CHAPTER TEN

KEYS

( — alicia keys; american singer-songwriter and musician. )

          MICHAELA IS BUSY.

          It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, as Selina can hear her type on a keyboard on her side of the line as she speaks, and she has heard about Serotinal Magazine and how selective it is regarding the people they hire. Michaela must have worked like hell to get the job, as it's not something that just gets handed out like candy, and she constantly delivers quality articles, ever since her old days at Union Daily.

          Besides, Michaela is pregnant.

          Selina remembers the early days of the media's coverage of her pregnancy, with several people arguing it couldn't be real because she simply wasn't showing, but Michaela is a small woman. She's a tiny, thin little thing, whose body wasn't suffering that many changes at first, but now, almost eight months into the pregnancy, it's perfectly clear it's pretty darn real, even if she's still, somehow, smaller than most.

           Thus, Selina really doesn't want to waste Michaela's precious time. She probably has a lot of things to do that are better than being on the phone with a radio talk show host from across the country, and it's not like Selina herself doesn't have to go back on air soon . . .

          "I'm working on a piece about inspirational people under thirty," Michaela informs, still typing. "It's a long article and it's due before the end of the year, but I want to send the invitations out as soon as possible just in case I'll have to use my backup plan." She inhales. "Here at Serotinal Magazine, we worry about representation and broadening our horizons; we want to celebrate diversity and ensure our readers can see themselves in what we publish, meaning our target population isn't just a specific group. Of course, we could be doing that, but it would get boring really quickly, and I don't have the time to be boring. Besides, I don't like feeling like dead weight. 

          "So, back to my article; my goal is to find various women of different backgrounds—ethnical, cultural, social, professional, you name it—and try and find out why they do what they do. It's very important to me and to Serotinal Magazine that our readers can feel hopeful and inspired by the people we write about and present to them, not just envious or intimidated in fear they'll never reach such high grounds. Somewhere, there will be a reader who will see themselves in the person they're reading about—maybe they share a dream, maybe they share a gender or sexual identity. Hopefully, it will show them that we're trying to open every door we can to grant them a better, brighter future, and they can accomplish their goals if they work towards them."

          Selina gulps. "And you want to interview me?"

          Michaela laughs, trying to make her relax, but Selina's heart rate never once slows down. It feels too good to be true. "Of course. Your talk show is pretty popular on this side of the country, in case you didn't know. Personally, I think you'd be a great addition, and I'm sure plenty of people would like to know more about all the work that goes on behind the scenes. By creating a name for yourself and making it your brand, you've given so many other people the strength and hope to, one day, follow your footsteps.

          "We're constantly trying to be better and, by acknowledging we're not perfect and putting an effort to work on our flaws and on aspects where we might be lacking, we're hoping to raise the voices of those who aren't as privileged as some of us who work here and so many others out there. I'm a woman, but I have certain privileges other women unfortunately don't, and it's my job to give them a space where they can have a voice, where they can shine on their own without me doing it for them and calling myself progressive. This subject has always been something I'm particularly passionate about, and this speech wasn't pushed by my contract, I assure you. I want to learn, too, and I feel like this article can be a great way of allowing us all to learn from and with each other." 

          Selina presses her lips together, wrapping her free arm around her stomach as if to hold herself together. While she doesn't think of herself as that bad of a person, she's not what one would call particularly good, either; after all, she's voluntarily choosing not to talk to either of her parents simply because she doesn't want to deal with family drama, is avoiding her stepmother like the plague as if she was Cinderella, and poor Jersey has been thrown into the mix as well.

          That's not the kind of person Michaela should write about. She'd have to lie and dump plenty of purple prose on that article to make Selina sound minimally redeemable; she's just a pathetic little girl whose talk show slowly climbed up the ladder of popularity in a world that doesn't particularly care about honesty, and who sucks at maintaining relationships.

          Neither of that sounds particularly inspiring to her, let alone to the people who will read that article.

          Besides . . . she's friends with Beverly. Even though Selina definitely isn't afraid of the role she played in that drama, she still feels like she could have done more to help her friends—despite not knowing exactly what else she could have done—and, if Michaela doesn't know about this connection, she will eventually. And it might not be pretty.

          "Listen, Michaela," Selina replies, with caution. "I . . . look, I think that's a great idea, and I know it comes from a good place. Lots of people will benefit from it." Michaela hums in agreement. At only twenty-seven, she's so sure of herself that aura of confidence reaches Selina through a phone-call. "However, I'm . . . I don't know, I don't know if I'm exactly what you're looking for. I mean, after what happened with the PR stunt—"

          "You are exactly what I'm looking for, and I think I've proven, time and time again, I'm not one to let my personal life interfere with my job." Her tone has dropped several degrees, and Selina instantly knows she said one of the worst possible things she could have. After all, this is Michaela Tate—the same person who co-authored an article about Lincoln's return from a two-year hiatus when they were still broken up. It could have gone seriously wrong, except it didn't; it was the perfect swan song. "I know who you are, Selina, and I know who your friends are. My article isn't about your connections; it's about you as a person and as an entrepreneur. Trust me when I tell you it's water under the bridge, and both Lincoln and I have more important things to worry about at the moment. I like to think our relationship is strong enough now to move past it."

          "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

          "I know." Michaela sighs. "You don't have to give me a definite answer right now, but I'll send you an email with all the details you might need, including both my work and personal phone numbers in case you need to contact me when I'm not at the office. It's just three hours, but . . . well. I hope you'll be in touch. Have a great day."

          Michaela doesn't wait for a reply, and hangs up before Selina can think about what she's going to say. In a way, it's a good thing, meaning Selina won't have to embarrass herself any further.

          It's hard to remember they're the same age. Michaela seems to have her entire life figured out, even after all that's happened throughout the years, and has finally found stability. Selina, on the other hand, only has Lock'd to look forward to, and there are some days when not even that seems to be enough.

          It's been a while since the last time she felt like this. Back then, she could have chosen to take her break and put her job on the line, which was what she did—she packed her bags and left the country, choosing to wallow in self-pity in Barcelona instead of staying in Los Angeles. Now, she can't afford such a luxury, and it has nothing to do with money.

          Money is not an issue. It hasn't been one in years, as Selina does her job well enough to live more than comfortably, and is aesthetically pleasing to have some on the side offers for a publicity campaign here and there. However, there are other issues conditioning her freedom, and, therefore, her happiness; for example, leaving right now would mean having to let go of her last chance and losing her job. Then, she'd have to deal with the backlash on social media, and pretend like she wouldn't be being badmouthed by former colleagues.

          That's not even the worst part. That would be having to power through the disappointment, both her own and that of those who thought she was cut out for this . . . including her own family—the same family she's been ignoring for so long, for no particular reason.

          Is this really the type of person Michaela wants to feature in her article, someone who can be seen as a source of hope and inspiration for young people? If anything, it should serve as a cautionary tale, regardless of how professionally successful she might be.

          Selina doesn't turn on the radio on the drive home, because how dare other people have found some stability in their lives, and, more importantly, how dare they be decent people. She slams her hands against the steering wheel when the car in front of her abruptly stops on a red light, leading to her almost crashing her car against it.

          As if that breakdown from last week hadn't been pathetic enough, this one is even worse because it involves actual tears. She's sitting in her stupid car, crying over a stupid phone call (that could have only gone any worse if Michaela had insulted her directly instead of being thoughtful enough to let her come to her own conclusions), pretending like her family doesn't exist and acting like the world is about to crash down on her.

          She exhales. There's no time to waste, even if her mind tries to convince her of the opposite. After all, her silence has dragged on for too long.

          "Say a command," a cool female voice asks, echoing inside the vehicle when Selina is no longer ugly crying. Her mascara is drying on her cheeks, leaving a smudged black trail behind, and she's thankful for her tinted windows and for the absence of other people in the car.

          "Call Jane," Selina replies, speaking slowly so as to not call Janie or Jamie, or whoever is in her contact list.

          "Calling Jane."

          "About time you called," Jane scolds, picking up the phone in record time. Selina doesn't reply, but straightens. Jane Locke-Yang is still an authority figure in her life, even after all these years, but is certainly more maternal than Selina's own biological mother. "Kidding. Hey, honey. I was wondering when I'd finally hear your voice on the phone instead of having to turn on the radio."

          "I'm sorry." Selina sniffles, and the light turns green. "I don't know why I didn't call. I came back from Barcelona ages ago, and everyone kept telling me to call you guys, but . . ." She inhales. "I'm sorry. I haven't been having the time of my life since I got back, really, and today hasn't been a good day."

          "Do you want to talk about it?"

          "I was mean to a pregnant woman because she wants to write an article about me. Well, not about me, specifically, but she wants to feature me in her article about inspirational people under thirty." Selina hates that she thinks about it, but Lincoln turned thirty early this year, excluding him from the article, and she can't help but wonder if Michaela chose that age on purpose. It's a nice, round summer with tons of meaning, and she said she doesn't let her personal life interfere with her job; besides, she was only a guest editor in that Union Daily article, which means it was never her idea in the first place. That sounds a lot more likely than she consciously excluding her own boyfriend from such a vehement article. "It's super flattering, but I don't think I can do it."

          "Do you want to do it?"

          "Yes, but—"

          "Then what's stopping you? Why do you feel like you wouldn't be a good fit for that article? I mean, you are under thirty, and your show is insanely popular. There are so many people who'd give up so much to be in your shoes, Selina."

          "They want to be in my place, but they don't want to be me. The article must be about raw honesty, or something, and I can't exactly say I often stop talking to my family for no reason whatsoever, I'm avoiding my sister, and I haven't seen or spoken to my mother in years."

          There's frigid silence on Jane's side of the line, and Selina knows she has gone too far. Jane could probably handle Selina's silence towards her and Andrew, but getting Jersey involved is always unnecessary. Even if Selina's favorite hobby is keeping her family at arm's length, the same cannot be said about the rest of them and the relationships between them . . . at least when it comes to her father's side of the family.

          Selina highly doubts he and her mother have been in touch ever since she graduated high school, and even then, their communication was still pretty limited. It has never been pretty, and Selina has learned to live with it.

          "I'm sorry, Jane," she eventually says. "I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have done t—"

          "I'll tell your father you called. I'm sure he'd love to hear your voice." Selina nods, even though Jane can't see her, and turns the corner to enter her street. Her apartment can be seen just a few houses away, and she can't wait to go back to bed and pretend today wasn't real. "I can't force you to talk to anyone, especially your mother, but please don't drag my daughter into that mess. Your mother . . ." Jane sighs. She and Selina's mother, Mei, have never been particularly close, and it's not like either of them have put much effort into changing that. Jane is always polite, even while showing a cold distance, but Mei has a particular personality that isn't easy to deal with. "That's something you and Mei will have to fix between the two of you, without involving us. Especially Jersey. Still, for what it's worth, I trust you to do the right thing."

          Much like Michaela did, Jane doesn't wait for an answer; truth be told, Selina doubts she'd be able to give her one, especially one she'd want to hear, and is secretly glad Jane was the one to hang up the call.

          There's no one home when Selina enters the apartment, closing the door behind her and kicking off her shoes. It could almost be peaceful if she managed to forget there once was a time when their friends spent more time at the apartment than she and Ethan themselves did, and if she ignored just how lonely she was feeling before. This just makes it a lot more intense, not to mention more real.

          There are plenty of people she could talk to, just to ease the weight on her shoulders, but it might not be a good idea to contact them at the moment. Ethan must have gone out to do some actual work, as it's easy to get distracted in the house, and she doesn't want to bother him. The girls are busy working, and Cameron and Remus are out of the state and busy touring. Besides, she doesn't want to risk being the source of more trouble in the band by trying to impose her presence, and it really is best if she doesn't push her luck.

          Her phone pings, alerting her to the arrival of an email she's not planning on reading anytime soon, even if it's urgent, and she throws the device to a couch before disappearing into her bathroom for a well-needed shower.

          There are two girls in the framed photo Selina keeps on one of the bathroom shelves, surrounded by small potted succulents and a few unopened bottles of shampoo and body wash samples. Selina has an arm swung around Jersey's shoulders, with her sister standing several inches shorter than her, and both their smiles are frozen in time, laughing at something Selina can't remember.

          She doesn't know why she keeps this photo in her bathroom. The steam from the shower always fogs up the glass and the bathroom definitely isn't the room where she spends the most time when she's at home, so it's not like she walks past the photo that often.

          Maybe that's the reason why.

          Once she's out, with muscles feeling stiffer than ever, as if the shower never happened, she sends Remus a quick text, one he doesn't even have to reply to. Preferably, he won't do it around Cory, even if it's ridiculous that he has to keep an entire part of his life hidden from his own brother, but Selina might be overestimating her importance.

          The text still goes out, though, as simply sending it shouldn't be that big of a problem (Miss you. Call me when you can.), and Selina believes she'll survive. They've all been holding themselves together and there are no breaking up rumors circulating social media, with everyone being too busy enjoying the concerts and the interviews to deeply read into body language.

          He replies. Not immediately, but after Selina has settled down on her couch with a steaming cup of coffee and her laptop by her side. She gets the text right after sitting down, pondering whether replying immediately to him would be a sign of desperation or not, but still opens it.

Missing you right back. See you in an hour and a half.

          An hour and a half. That gives her more than enough time to do what she needs to do and to recompose herself in case she ends up needing it. Knowing herself like she does, she'll probably have to.

          Taking a deep breath, she opens her laptop, swallows some coffee, and waits for the device to fully load. Then, she presses the call button and waits, heart thudding against her rib-cage, her cup of coffee trembling in her hand. Some droplets fall to the couch, getting woven into the fabric.

          "Hey, J," Selina timidly greets, when Jersey's face pops up on the screen. Jersey has her hair pulled into a bun that's eerily similar to Selina's own do, face bare of any makeup, and the lighting in the room she's in tints her light-olive skin in shades of gold. "Do you have a minute?"