Kat studies the tubes and then Camila, who’s already finished her own makeup: bright magenta lipstick, neon-yellow eye shadow against her brown skin that’s golden in the lamplight. Camila wears striking and bold shades that most wouldn’t pick.
“What should I choose?” Katya asks.
“What are you wearing?” Camila wonders.
“I don’t know yet. Can you help?” she asks me and Thora and points to our shared closet. I already have her outfit covered, but it’s a huge surprise. Thankfully Thora is in on it.
“Definitely,” Thora says as we both stand. Keeping the birthday surprise alive, we pretend to search through the closet.
Thora plucks out a short emerald dress of mine, and my eyes grow in horror as she displays it to Kat. “What about this?”
I try to stifle a cringe. Don’t cringe. That dress—it’s six years old. I had sex in it. With Katya’s older brother.
Kat tilts her head. “Is it too plain?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Really plain. You can do better.” I snatch the dress from Thora, and she mouths, what?
Not able to tell her the full truth, I lean close and our arms touch as I whisper, “I had sex in this.”
Thora puckers her lips like ohhh. And she returns the dress. “I won’t suggest anything else,” she whispers. “We’ll tell her to open your gift soon, and I think Luka’s too. He wrote don’t show Nik on the envelope.”
I smile just hearing Luka’s name. I’m not sure why he texted me earlier about his gift to Kat. I think she’ll be over-the-moon when she sees it.
Thora slides hangers from left to right. “And then her cousins should’ve picked out jewelry.”
We’re very different—me and Thora. I see how badly she wants situations to work out in everyone’s favor, but I’ve been on the opposite side of luck too much to believe in real good fortune.
I whisper, “You’re way too optimistic about the Kotovas.” In New York, they always purchased one large ticket item for Kat’s birthday. Usually it’s superfluous and something they can use. Like a dirt bike.
And golf clubs.
“Katya said the same thing,” Thora tells me. “I gave them a list though, and I wrote down which stores to visit. If they can’t follow that, then…” She scowls, an intentional scowl. Not just RBF.
“If they screw up, it’s their fault,” I whisper, “and Katya appreciates us just being here.” But I understand wanting to give Katya more. Especially when she asks for so little.
As slowly as I’ve crept back into Luka’s life, I’ve been sliding into Kat’s too. At night, we lie on our bunks and chat for hours about nothing and everything. Baseball and PoPhilly and fashion, my interests and hers. But there’s an underlying fear that it’ll all come crashing down.
One day. One moment.
That’s all it took the first time.
“You don’t have to overthink,” Camila tells Kat, waving the lipsticks hypnotically from side-to-side. “What speaks to you?”
Katya sighs sadly. “I don’t know.”
“You like glitter,” Thora says. “Don’t you?”
I nod in agreement. Katya has tons of feather boas, most coated with glitter.
Camila rummages in a makeup pouch. “I can highlight your cheekbones with glitter.”
Katya tucks a flyaway hair behind her ear. “Isn’t glitter juvenile?”
“Not really, and even if people think it, so what? I was bartending yesterday and some guy said that my green lipstick looked like a Fruit Roll-Up.”
“What’d you do?” Katya wonders.
“I told him no free shots for you, and I applied an extra coat of lipstick in front of his face.” Camila procures a tube of silver glitter highlighter. “Look up.”
Kat lifts her face higher. “Would you’ve done that, Baylee?” She’s always remembering that I exist in the room when, to most people, I just fade into the background.
“I’m not that outspoken to strangers unless I’ve had about three shots.” I shrug. “I probably would’ve just glared, taken my drink, and walked away.”
Thora leans on the closet door frame. “I think I would’ve stumbled over my words and then waited for the awkward reply.”
Katya ponders this.
I hope she sees that she doesn’t have to be Camila or any of the Calloway sisters. Or me or Thora. She can just be Katya Kotova. Whoever that girl ends up being, I’m glad I’m here to witness. I really don’t want to miss that too.
I pretend to examine a new romper that Katya bought. “Where do you bartend?” I ask Camila.
“The Red Death. I’ll be there tonight. Can’t pass up the tips if I’m hanging around there anyway. Plus I can dole out more free drinks.” She bites the end of her makeup brush and bobby-pins Katya’s flyaways.
“How haven’t you met Dimitri?” I ask since the Kotovas flock The Red Death every Saturday night. Dimitri was only initially brought up because Thora asked about my forearm burn. It turned into an explanation about Dimitri tossing me clubs. The burn wasn’t his fault, but he also accidentally singed his neck lighting my prop on fire this morning.
Camila releases the brush from between her teeth. “I generally try to stay away from Kotovas because half of them are shitty tippers—no offense,” she says to Katya.
She laughs. “I bet it’s Abram. He’s so cheap. He won’t ever pay for cab fares.”
This is really true.
“Could be,” Camila says. “I don’t know their names. What does he look like?”
Katya tries to describe him, and I put the romper back on the hook. Thora mouths, where are the gifts? I gesture with my head to a drawer, and Thora casually approaches the dresser.
“The only Kotova guy I really know is Timo,” Camila says, “and that’s mostly because he’s been crashing at my cuz’s apartment.”
“He’s trying to avoid Sergei,” Katya tells us. “It’s kind of complicated.” She says this sort of tensely and morosely, like she can’t explain more. None of us delve into the subject, but Thora and I know bad blood exists.
I abandon the closet, a heaviness inside my body that I can’t kick. It lingers quietly and silently. Even when I don’t mention it.
There’s no source, but lying on the floor or bed and sinking seems too nice right now. I hope music will lift my spirits so I fiddle with Katya’s digital stereo on her desk, right beside her makeup spread.
“Who’s your favorite?” Camila asks me.
“Favorite Kotova guy?” I follow her train of thought and click into a soca playlist Katya created. A Nori Amada song floods the bedroom, the tempo upbeat and lively. I smile more.
“Yep. Which guy?”
And my smile flat-lines, eyes growing as I contemplate no great answer. Katya frowns deeply at me, Camila brushing highlighter on her cheekbones.
“It’s apparent. Right?” Katya asks me.