"We'll do it tomorrow night," Kaylee repeats when we step out of the restaurant. "At my parents' place. Come over at nine, bring the notebook and the ingredients."
I know any protest will be ignored, so I just nod. Kaylee practically leaps at me to give me a tight, long hug. I'm surprised by the sudden display of affection. She's only had two beers. Is she drunk already?
"God, I missed you so much! I hate life in L.A. without you."
"I missed you too." I pat her back soothingly, wondering if there's something deeper at play here. "People in L.A. kinda suck, not gonna lie. The women all run to get botox the moment they think there might be a line on their face. And the guys aren't much better."
"Oh." I'm not sure what to say to this. Kaylee moved out to California for a writing job, following the dream she had since she was a kid. This was the first time she'd done anything but gush about the experience since she left.
"Everyone's so superficial and up their own asses," she mumbles. "Not to mention that living there is so freaking expensive."
Kaylee keeps holding on to me for a few moments longer before letting go and taking a step back. She shoves her hands into her pockets as if unsure of what to do with them now.
"I actually might be coming back here for good, you know," she tells me, her voice tinged with defeat.
"Seriously?" I study my friend standing there in the faint glow from the restaurant lights. It's cold out here, our breaths fogging, and the darkness seems to encroach on us from all sides. "Don't get me wrong, Kay, I'd love to have you close again. I miss you like crazy, but..." I can see the unhappiness on her face now. It's all in the depths of her eyes, in the way she's holding herself, her shoulders hunching, the strain around her mouth to keep those corners up in a weary half-smile. "... but living in L.A. and writing for TV was your dream."
As someone who'd never had one specific, clear goal in life, I'd always been a little envious of Kaylee's single-minded focus, her drive and determination. She knew what she wanted and she went for it. I can't imagine her choosing to give it up.
"Yeah well, some dreams might be better off as just that," she mutters. "Time to wake up and smell the coffee."
Now I feel guilty for spending the whole evening whining about Derek. There's clearly something major going on with my best friend.
"What happened?" I wrap my coat a little tighter around myself and shift on my feet. Along with the darkness, the cold is creeping in. Kaylee shrugs, hands still in her pockets. Her short leather jacket is probably not doing much for her right now. After years in California, fall in the Midwest must hit harder. I'd tease her about this if she wasn't looking so miserable.
"What always happens," Kaylee drawls with fake indifference, "show got cancelled, pitches were rejected, pilots never went. I mean, I'll always be writing, but at the moment I just got nothing, not one paying gig."
"Fuck... I'm sorry, Kay." It seems like a lame thing to say, but I really am. Plus, I don't have anything else to offer. Everything that comes to mind seems like empty platitudes.*This is just a difficult time, it'll get better. Don't give up! I know you're talented!* While all of that is true, I know that sometimes life is unfair and even the most talented people end up with nothing.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" I ask when Kaylee sighs and scuffs her boot against the ground.
She shakes her head.
"There's no deeper story here. I literally just summed it up. It'd all fit on a postcard."
She tries to laugh, but it comes out choked, her eyes fixed on some spot in the distance, avoiding me. For a moment, I just stand there, unsure whether to press her for more or leave it. The wind picks up, sending another chill straight through my coat, but she doesn't flinch, even in that thin leather jacket of hers. So much for me making fun of wimpy Californians.
I want to say something to remind her that she's still the same fiercely talented Kaylee, still the person I've looked up to since high school, even if life is tossing her hard balls. But she knows all of that already.
I watch her for a moment, unsure if I should reach out. The last thing she wants is pity, it makes her defiant, but maybe that's who she needs to be right now because defiant Kaylee gets shit done.
We had this teacher once, this old bitter guy who wanted to be teaching college classes and felt that high school students were beneath him, real failed great American novelist-type.
Anyway, he was in charge of our school's literature club and decided to publish a short story magazine. Kaylee submitted, he rejected her. She kept submitting, he kept rejecting. Until she started submitting under a fake name, a boy's name.
She caught him out. Proved that he only published stories written either by girls he was attracted to - so much ew - or boys.
But I remember the fervor with which Kaylee went over story after story during those months. Getting them thrown out one after the other just fired her up. I can't imagine how Hollywood managed to douse her flame like this.
"So, what's the plan, then?" I ask, keeping my voice light. "Gonna stay here a while? Hide out from all the rejection in the Windy City?"
Kaylee's lips twist into a reluctant smile, a faint glint of her usual self. "Yeah, something like that. Or I'll go backpacking and start an anonymous blog, live out of hostels, and eat canned beans under the stars."
"Sounds… glamorous." I shove my hands in my pockets and try to return her smile. "You could write a memoir, call it *Second Winds* It'll be your next big break."
She laughs then, a real one this time, though there's still a hint of bitterness behind it.
"Right. Fart jokes always sell. So what's your plan, then? Besides finding out if you're a bonafide witch?"
The question pulls me right back into my dilemma, even through her teasing tone. I shrug, feigning nonchalance, and lean against the cool brick wall outside the restaurant.
"I don't have a plan right now. Feels like I'm… in limbo, or something. Like I'm stuck waiting for the next thing to throw me for a loop."
Kaylee nods, a look of understanding passing over her face.
"I guess that makes two of us," she says quietly. Then she kicks the ground again, as if frustrated by her own melancholy. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up my bullshit."
"Hey, it's nice to know I'm not the only one with bullshit," I say, nudging her shoulder. "But if you're really in the mood to mope, I could come over to your parents' place and we could commiserate some more."
She huffs a laugh, then shivers as a gust of wind picks up. "Nah, we got that thing tomorrow. Tonight, I think I just need to crawl under a mountain of blankets and try to pretend the world doesn't exist for a few hours."
I nod, understanding all too well. "Sounds solid. Get some rest before the spell casting."
She turns to leave, but pauses, reaching out to give my arm a gentle squeeze. "And Skye? Take care of yourself, too, okay? Even if it's just… figuring out what's real. Or not real."
There's a brief, knowing look in her eyes, and then she's gone, disappearing down the street in her battered leather jacket, her silhouette swallowed by the night.
I stay there a moment, watching her go, then I pull out my phone and notice three new messages from Derek.
I seriously don't know how I feel about that.