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Amity doesn’t even like parties. That’s the kicker.
She hates the way her socks stick to sticky floors the next morning. She cannot stand small talk with drunk strangers. The way saccharine pop music crawls under her skin and nests behind her eyes, giving her a migraine. She doesn’t like downing solo cups of whatever the cheapest 30-rack was at the beer distributor last week. She flinches when someone yells over the booming bass directly into her ear. She loathes the inevitable clean-up after, marked with the subtle pity in Willow’s smile as she offers to help (she likes that part, at least).
But here she is.
Her and Willow’s cramped college condo is full. The music is far too loud. Skara is already pulling trig in her bathroom and it’s only 11:42 p.m. And Amity’s standing in the living room, second Surfside in hand, ignoring the way her heart makes a weird stutter every time the front door opens.
Willow brushes past her with a smirk, teasing, "You’re going to worry a hole into our hardwood if you keep pacing like thaaat."
"I’m not pacing. I’m shifting in place."
"So… pacing in place?"
"That doesn’t count."
Willow just giggles, giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze before disappearing into the kitchen, where an overdressed Hunter is pretending not to watch her every move. Amity catches the look on his face, pained and awkward and hopeful all at once, and wonders if she looks like that, too.
They didn’t talk about it, not even once.
The breakup, that is. One day there were piles of texts and long late-night calls and Luz’s voice in her ear until she fell asleep, and the next there was a cavernous silence, a canyon she hadn’t noticed opening until she fell into its gaping loneliness. It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t anything. Luz had drifted, and Amity had let her.
Or maybe she hadn’t let her. Maybe Amity held on too tight. Maybe they both stopped pulling.
She hadn’t a clue.
But she did know one thing. This party was for Luz.
She said it was for Willow, to celebrate her senior spring. Said it was for the new semester. Said it was just for drunken fun before the stress of school hit. But really, it was because she heard Luz would be in town this weekend, crashing with Gus for a few days. She might show up, or so he alluded to on Tuesday.
And at 12:03 am, Amity hates herself for how badly she wanted this rumor to be true.
She’s losing hope. The party is finally reaching its peak. Bodies are everywhere. Willow and Hunter are sharing a spot on the couch that’s far too small for two people, but neither of them seem to mind. Pulling trig must have worked, because Skara is in the kitchen attempting to braid glow sticks into Boscha’s hair. She’s pretty sure someone is crying on the porch. Amity is sitting on the arm of a chair she doesn’t remember owning, trying not to stare at the door.
And then.
The door opens.
Luz walks in like the ghost of a person.
Same jacket she’s worn since high school, same aesthetic, messy hair and all. She’s laughing at something Gus says before he runs off. She looks good. Healthy. Happy? Maybe.
Amity wants to throw up.
She doesn’t go to her.
That would be too easy. Pathetic. She can’t breathe.
Luz scans the room, still smiling, until her eyes catch Amity’s.
The air shifts, invisible to everyone but the two, noticeably enough that it pinches at Amity’s throat.
Neither of them look away.
It’s not a reunion. It’s just a shared memory radiating across a crowded room between two strangers that once knew everything about the other. I see you. I remember .
Amity clutches the can until it crumples under the pressure.
She wants to walk over, say something casual like, “Hey, good to see you.” Or maybe, “How was the drive in?”
But instead she sits, frozen and waiting, lips pressed together in a tight, thin line.
Luz averts her gaze, offering the ghost of a smile before turning to find Gus once more.
By 1:27 a.m., the night is dying down. Slowly, consistently, groups of twos and threes stumble out the door into the cold January air. A broken lamp lay hidden in the corner. Willow not-so-subtly shuffles Hunter into her room before throwing a smile and “G’night, Ams!” in the direction of the kitchen. He looks terrified. And thrilled. Amity remembers what that felt like.
She’s working on scrubbing a sticky ring of God knows what off the counter. A distraction.
Footsteps emerge from behind her, but she refuses to turn.
"Thought you hated parties."
Luz.
Amity presses her eyes shut.
"Still do," she says quietly.
Luz leans against the opposite counter. They don’t look at each other.
"It was a good one, though."
"..."
"Was that our old playlist?" Luz asks, cutting through the silence.
Amity nods.
Another silence. A heavier silence.
"I didn’t know if you’d come," Amity admits. She can feel Luz’s eyes burning into her, but she refuses to meet them. "But I wanted you to. Probably makes me stupid."
"No, it doesn’t."
Amity finally looks up.
There it is again, that empty, painful, heavy ache. The unspoken houseguest that moved in between them, unkillable.
"You look good," Luz says. "You look... like yourself."
Amity smiles, a small and tired and disingenuous smile. "You look happy."
Luz doesn’t answer for a while.
And then, quietly, she does.
"I’m not. I miss you."
Amity looks away, blinking back the ghost of a tear. " Please don’t say that."
"...It’s true."
"I’m not sure it is. And I’ll start hoping again. So don't."
Luz looks away, too. "Okay. I won’t."
They stand there, music pulsing faintly from the living room, surrounded by discarded cups and party lights and a million things left unsaid.
After what seems like forever, Luz clears her throat and says, "Gus left a while ago. I should get out of here."
Amity doesn’t stop her. She doesn’t say anything, actually. Just watches her leave.
When the door clicks shut, she lets herself cry.
Yeah, if you saw my tears, would you touch me?
Kiss me on the mouth, say you love me?
Leave a message, tell me you're sorry?
Hit me right back, hit me right back
Why you treating me like someone that you never loved?