My brother is the one shielding me from Geoffrey’s words.
And I shut my eyes.
Geoffrey is gone. I can’t hear him. I can’t see him.
Quiet tranquility pours through me. At ease. Calm.
Peace.
My past is still mine to give. Mine to share. I breathe and breathe, in control. I feel more in control, and that’s what it is: a state of mind.
In this moment, I can reach my past. I can touch it myself.
Geoffrey isn’t prying into me. He didn’t rip it out. I can cradle it within my own assured hands.
I can remember. I remember being a kid. Being led upstairs with Timo and Kat to a game room. The kind with a pool table, foosball. The person who led us—it was the teenage son of the host. Barbecue neighborhood party, normal people. In a normal place.
What happened wasn’t normal. He took off his clothes—it’s blurry.
I don’t know.
I remember being naked. We were all naked. Confused. So fucking confused.
I was just a kid.
Later, we had to be told by adults that he touched himself, forced us to undress and to watch. But these memories sit repressed in my head. Trauma that I can’t fully reach, but it affects me—and Timo. Katya remembers nothing. Timo and I, we obsessively fixate on things but in different ways, craving control, and I can’t shut if off.
I’ll never be able to, but some days, many more days than most people can imagine, I feel empowered. I break free, and I hold onto those. I’m holding onto this moment.
Where I can think about it. Breathe deeply. Touch the past and not drop to my knees.
I’m okay.
I promise this time.
WINTER
Act Fifty
Luka Kotova
Aerial Ethereal’s end of the year holiday party is my absolute favorite of all Corporate events. It surpasses the promo pool parties by a million leagues.
The Masquerade’s grand ballroom is decked out in garland, snowflakes, twinkling lights, about ten different fir trees, and a row of country flags, representing the homelands of AE artists. And everyone brings a dish, either cooked or store-bought, the buffet table overflowing with homemade recipes, passed down from generation to generation.
And the music.
It’s holiday music; and look, I like anything with a good beat.
I dance with Bay, our heads nodding, silly shoulder-pumping while we hold holiday-patterned disposable plates. We’re off in a corner, doing our own thing by a popcorn-garland tree, and I catch her free hand and twirl her in a circle.
Her smile instantly grows, and mine stretches higher. Last year, I didn’t have Baylee. I was just dancing by myself for a while.
This is a thousand times less boring, but this particular year is also laced with gravity. Her smile fades quickly, probably remembering what I do.
The whole cast of Infini has been on edge ever since we received an email. It said Perrot would announce the show’s fate at this holiday party. He’ll tell us if our contracts will be renewed for another year or if this is the end.
If the worst happens, I know it’s the close to one chapter of our lives, but I worry Bay will feel like it’s the end of the entire book.
Our dance slows with a song switch and Bay’s approaching aunt. She flew in from New York for the weekend, and Baylee finally met her baby cousin last night. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her aunt. Not since she’s been in town, and definitely not before that.
Even though she supported my relationship with Baylee the second time around, I want to make a better impression.
Baylee wears a funny look.
“What?”
“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”
I nod and wipe my lips with a flimsy napkin, my plate half-filled.
“She’ll be nice to you,” Bay has to whisper as Lucy nears.
Her aunt slows to a stop, sipping a cup of eggnog. “I love the dress.” She appraises Bay’s simple red sweater-dress. “You didn’t find anything CC?”
“Calloway Couture looks best on Posh Spices,” Baylee says.
Lucy wears a white-knit dress, the collar high. “CC looks great on every woman, every girl.” She steals a Polish sweet off Bay’s plate. “As the niece of the brand & marketing exec, you should write this down.”
“I’ll remember this,” Baylee says seriously. “No more journaling for me.”
Her list is completed and done, but we’re not over. We’re still going strong. I slide my arm around her shoulders, and Bay rests her weight against my side.
Lucy dusts crumbs off her lips. “How have you been, Luka?” It should be a light phrase, but she wears deeper concern than a stranger would. Lucy knows everything that happened a couple months ago.
I start nodding. “Better. A lot better.”
Geoffrey Lesage was fired.
That day inside the auditorium—while he began unearthing my past about me and Kat and Timo for the whole Infini cast to hear—Dimitri called Nikolai to come help me.
Nik was halfway across the hotel, too far from the auditorium to reach me in enough time, so he told Dimitri, “Film him.”
Without Geoffrey knowing, Dimitri slyly took out his cellphone and recorded the choreographer harassing me. Nik sent the footage to Corporate. Geoffrey was fired within two hours.
A significant weight has lifted off the cast, off Bay and me since then. Bay said it was like the Mets won the World Series, and I said, “Or the Knicks winning the NBA Finals.”
“Or Infini surviving,” she added more solemnly, and I hugged her, kissed her, hoped that it’d turn into reality.
(We’ll see.)
“That’s good to hear,” Lucy says. “Anything new?”
I smile. “I’m pretty boring.”
“That’s so false,” Bay tells me.
I can’t help but laugh at how she says this like it’s written in the stars. “You’re the most exciting part of my life, Bay.”
“Aw,” Lucy says.
“That’s not true,” Baylee says pointedly and looks to Lucy. “He did a backflip off a casino machine with Timo and was chased by security for a full hour.”
(Yeah, that happened this morning.) I also called Baylee in my hiding spot. That was one of my favorite parts, but the thought drifts off.
Lucy holds my gaze, and I wonder if she thinks I’m too rebellious for her niece. And then she says, “I just had a realization.”
“What?” I ask.
Her eyes ping between us. “Baylee smiles the most when she’s around you.”
Baylee doesn’t restrain her next smile, lips pulled high.
I grin down at her, and she shrugs like it’s fact.
I shrug back the same way.
Lucy gets a phone call, and I hear the words explosive poop and diapers before she leaves to help her husband.
“You’re lucky she didn’t ask you about babies,” Bay says seriously.
“Why’d that be bad?” I bite into a pizzelle, a flat waffle-shaped Italian cookie.
“I don’t know. We never discuss that far into the future.” She shrugs slowly. “I guess we never thought there’d be a future…but I’m not suggesting or assuming anything.”
She’s nervous.
Bay.
“Come here,” I whisper to my beautiful girlfriend, drawing her close again. And again. Her arm is around my waist while mine hooks around her shoulders.
I nod to her. “Later in life. Like thirties, I can picture us in the circus, and we’ll wake up each morning and dance with our kids in our kitchen.”
Tears well in her brown eyes.
I mention Trivial Pursuit after dinner, and she puts a palm to my chest. My eyes burn, but this is one of the best paternal memories I have. And it’s not even my dad.
“I’ll lose on purpose, every time,” I tell her. “Though, knowing your genes, our kids will be really intelligent. The Kotova part…” I wince through my teeth. “Sorry about that.”
She smiles a shaky, tearful smile. “You’re smart, Luka.” Then she wipes at the corners of her eyes; no tears have fallen, but I feel her swelling emotion. She stares off for a second, thinking.
“What is it?”
“It’s weird talking about years into the future when in ten minutes, Infini could be cancelled and I might be out of the circus.”
“Baylee the Realist is on the rise,” I tease.
(Don’t doubt my love for the realism inside of her.) I love every part of Bay.