After the Party Read online

  Kay’s chuckle rumbled out of her, like stones in a tumbler. “Turns out Alain is a tattoo artist. That’s where we went when we left the House.” She wrapped both hands around her mug of coffee and stared back at me. Her smile faded as she scanned my face. “What happened last night?”

  I’d been waiting for the question. My body tensed and readied itself for the interrogation. To compose myself, I picked up the bag of frozen peas and pressed it against the warm spot on my cheek. A jolt of pain radiated out across my forehead and down to my jaw. The skin beneath my eye had turned deep red with flecks of purple and black. It would only get more hideous in the days to come. I knew the process well.

  “I took a hit in the mosh pit and then I came home.”

  Kay ran a hand through her raven bangs and asked, “That happened in the mosh pit?” The pitch of her voice felt accusatory, like she assumed I had been caught in a lie.

  I sighed and pulled the peas away from my face. “I was looking for Will.”

  “Where was he?”

  “Hunter’s, apparently.” Without wanting them to, or meaning to, the words came out sharp. Somehow the questions always came back to Will. What he was doing? Where he was going? Kay never pretended to like him, but I wanted her to. I wanted her to say hello when he showed up instead of rolling her eyes and finding excuses to leave the room. I wanted to have a conversation where I talked about something Will and I did, without her judgmental eyes watching me for signs of something that didn’t exist.

  “Hmmm.” Kay sipped her coffee again.

  “It wasn’t like that, Kay. I’m not some pushover…” Like my mom, I wanted to finish, but held it to myself. I folded my arms across my chest. “And he’s not a bad guy.”

  Kay blinked. Nothing I could have said would make her change her mind. The conversations hadn’t been original since I started hanging out with Will. Kay didn’t like him and she’d never kept it a secret.

  I watched her sip her coffee and wondered if she had always been so cynical or if it came after.

  In the nearly twice years I’d lived in Kay’s apartment, she only spoke in vague statements about what happened before I knew her. What I picked up came from people at the DeKay House. There weren’t any pictures in the apartment or on her social media. The only details I discovered could be counted on one hand: his name was Daniel; he liked getting high; he wasn’t picky about substances; he died. Not surprisingly, Kay had yet to recover.

  I glanced at the painting above the bricked-over fireplace. For months after I moved in, I saw nothing but smudges of greys, blacks, reds across the canvas. That changed when someone let it slip at a party the previous August that it happened to be the second anniversary of Danny’s death. I started to see the shapes in the brush strokes; The hands reaching out for each other, the distance they could never close.

  “Who drove you home?” Kay asked. She shoved some books away from the edge of the coffee table to set her mug down.

  I picked up the thawing peas and pressed them against my cheek. “Some guy from the DeKay House,” I said. My cheeks began to feel warm. I moved the bag of peas to hide my embarrassment.

  “Really? Who?” Kay curled up with her legs tucked in and head against the back like she might fall back to sleep.

  “The guy who gave me this,” I said, lifting the peas off my face. “He says he used to go there all the time with his brother or something, but he was really clean cut.”

  The car ride turned out to be far less awkward than I suspected. We talked about music and about how he had to drive out of the city to pick up his girlfriend from a house party in Milton. I told him about my job on Queen Street and how I both appreciated and loathed tourists. It had been easy conversation, especially when we both got caught up singing along to the music. The ride made the night feel less horrible.

  “Oh, someone I know?” Kay asked. She adjusted herself in the seat until she sat upright.

  “Doubt it. Chase Reid. He’s in this band, Forever July. I think I told you about them.” Just mentioning his name caused heat to flood my cheeks. How ridiculous Chase and I must have looked getting into his car together. A mix-matched pair.

  “Forever July...” Kay drifted a minute, then found it. “You wrote that blog post about them a bit ago.”

  “Yeah. He’s the lead singer.”

  “That was nice of him. Are you going to see him again?” Kay asked.

  I wondered if she had mistaken my earlier blush for something more than it was. A golden boy like Chase Reid didn’t date girls like me.

  Before I had to answer, an aggressive buzz came from the intercom. We both jumped, startled. I pushed myself from the couch, taking the peas along with me. Without asking who wanted in, I pressed the white button to let them enter. Another buzz filled the apartment, letting us know the main door was unlocked. I made my way back to the couch and settled in.

  Kay gathered her books from the table, never setting down her coffee. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

  “Why?” I asked, but she didn’t answer.

  I watched her walk toward the hallway and disappear around the wall. Even if it was Will coming up to the apartment, she never left so abruptly.

  Maybe she didn’t believe me about the black eye. It wouldn’t be the first time she assumed Will did something that he didn’t do.

  The front door opened and Will walked in with two paper cups from the cafe below our apartment. The ever-present circles under his eyes were deeper than normal. He strolled over and kissed me. He tasted like beer and cigarettes.

  “What happened to your face?” he asked, handing me one cup of coffee. He tossed himself onto the couch next to me, tucking his feet under my thighs. The physical touch made me smile. I enjoyed closing my eyes and feeling his heat next to me.

  “The mosh pit last night,” I asked.

  “Sounds like we both had a crazy night. I don’t even remember how I got to Hunter’s place.”

  A small piece of me wanted to remind him of how he had left me alone at the party. Another part of me, the large part, knew it wouldn’t be worth the fight. If Will got defensive, it would be days before his anger subsided.

  I took a sip of the coffee. The bitterness caught me off guard.

  “I think I got your coffee,” I said, handing the cup over to Will.

  He sipped from the cup in his own hand before shaking his head. “Nah, they’re both black. What did you want in it?”

  “No, this is good,” I lied, squeezing his knee.

  I pushed myself up from the couch, grabbed the thawing bag of peas, and headed into the kitchen to get myself some cream and sugar.

  3

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Will said, as he slipped between a group of guys with three tall boy cans of beer. It had only taken two bands before he started complaining, so I considered it a win. I accepted the beer with one hand and tapped the last comments into my phone with the other. I wanted to remember that the drummer of the previous band was inconsistent, but the vocals were solid. I also wanted to note how hectic their movements were on stage, how their antics fit the chaos of their sound.

  My phone stored details to keep me inspired for the blog post I’d type up later that night. Since I’d reviewed Forever July’s live show several times, I finished the last of my thoughts and slipped the phone into the back pocket of my jeans. With the work complete, I could just enjoy the rest of the show.

  “You act like I’m torturing you,” I said as he worked his way against the wall next to me.

  A couple on one side of us were too busy making out to notice we had taken over the space one of them had occupied earlier. On the other side, a group of friends in their late twenties were talking about what it was like when they were young enough to slam around in the mosh pit. It felt safe there, hidden behind the crowd.

  I knew how much Will hated going to anything but shows of the most intense political punk bands. I’d only asked him to accompany me a handful of times, because going alone was easier than trying to make sure he had a good time. Going to shows alone didn’t bother me, but that night I needed the backup. If Chase Reid didn’t remember inviting me to the show, I didn’t want to look like a fool standing alone, like I was waiting for him.

  It had been almost three weeks since Chase and I had talked, since he’d said he would put me on the guest list for the show. When we got to the door, I handed over tickets I bought the week before. I couldn’t bring myself to ask if he’d given them my name for the list. I didn’t know if I’d be able to go in if they said they had no one with my name on record.

  “This is torture. I can’t believe you like this music. It’s watered-down punk. It shouldn’t even have punk in the name. It makes a mockery of real punk. I didn’t know you were into this shit.” Will shook his head in disappointment. He chugged his beer, dropped the can on the floor and crushed it with his boot. Meanwhile, I hoped everyone around us was too busy to hear his rant.

  “I’m sorry I’m ruining your night,” I mumbled before taking a large mouthful from my own can. I wanted to have a good time and I wanted to see how things had changed since Mitchell took over lead guitar.

  Having Will there made it different. Going to shows outside of the DeKay House had never been a social activity for me; it was more like meditation. Surrounded by people, yet I didn’t need to talk and didn’t need to worry if someone else was having a good time. I could focus on the lyrics, the vibrations of bass in my chest, the melodic guitars. I wanted to get back to that, but I couldn’t.

  “If you stay at my place tonight, we can call it even,” he said, leaning over and planting a kiss on my collar bone.

  I glanced around to see who might have seen. I turned my face away from everyo
ne, toward him. “Your mom hates me.”

  “They’re out west until next week.”

  I shrugged. “All right, deal.”

  The crowd stretched out in front of us, becoming denser as it neared the stage. The opening bands had drawn the audience in, but when Forever July would come out, things would erupt.

  The double doors that led backstage opened and a photographer I knew from other shows walked out. The door swung shut behind her and I turned away.

  “Are you in a mood?” he asked, staring at me with a raised eyebrow. He wrapped an arm around my waist and whispered loud enough to be heard over the music, “Did something happen at work today? Were the tourists pissing you off again?”

  The question made me realize I’d made a mistake. Asking Will to come with me didn’t make sense. If I ran into Chase and he mentioned inviting me there, I’d spend the night trying to mitigate Will’s anger.

  “Yeah, the tourists.” The lie made its way up my spine, straightening my back under Will’s touch.

  If I’d told him why I had wanted him to come, the whole truth, he wouldn’t be pressing his cheek against mine. It would hurt him if he knew I invited him because of Chase Reid. It would devastate him if he knew that I begged him to watch bands he hates, because I was worried about what another man would think about me.

  “We should go.” I slipped my hand into his. “Let’s just go back to your parents’ place.”

  “That sounds like a way better plan than this,” Will grunted.

  I turned away from him and straight into the photographer from earlier, Camila Gutierrez. She had one hand gripping the lens of her camera, the other perched on her hip.

  “You’re Peyton, right?” Camila asked.

  I nodded. I had seen her work online. Not only did she have an eye for live shows, capturing the perfect moments when they jumped, screamed, spit water into the air, she always took great portraits of bands, and great candid shots of them backstage.

  “I’m Camila. You free after this?” she asked. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and watched me, waiting for me to say something.

  “Um, I’m not sure. What’s up?” I asked, hoping my voice came off more confident than I felt.

  She might have been a few inches shorter than me, but her shoulders were squared, her head was tipped high. Her confidence intimidated me. I knew how many followers her social media accounts had and I saw first-hand the way people gravitated toward her.

  “I actually gotta get back up there,” Camila said. Then the lights dimmed. “Stick around after the show for a few minutes? I have to talk to you.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but gave a short wave and jogged toward the stage. I couldn’t tell if she didn’t have time to care about the answer or if she was just confident that I’d wait.

  The crowd’s collective voice rose and hands shot up in the air. Over everyone’s heads, I caught sight of Chase Reid strolling out in front of the crowd with such ease, like he entered a room of friends. He waved to a few people up front before pressing his lips to the microphone. His eyes turned in my direction or at least, I felt like they did.

  “If we’re staying, you’re buying the beer for the rest of the night,” Will shouted over the sound of Forever July crashing into their first track.

  Forever July never put on a disappointing set, but that night felt surreal. Their timing was flawless. Their energy was high. Mitchell’s guitar riffs were on point. Chase’s voice had elevated since the last time I watched them. Between songs, their fans kept moving, so not to miss the beat when the next one started. It was a show that fans of Forever July would talk about for months.

  Many nights, I left inspired after their performances. Heading home, I’d still feel the vibration of the bass notes through my body, still hear the lyrics looping in my head. Nights like that I had to get it all down before the feeling faded or became ground down by the monotony of everyday life. That was how my blog began.

  But only a few moments in my life felt like that night, like a shift in the world as I knew it.

  I felt it the morning I found the envelope of money hidden in my mother’s box of tampons. It was there the night I stole the money and shoved it into the bottom of my backpack. I also felt it the first time I went to The DeKay House, the night Kay offered me a place to stay.

  A shift in the atmosphere. The pressure filled the space around me I stood there.

  The house lights came on and the night ended. The crowd shoved their way out the exits while some people stood around to chat with each other.

  Will sighed and said he was going to have a cigarette while he waited for me.

  I reached for his hand, but by the time I thought of the right way to ask him to stay, he’d already put more distance between us than I could reach across.

  Alone, waiting for Camila was excruciating. I kept my eyes on the stage, watching the crew tearing down the equipment. Every time someone stepped out of the wings, I sucked in a breath, hoping it wouldn’t be Chase. I didn’t want him to see me pressed against the wall and think I’d stuck around to see him.

  The double doors next to the stage opened and Camila walked out with the camera around her neck. Before the door swung shut, Chase Reid followed her out, talking as he and Camila strode toward me.

  I uncrossed my arms, crossed them again, unsure of what to do with my hands. I wished I had a drink to make me look busy.

  Chase grinned at me.

  “I heard you two know each other,” Camila said, gesturing to Chase.

  “We started the new year as new friends,” Chase said.

  I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling too wide.

  “I was going on and on about this idea I had and Chase mentioned your blog,” Camila said. She dug into the sleek, brown camera bag across her chest, pulled out a card and handed it to me: her social media details, phone number and email. The embossed black letters on the stark white card looked so professional.

  “Good thing you came tonight,” Chase said as he tugged on his sweat-soaked t-shirt.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I have a proposition,” Camila said.

  My stomach tightened.

  Chase chuckled. “It’s a good one.”

  Camila swatted at him to hush. “I like your blog a lot. I read all your posts in a day. I think we could team up and make it something next level.”

  When she’d asked me to wait after the show, I hadn’t thought about what she wanted. If I’d known, I might have left with the rest of the crowd. My blog wasn’t meant to be next level—I never dreamed that big.

  “I’m a shit writer. I can’t form a grammatical sentence to save my life, but I had this dream of one day creating a publication.” Camila pulled out her cellphone and turned the screen toward me. “I’m only decent at web design, but I’m a good photographer, so I can bring something to the table.”

  The screen showed some logos for my blog name, Eternal Spin. My favourite had to be the small ‘A’ being replaced with a record and tonearm.

  She swiped, and the next image made my breathing hitch: a mock-up of my blog, expanded. Headers read Music, Shopping, Venues, Resources, Eats, among others. The colours were simple. The page was mostly white with the banner in black and soft yellow, typeface black with the same yellow dividers. Sleek and professional.

  “Wow.” I was staggered. It was a mock-up of what the blog could be.

  “When we get some traction, we’ll sell ad space. Get a calendar together for shows and events. You already have the foundation, but together we could turn it into something not just profitable, but bigger than both of us.”

  The idea was too big. I had no chance of pulling off something like that—and the thought of working with Camila Gutierrez was overwhelming.

  “This isn’t something I can do on my own,” Camila said.

  I’d never been the person people relied on. I didn’t know how to take the request.

  “And I would like to create it with someone who has a similar vibe,” she went on. “I get that from your work. I get that from you now.”

  “You do?” I said with a laugh.

  “Yeah, I’m looking to avoid ego. I’ve dealt with egos. It’s not my thing. I want someone honest, someone I could see being my friend, not just a business partner, you know?” Camila gave a small shrug, like those demands weren’t a big ask.