A pale arm covered in pastel wildflower tattoos reached between Mo and Murray, setting shot glass after shot glass on the table. The owner of the arm was all shadows, but I sat there, mesmerized by the rhythmic movement as one small glass after another was placed down. When the surface was covered and the tray was empty, the waitress stepped forward.
She wasn’t Melody.
“Hey, y’all. I’m Mae. I’m helping Melody out since things got a little hectic over here. Do y’all need anything else?”
Snow White in a red corset and skintight jeans stood there, a placid smile on her ruby lips, waiting for her next command. My ribs twisted around my lungs as I took her in for the first time in five years.
Maeve motherfucking O’Day. Prettiest girl I ever saw, and she still held the title. She had been the real reason I’d joined Mo’s band. One look at her hanging around with Yael during band rehearsals, and I said yes. Left the band I’d already been in with zero hesitation. That was before I learned she was only eighteen, fresh outta high school. Rich too. A good southern girl, with a mama who cared a little too much and a daddy who surely owned a shotgun.
“Maeve?” Yael squealed and hopped up from her seat, her arms out.
Maeve’s practiced smile crashed, replaced by confusion, followed by excitement, then dawning dread. Her face had always been so damn easy to read. She wore every thought, every feeling, on her rosy cheeks, in the pinch of her perfect brows, the faint lines around her plump lips.
“Yael? What—?” She didn’t finish whatever she’d been about so say. Yael was too eager, banding her arms around her old friend.
Yael pulled back, holding Maeve at arm’s length. “Oh my god, you work here?”
“I do. Not usually in this section. I guess tonight’s my lucky night,” Maeve answered.
Mo got up too, giving Maeve a friendly, less intense hug. “What’s up, girl? You disappeared off the planet.”
“Hey, Mo. I’m…uh…”
I saw it. The realization if Mo was here, that stood to reason the rest of the band was too. Her forest green eyes swept over the group. A couple of our producers and sound guys had come out, along with a few girls whose names I did not know. She took them all in, and when she came to me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth for an instant. Only an instant. Then the entirety of her hardened, which was a damn crime. Maeve O’Day was softness personified. Her body, her way, her voice, all rounded, with no sharp edges. At least, that was how I remembered her.
“Maeve.” I nodded at her.
Her chin barely tipped. “Santiago.”
Murray swept her up in a hug, pulling her attention from me. “Mae-Mae, my pretty, pretty princess. Where ya been, Mae-Mae?”
She laughed, letting him hold her for a beat before stepping from his embrace and clutching her tray in front of her. “I’ve been in New York for almost two years. Before that, I was in L.A. What about y’all? Are you living up here now?”
Her eyes drifted back to me as the lemon-scented girl who’d claimed me for the night started kissing my neck. I barely felt it, too distracted by the reappearance of the woman who’d nearly broken my every resolve. By the time I pushed lemon girl away, Maeve had returned her gaze to the others.
They talked, and I watched. Mo told her we lived in Baltimore, but he and I kept apartments in New York. Yael scolded her a little for not keeping in touch, then hugged her even more fiercely than the first time. Murray did a handstand—no joke. The guy was certifiably insane, but he never failed to surprise me.
After a minute or two of catching up, she took drink orders, then, on sky-high heels, made her way to the bar. Her hips swayed just as Melody’s had earlier…only when Maeve swayed her hips, the earth moved.
“I can’t believe Maeve’s here. Just here—working,” Yael said.
“Crazy town,” Mo agreed. “Aren’t you super pissed at her?”
“Well, not anymore. I don’t hold a grudge for that long.”
Murray scoffed, and when Yael gave him a sharp look, he waved at her like a beauty queen.
“How do you know the waitress?” Lemon Girl asked.
“Old friend,” I groused.
“She didn’t look like she wasyourfriend.” Her hand snaked up to my neck, and her lips came close to my ear. “I’ll be your friend.”
I took her hand as carefully as I could and returned it to her lap. I kept my tone low, so no one else could hear. It was easy for me to say no, but I knew full well “no” wasn’t easy to hear.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m not looking for a friend tonight.”
She pouted, her pretty lips pushing out. “We don’t have to be friends, if you don’t want. We don’t even have to talk.”