CHAPTER SIX

PARHELION

( — a bright spot in the sky appearing on either side of the sun, formed by refraction of sunlight through ice crystals high in the earth's atmosphere. )

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

          MICHAELA HAS A TENDENCY TO DO STUPID STUFF WHEN SHE'S UPSET. It's something she has carried with her since high school and, since we all have baggage, Michaela thinks she has the right to do it as well, dragging it behind her and whining whenever it bursts open at the most inconvenient moments. So, as she makes her way through the crowd towards the bar, she wonders how many martinis she can down in one night without puking all over someone.

          She's not a good drinker. Period. That's why she threw up over the carpet in her previous apartment all those years ago, making everyone think she was pregnant because no one had seen her finish an entire bottle of red wine by herself. She wouldn't consider herself an alcoholic, but she has made mistakes.

          She knows she can do stupid things, but she's not stupid. Ginny, Roya, and Kelsey are here, meaning she'll have something to distract herself with instead of walking back and forth between the bar and a place of interest, especially when Roya is here to blog and has no issue with photographing what she shouldn't.

          Really. They're standing ten feet away from each other and, when Michaela timidly sips her martini, Roya somehow sees her and threateningly rotates her camera's lens before slipping her free arm through Ginny's and disappearing with her. Needless to say, Michaela is feeling a bit lonely tonight and almost wishes she had invited someone to come with her, but that's what you get when your personality finds a way of always isolating you.

          You'd expect Michaela to be friends with the models her mother works with, even if most of them are five, four years younger than her, but she can't help but feel a bit self-conscious when she's around those girls, who have their whole lives planned and she's just . . . there. Yvonne herself blabbers about her models all the time during family dinners, talking about their accomplishments, but, whenever someone asks her about Michaela—who's sitting right there and can speak for herself—she merely says her daughter has been writing a lot.

          Michaela knows her parents aren't exactly proud of her career choices, but this was one of the first decisions she made for herself and not to please them. Naturally, it led to several arguments in their house, back when she still lived with them, as Yvonne wished she had pursued a career in the fashion industry ("with a body like yours, Mich?"), while Ulysses insisted she should have followed his footsteps and gone to law school ("with brains like yours, Mich?").

          She didn't do it out of spite—that's what she wanted to do and couldn't care less whether they agreed with it or not, as she had saved enough money throughout the years to pay for college herself, refusing to live one more year in the shadow of her successful parents. So, she got into Yale and aced it.

          That wasn't nearly good enough for them, as they had never agreed with it in the first place—they were happy she had gotten into Yale, though, but that was about it—which meant going home during the holidays was the worst part of the year, oddly enough. At Yale, she had supportive friends. She had Lincoln.

          It's ironic that her parents have always approved of Lincoln's decisions, up until the break-up. Michaela wonders if they would have done the same if she wasn't a woman or an only child.

          With Ginny and Roya constantly disappearing and Kelsey being busy cheering people up—including Blair, who seems adamant on making this night a living hell for everyone who dares cross paths with her—Michaela drags herself and her empty cup back to the bar. If she paid for free refills, she might as well take advantage of that and drown her sorrows before the time for the announcements comes.

          She still hasn't run into Lennox this evening, fortunately, but she knows he's here thanks to Roya's blog's notifications. She also knows what he looks like tonight and he's wearing a suit, proving her point, which just so happens to fit him perfectly, with the lean muscles of his arms pressing against the fabric when he moves them.

          She wouldn't necessarily say she hates him. It's not like that. She just hates how he presents himself, thinking he's better than everyone, and how he was the only one to ever give her a ride for her money in high school, which sounds so unbelievably petty she doesn't know why it still bothers her this much. Popularity wasn't as important to her as it was to several people she went to high school with, and she and Lennox had it handed to them on a silver plate, like king and queen.

          (He was prom king when she was prom queen—both in junior and senior prom. That didn't help shut people up, and Michaela wished they had never met again after that.)

          Michaela slides to a chair by the bar, making sure her skirt is still in place, and orders another drink, showing the bartender the blue X inking the back of her hand.

          "You shouldn't be drinking," someone states, leaning the small of their back against the counter and setting their elbow on its surface, legs outstretched, once Michaela has her drink in her hand.

          Michaela blows bubbles into her martini, shuddering with the all too familiar voice and wishing she wasn't hearing it. "You should be minding your own business."

          "It took you that long to come up with a comeback and that's what you think of?" Lennox playfully exhales through his mouth, twirling his cup around when Michaela turns to face him. His white shirt's sleeves have been rolled up all the way to his elbows and his jacket's suit is resting next to his elbow, as it's definitely too hot in this place to be wearing long sleeves. "Damn, Michie. You're really losing your mean girl skills—what a shame."

          "Or maybe I just don't have the patience to use them on you because you're not worth my time." She finally sips her drink, with heat rising up to the back of her head, a clear sign she might have had too much to drink, and he mimics her. "What do you want, Lennox?"

          He shrugs, sliding to the chair next to hers, and she straightens herself when the scent of his cologne hits her nostrils. "No particular reason. I saw you were here by yourself and wanted to check if you were all right. Can I get more ice, please?" The bartender takes his whiskey and pours some more ice cubes inside the cup before returning it to him. "How are you doing?"

          "Counting the minutes until the announcement so I can ditch this party and go home to feel sorry for myself." She grins at him, momentarily forgetting they can't stand each other. "I just agreed to come because my boss' assistant would give me hell if I didn't. She'll be your boss' assistant on Monday too, so brace yourself for having the worst job in this city. I'm not even joking."

          Lennox laughs. "Are you even allowed to talk about her like that? What if she hears you?"

          "What is she going to do? Fire me?" Michaela mimics his laugh, but it sounds a lot more desperate than his. He might not need this job in particular, but she does. Rich parents can't live your life for you, especially when it's something they've purposely gone out of their way to express their distaste for, and Michaela has to keep this job. "Please. She'd only be doing me a huge favor. This job makes me feel miserable."

          He sighs. "Wonderful."

          "Why are you here with me, anyway?" Michaela finishes what's left of her drink and momentarily ponders whether she should have her cup refilled or not, ultimately pushing it forward. "I thought you hated me."

          "I don't mean to sound rude"—Lennox finishes his own drink, but, unlike her, he doesn't ask for a refill—"but you know how to be an abysmally bad person when you want to. I'm not saying I'm not the same, mind you," he adds, when she clenches her jaw, "but there are certain people I don't want to associate myself with. I tolerate you."

          She'll take it. It surely beats having him hate her guts for things she did when she was sixteen or seventeen.

          It turns out no one is surprised to hear the announcements, but most people only care about Lennox—they know what he has done and what he can do, meaning they know how much he's worth and the impact it will have on future sales. Even Michaela claps, with the lens of Roya's camera zooming in on her, and she swears she can hear her friend's voice over the applause, saying she'll have a great blog post by tomorrow if all goes well.

          Well. At least one of them is having a good time tonight—they all are, actually, but Michaela sticks out like a sore thumb, sulking and scowling everywhere she goes. It's no wonder they have all ditched her tonight.

          Lennox joins her once more, already having put on his jacket, and asks her if she wants to leave and go somewhere else, now that their presence is no longer required. She nods, glad she finally has a chance to leave a party she never really wanted to attend, but Roya manages to catch a quick snapshot of them before they disappear through the front door.

          Michaela is praying she'll have the decency to not post it anywhere.

          Lennox asks her if she wants to go home, when they're already sitting inside his car. The air is as warm as it was inside and she leans the back of her head against the seat, looking up at him and feeling as though her cheeks have caught on fire.

          "No," she whispers, and she thinks he leans towards her almost imperceptibly. Her hand brushes against his leg. "I don't want to go to my apartment. I don't want to be alone."

          Lennox glances at her hand before scratching his stubble and, for a split second, Michaela feels his ambivalence, but it vanishes as quickly as it had appeared. "Do you want to go to my place?"

          She nods. "Drive."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

          WHEN MICHAELA WAKES UP THE NEXT MORNING, SHE THINKS SHE'S GOING TO DIE. Her headache hammers against the walls of her skull, even though Lennox's room is quiet and she's covering her head with a pillow, but the buzzing in her ears doesn't seem to want to leave her. When she groans, Lennox stirs beside her, still keeping an arm swung around her waist, but doesn't say anything.

          She has to go. She doesn't want to ghost him, or anything, as she's much better than that, but a tiny voice in the back of her head insists last night was a mistake—everything from drinking too much to ending on Lennox's bed. He was decent enough to let her spend the night, being the little spoon for most of it, but her stomach is churning and, if there's one thing she doesn't want to do, it is to throw up here.

          It turns out the buzzing wasn't in her ears. Her phone, resting on the floor, hasn't stopped vibrating for, at least, ten minutes, and Michaela forces herself to sit up as carefully as possible to pick it up. There are five missed calls from Ginny, which is never a good sign.

          "Michaela," Ginny coldly greets. "I could kill you."

          "I sure feel like death," Michaela replies, massaging her temple with her free hand. "What is it?"

          "What is it? Are you kidding me? You were supposed to join me for the interview with Lincoln tonight and I'm parked outside of his apartment right now waiting for you, but you just had to go and get drunk last night!" Michaela wishes Ginny would keep her voice down, as Lennox is fully awake now as well and rolls out of bed. He only put on a pair of sweatpants and his dark skin is pristine, with muscles as defined as if he was a statue. "I swear to God, Michaela, if you don't come meet me up—"

          "I can't." Ginny huffs. "Gin, I'm sorry, but I feel terrible, and I really don't—"

          "Michaela, do I really have to remind you you're a guest editor in this story and you have to deal with your responsibilities? Because I asked you to help me out with this because you needed help, you needed a good story, and you're just throwing me under the bus right now!"

          "Then pull me off the story instead of constantly rubbing that in my face!" Michaela drops her hands and Lennox jumps in his place when she raises her voice, halfway through pulling the blinds open. It's raining outside, as expected. "Ginny, I've thanked you so many times for looking out for me and I really don't need this right now, so, if you want to write it by yourself, do it!"

          "I might!"

          Michaela hangs up the phone before her friend can say anything else and throws it across the bed, leaving it dangerously dangling off the edge of the mattress. She doesn't want to be spoken to, rolling up the sleeves of the sweater Lennox had let her borrow last night, but he still sits next to her, only to have her jump from the bed as if a spring had burst.

          She wonders how the hell she's going to show up at work on Monday—if she'll even have a job by then. She remembers all she said about Blair last night and Lennox had a point when he said she could be eavesdropping. Even worse, someone else might have overheard their conversation and decided to spill it all out to Blair.

          Michaela huffs, pulling her skirt up her legs and putting her heels back on, knowing she's running the risk of potentially spraining an ankle. "I'm going home."

          "I can give you a ride," Lennox suggests, handing her the phone back, and she stuffs it back inside her purse.

          "No, thanks." She tucks strands of her hair behind her ears, heart thumping like a drum against her ribcage, and he puts on a thermal sweater. "I'll call an Uber."

          "Are you alright?"

          Michaela pinches her nose bridge. "No. Of course not. I also don't want to talk about it," she adds, when he opens his mouth once again, as she's not in the mood for chit-chat. "Let's pretend this never happened and go back to hating each other, okay? I don't want us to force a friendship when there was never anything there to begin with."

          Lennox laughs, shaking his head, and rises to a standing position. "That's what you always do, isn't it? When things get bad, you run away. You don't know how to deal with your problems because you're a spoiled rich girl and you know your parents will handle it; if you lose your job, you can give them a call and they'll fix it. Hell, they'll even get you a better one."

          Michaela glares at him, already fuming. This is why they never got along—they're too alike, with fiery tempers and all. "You don't know me, Lennox. Don't run around making assumptions about me when you don't know the first thing about me and my family! I've fought like hell for everything I have right now!"

          "Yeah? Well, you sure act like you're entitled to what you have because you expect it all to be simply handed to you!" Michaela grits her teeth, trying to resist the urge to roll her eyes at him. "You just told your friend to kick you off your story because you're petty and because you can't accept who you really are! You think we don't know you've always been destined for greatness? You think we don't know you're worth more than this stupid magazine? You could leave that magazine on good terms and pursue what you really want to do, but you expect us all to do whatever you ask us to instead of taking responsibility for your actions!"

           "Well, excuse me if I don't want to interview my ex-fiancé who I am still in love with when I have a massive hangover and have just slept with another man!" Lennox blinks, and Michaela closes her hands into fists, leaving towards the living room. She wasn't supposed to say that, as details regarding the story shouldn't be getting out like this, but she doubts he'll announce it to the world just out of spite. "I've already screwed things up enough, so I really don't need you mansplaining my own life to me!"

          "You know, I used to find your mean girl, 'I'm better than all of you' attitude pretty alluring back in high school"—he walks her towards the door and opens it, the cold wind of January blasting against her back—"but that was almost ten years ago. You're almost twenty-seven, Michaela, and acting like this to people who are just trying to help you—or to anyone, really—just makes you a brat."

          "Lennox—"

          "Have a nice life, Michaela. See you at work."

          He simply slams the door in her face, leaving her outside under the dark-gray clouds without hesitation. Michaela gulps, trying to swallow the knot in her throat, but she never knows what to do when people call her out like this, especially because they're right. Lennox has known her for way longer than Ginny has and has witnessed her dark times, knowing very well this is a cycle.

          He knows what will happen next. He knows what the consequences will be. He knows the impact it will all have on their work environment.

          She hates that she's so predictable. She hates that she can't stop screwing things up.