What I Wouldn't Give

By Tess Shepherd

River: I only had one rule-stay far the fuck away from Rachel Simmons (AKA, Mouse). And it worked for me. It worked for us. It meant minimal contact (until she had to swallow her pride and ask me for help getting liquor off the top shelf). It meant peace

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terrileigh Pellarin
• Release date: Dec 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986865348

Tess Shepherd

Tess was born and raised in Harare, Zimbabwe. Her unusual childhood in a beautiful but tragic country was responsible for her deep love of everything fantastical and magical-including romance. When her thirst for adventures and travel brought her to California for university, she happened to meet her very own Mr. Darcy (slightly taciturn and all). Tess now lives with her husband in California, and when she's not elbow-deep in some topsy-turvy world of her own creation, she can be found working out, meeting her friends for drinks (sometimes, after working out), and alternately binge-watching soppy rom-coms and 'Criminal Minds' with her dogs, Teddy and Winnie.

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Prologue

Rachel

Oh no. Don’t you dare, I whisper as the first tear falls. Pull yourself together!

I breathe deeply and blink rapidly, hoping to flutter away the telltale signs of my mortification—fat tears, a red face, and a runny nose. But when that doesn’t work, I stare at the white, slatted door of the restroom stall instead.

It’s strange, to imagine Jess, the hip, artist-bartender, wanting an elaborate wedding at a luxury hotel. If I think about it, I suppose she always seemed like the type for an intimate gathering and some sort of new-age hand-binding ceremony. You know the one. Where the groom has a man-bun, and the bride manages to look boho chic in her lace wedding gown and scarred leather boots. It’ll usually occur in a field of some sort. But the pictures always come out as if they were taken by the best commercial photographer in LA. (Spoiler alert: They were.)

Well, either Jess isn’t the hipster I imagined, or Graham is more flush than he lets on, because The Savant Hotel in LA is anything but hipster-approved. Even the door, in its twelve-foot, regal glory is a perfect complement to the ostentatious finishes adorning the remainder of the restroom—marble sinks, gold faucets, monogrammed hand towels in spotless white, and real red roses—I smelled them to make sure.

My legs are starting to go numb from sitting on the toilet for so long, but try as I might, my body is too tense to pee. And still, my puffy face, swollen eyes, and full bladder are not the worst things about my current situation.

If I close my eyes, I can still hear River’s voice. He looked down at me in stunned disbelief and said, This isn’t what I want, before stumbling off into the night like some wounded war hero. And that, the sting of rejection, is the worst thing about my night thus far.

Now, experience has taught me that it could still get worse. Hell, in just the last week I’ve managed to get fired from my job, accidentally drop my six-month-old niece on the floor (don’t worry, she landed on her bottom), and dye my hair gray. And no, not that sexy, silver-gray that all the Instagram models have these days—although that was the intention.

My gray came out like my eighty-year-old Nonna’s. And because I used a box dye, I’m supposed to wait four to six weeks before changing it again. The only perk to my current granny-chic look is that people keep holding doors for me or giving me their seats on the train before they see my face and realize I’m not an elderly woman.

Rach?

Annie’s voice, coming from right outside my stall, has me swiping the last of my tears away. Yeah.

Are you okay? River said you didn’t seem well…

I snort.

When I open the door, Annie is sitting on the marble counter, to the right of one of the sinks. Like all the bridesmaids, she’s wearing a maroon gown that ties in a halter behind her neck and cinches at the waist before spilling down to the floor. Unlike the other bridesmaids, Annie is ridiculously tall…Well, tall compared to me anyway. She has huge boobs, a handspan waist, pale skin, black hair, and dark eyes, all of which seem to be working with the dress to give her a fantasy temptress vibe.

As I look at her, I think she’s everything I’m not. She’s gorgeous; I look like your average five-two, pre-pubescent little sister. (Or elderly grandma at this particular moment.) She’s confident and funny and charismatic. I’m shy and awkward and the two always seem to be working together to give off an outright weirdo vibe. You look like an erotica version of Red Riding Hood. And point. The words tumble out of my mouth before I’ve managed to stop and filter. Usually, I’ll say sentences I’m unsure of in my head before freeing them into the world. But sometimes they just slip out faster than my brain can move to catch them.

Annie quirks an eyebrow. Thank you? I think…

It was a compliment.

My voice is nasally from crying. My swollen face has seen better days. And Annie isn’t stupid. She looks so concerned that I try to smile, but I can’t quite hide the uncertainty behind it.

Do you want to talk about it?

No.

Okay. That’s fine too.

Still, I find myself shrugging as I walk to the sink and start washing my hands. I just…I made a terrible mistake. But because I can’t exactly tell her I almost hooked up with her childhood best friend, I add, And I got fired on Friday.

Saying it out loud for the first time is all it takes to have the tears threatening again. I stare at my red face in the gold-gilded mirror above the sink. My life isn’t exactly going as planned, you know?

What happened?

Nothing.

You don’t have to tell me.

"No, Annie. I am telling you. Nothing happened. They said the firm was going in a new direction and I was no longer a good fit. I concentrate my hands to avoid making eye contact when I add, The worst part is I’m an administrative assistant. I mean, which direction are they going in that doesn’t require an administrative assistant?"

The horrible truth, the thing that I could never tell Annie, is that I am…was terrible at my job. Honestly, if my mother hadn’t been on Cyborg’s board of directors, I’m pretty sure I would have been fired when I dropped a pot—yes pot, not mug—of coffee on the CEO two years ago. Or when I accidentally booked our entire marketing team non-refundable tickets to Naples, Florida when they were supposed to go to Italy.

I’m just a little down today, that’s all. And lonely. When my mind leaps to my recent encounter with River, a searing flush of shame floods my entire body.

Loneliness, we can fix. But why are you sad?

I think about where to start. Well, I have no idea what I’m going to do when my severance check runs out. The check is enough to get me through six months of living in LA. Again, probably only because they’re terrified of what my mom will say when I sum up the courage to tell her I was fired.

Also, solvable. We can convince Rick that he needs another bartender at Halogen while you figure it out.

I meet her eyes, surprised by the offer. "I appreciate it, Annie. I really do. But I’m an administrative assistant."

I swipe at my face with my hands. I barely know what I want to drink at a bar, let alone how to make any of the cocktails. Oh, God. So many spillables. I think about the bar’s flaming Firefly cocktail; it arrives with a live flame snaking the top. A goddamn live flame. That seems like a disaster waiting to happen. And I’ve spent a lot of time in Halogen with you guys. You’re all insanely talented. And charismatic. And sexy. And cool.

None of us worked bartending jobs before starting, Annie argues. Besides, we have a training program. We can start you off slow, teach you during the new day shift when things are quieter, and work you up from there.

I stare at her face. You’re serious?

Of course. If you need a job, we’ll help. Even if you just want something to tide you over until you find your feet again.

"Why?"

Annie shrugs. "Why does it surprise you? You’re already at the bar most nights. As a friend. She waves about the restroom. You’re literally at a staff member's wedding. And don’t tell anyone, she leans forward and whispers, but Jess was pissed that Graham wanted his sister as a bridesmaid. She was going to ask you."

"Really?"

Annie nods solemnly and hops off the counter. Now, if you don’t want to work at Halogen, that’s another story. But don’t say no because you’re scared of trying something new. You might surprise yourself. Hell, she laughs, you might even enjoy it. I know I did.

Trying new things doesn’t always work out for me, I say, tugging a long, gray strand of my hair.

I love it.

You love my gray hair?

Yes.

Liar.

She tilts her head and looks at me. You know, Rach, with those big, brown eyes and freckles, you could pull it off if you owned it.

I try to.

Trying and owning are different things. You try too hard. You don’t say, ‘Fuck it,’ enough.

Fuck it?

Yeah, like, ‘Fuck it, I look so hot with gray hair. Nonna’s got nothing on me’.

I know she’s trying to make me laugh because she’s the only person I made the Nonna comparison to. Annie, stop. I need to mope a little longer.

Or ‘Fuck it, I’m going to slay the singles market in the Young, Hot Guys with Mommy Issues Category’. Her lips quiver.

Ahhhh, men with issues are actually my forté. When Annie giggles, I add, It’s a niched field. Takes a lot of commitment.

She snorts and shakes her head.

I wipe the last of the tears off my face, resigned that the red blotchiness will last a while longer. You know…I already feel better.

See. Annie is quiet for a moment, but then she reaches for me and pulls me into a hug. You have friends, Rach. You have a job if you need one. But only you can choose who you are and how you feel about yourself every day.

I know she’s right. But my treacherous mind thinks of River. There was a small moment there, when I was in his arms, that I felt completely happy. Whole. The way he looked at me made me feel wanted. And special. Because he wanted me. Only thirty minutes ago, I felt on top of the world, gray hair and all.

Pushing the memory to the back of my mind, I step back first. Alright. Fuck it. A little flicker of hope sparks as the words leave my mouth.

Yas, girl! Annie fist pumps the air above her head.

"I’m not only going to enjoy my hair gray, but I’m also going to re-dye it gray when the four to six weeks are up."

Oh, my God! Yes! Jess and I will help this time! She leans forward and whispers, You missed a little patch at the back.

Of course I did, I snort. But fuck it! My entire body vibrates with excitement. "I can do this. I can work at a bar. I can learn new things. I can be any Rachel I want to be."

Annie lets out a little whoop of excitement.

I must be having some sort of adrenal response because I yell, Let’s cut it!

Ah…What? The blood drains from Annie’s face.

My hair, I explain, taking an eager step closer. I want a pixie cut.

You…Ah…

I can see that Annie’s trying to find a way to calm me down without backing away from her ‘Fuck It’ speech, but I don’t let her. "Annie. I need this. And as my closest friend in the entire universe, you have a moral obligation to help me."

I’m…I’m your closest friend in the entire universe?

I nod vigorously, taking her hands in mine as if the contact will somehow convince her. That’s how pathetic I am. My closest friend is my local bartender, who I met when she rescued me from a horrible first date by telling the douchebag I had explosive diarrhea.

Annie begins to giggle. To be fair, Jayden was awful.

The worst, I affirm. I see her eyes soften and choose to shamelessly exploit it. Annie, I’ll do it myself if you don’t help me.

Fuck it. But I’m warning you, she starts counting off her fingers, I don’t know how to cut hair, I am legitimately drunk, and I do not have personal insurance in case you sue. The last time I tried I was six. And Malibu Barbie never left the dollhouse again.

I grin. We can YouTube it. Do you have scissors?

No, but we can grab some from the kitchen. She snaps her fingers. You know, let’s ask Ox. He’s great at YouTube tutorials.

I can’t imagine Ox’s big hands wielding a pair of scissors near my head. But strangely, I find that I trust Annie’s boyfriend. Perfect. Let’s go.

She pauses for a moment as I storm past. Wait.

I spin around. No backing out!

No. I need to pee.

Oh. Yeah. Me too.

It’s only when I’m sitting on the toilet again that I can calm down enough to say, Hey, Annie? Thanks. For being a good friend.

She giggles, and the sound reverberates in the enclosed stall. Don’t thank me until we’re done. You might hate me before the night is out.

A little zap of excitement travels up from the base of my spine. Oh, I think, that’s new. And for the second time in one night, I realize that the little zing of adrenaline is one that I quite like.

So, when thoughts of River sneak back into my mind, I push them aside. If I do follow through on Annie’s offer to work at Halogen, I’m going to have to get over it. Over him.

Honestly, after tonight, I’m about ninety percent there already. I think I went from puppy love to rabid dislike the moment he walked away from me, leaving me in his hotel room with my dress at my waist, my entire body still tingling everywhere he’d touched. And if my heart breaks a little and my body flushes hot with shame at the memory, I pretend to feel nothing at all.

It works.

Mostly…

Chapter 1

Rachel

Three Years Later

I know something’s wrong before I even turn onto my street. When the firetrucks speed past and turn right, my stomach sinks. I don’t think twice. Hefting my grocery bag higher on my hip, I start running towards the clamor of sirens, the heavy bag putting a limping hop in my stride.

Please…no. My hurried prayer isn’t adequate, but it’s all I can think to do as I speed around the corner.

The bright red bodies of the fire engines block my small street, cutting off the flow of traffic through the quaint Pico-Robertson neighborhood. The sirens are off now, but the flash of the trucks’ bright lights pulls my panic tight.

I see my neighbors gathering. Mrs. Leibowitz leads her four-year-old grandson, James, from across the street so that he can get a better look at the firemen working.

Mr. and Mrs. Adelman from 2B are standing side-by-side, holding hands. In the back of my mind, I think this might be the first time I’ve seen them touch each other; usually, they’re bickering and grumbling about everything—but specifically about one another. It’s always a mumbled, ‘You didn’t thaw the chicken for dinner’, or ‘Your sister can go to hell’.

Raj, my neighbor from 3A is standing out of the way of the firemen, looking up at the third floor. He’s wearing nothing but red boxers and a single pink sock. His arms are laden with tech, and, as I come closer, I see that it’s a PlayStation gaming console.

The man who Raj and I call ‘Bruce From 2C’ is sitting on the pavement, talking to someone on his phone. We don’t know his real name. We call him ‘Bruce From 2C’ because he’s never really made an effort to get to know the neighborhood. He’s wealthy (there’s a ridiculous Bugatti in our cozy, ten-spot garage), attractive, and a little mysterious. Like Bruce Wayne.

Raj? When I step up to his side, he jumps a little and hugs his tech closer to his chest.

Oh. Hey, Rachel.

What happened? I don’t see our landlord, Abe, standing among the crowd, and my mind jumps to the worst-case scenario.

Most of the third floor collapsed. He sighs sadly. The Goodmans accidentally left the water on when they went away.

"What? My mind reels. They’ve been gone for weeks!"

He nods, and when he turns to look at me, his eyes are round with shock. "I swear I thought I was going to die. One moment I’m sitting, slaying Jörmungandr in the Warriors of Storgard. And then…"

He shivers, so I reach out and put my hand on him. I realize he’s practically naked a second too late, so I give his shoulder a familial squeeze before removing it.

The floor just… He makes a collapsing gesture with his entire body, his arms still hugging the PlayStation. Then…water…everywhere.

I think Raj might be going into shock. His brown eyes are staring vacantly above my head, and he can’t seem to form coherent sentences. Hey, Raj?

Yeah? He turns to face me.

Did you finally kill Jörmungandr?

Awareness floods his features. His smile blooms. Motherfucking-yes, I did! I didn’t realize it before, but you need the Sword of Truth. It’s a buffed weapon I’d kinda overlooked previously to get to the door that leads to level five.

That’s good. I turn to survey the building again as I keep him talking. What happens when she dies?

It’s so gnarly…

His voice fades as I stare at the firemen going in and out. That sinking feeling in my stomach hasn’t left, and I know that it’s because the worst news is still to come. I’m 2A. Rachel in 2A. RACHEL SIMMONS, 2A—that’s what my mailbox says. And if Raj’s floor collapsed…it could only mean that I no longer have a ceiling.

And, still, it’s the ‘Water everywhere’ part of his speech that chills the blood in my veins. Raj’s bedroom, where he plays video games, is directly above my reading nook, the little corner of my apartment where I keep over three hundred of my most prized possessions.

So anyway, all that to say that you should move your main character away from her body quickly so that her green blood doesn’t get on you. Otherwise, it eats at you like acid.

Mmhm, I nod lamely. Good to know.

I switch my grocery bag to my right side. How much water did you say there was again?

I try to sound nonchalant, but when Raj replies, Our apartments are now the neighborhood swimming pool, I mewl. The sound must leave my mouth because Raj clears his throat and adds, But, like a kiddie pool?

Tears gather in my eyes, and, furious with myself, I push my thoughts back to what matters. Did everyone get out okay?

Yeah. Thank God it’s two o’clock on a Tuesday. Barely anyone was home.

I think of our neighbors in 1A. Although the damage probably hasn’t reached them yet, they have two-year-old twins. The thought is enough to tide my self-pity for a moment. What do we do now?

Abe exits the building as the question leaves my mouth. When he sees us all nearby, huddled together, he turns in our direction.

Our landlord is sweet and kind and, even though he doesn’t need to, he stops by every month with his toolbox to ask if there’s anything that needs fixing. And, after living in LA my entire life, trust me when I say that having a proactive landlord is like finding honey in the desert. Even if I didn’t adore my neighbors, I think I’d have stayed in my building indefinitely because of Abe.

Usually, he has a bounce in his step that makes him seem much younger than his seventy-three years. But today, I take one look at his shock of rumpled white hair and soggy clothes and step forward to fold him into a hug. We’re so glad you’re okay.

His slight frame shakes as he wheezes out a laugh. You’re glad! God, when I heard that crash… He pats my back and steps away. I’m not offended. Hugs are too intimate for grief. Sometimes the only thing that keeps you going in the moment is detachment.

None of us says anything. We all just stare at him, waiting for the news to come.

Abe’s shoulders are rounded under our collective gaze, but as he begins to explain, he slowly straightens. The 2 and 3 As and Bs took the worst of it. The first floor, and 2 and 3C can probably move back in after that section has passed the safety inspection in a few weeks. The rest of you… He meets my eyes, and chokes out, I’m sorry. It could be months just to clear the insurance and rebuild. Your leases are obviously invalidated, but I’ll contact each of you first when I open back up.

It’s okay. I’m the first to speak.

Next to me, Raj adds, We all want to move back when we can.

Abe nods, and I look away when I see his eyes glistening with tears. But I hear him whisper, I’m not sure how much of your stuff is salvageable. He shakes his head. The firemen need another thirty minutes to check the structure before they’ll escort you, one at a time, to grab what you can carry. When I know more, I’ll call you so you can come and move the rest of your things.

Nobody says anything for a moment. Then Mrs. Adelman asks, We can stay with my sister. Mr. Adelman grumbles, but he doesn’t argue. His wife adds, Does everyone have somewhere to go tonight? And in the interim?

I can go to my parents, Raj affirms, sounding a little resigned.

Bruce From 2C, who I hadn’t noticed sneak up to the group, says, I’ve got another apartment in Pasadena if anyone needs a spare room for a few days.

Raj and I look at each other, the message, ‘So mysterious’ passing between us easily.

Rachel?

When Abe says my name, I realize I’m the only one without an immediate place to go. Both my mother and sister live in Calabasas, over forty minutes away from where I work. And the distance aside, the idea of moving in with either of them for an indefinite period of time makes me want to remove my eyes with a spoon. My mother and I are like oil and water. And living under my sister, Moira’s, perfectionist standards for even a week would be unbearable.

I have friends nearby who I can stay with as long as I need, I say. It’s not exactly a lie. I know, beyond a reasonable doubt, that if I call the bar, someone will answer, and any one of my friends will pick me up and help me find a place to stay.

Okay. I’m going to go back and listen to what they can tell me, but… Abe waves a hand and chokes out, I’ll let you know when you can start going in to get your things.

We all nod. Slowly, the group filters off. The Adelmans go and tell Mrs. Leibowitz the news. Bruce from 2C moves to sit on the curb again. When Raj takes out his phone and calls his parents, I fish mine out of my bag and bring up Halogen’s daytime phone number.

I’m hoping that Marisol picks up. Somehow, having her help me pick up my things would be so much easier than trying to be brave in front of Rick or River. But I’m not that lucky. Before he’s even said, Hello, this is Halogen Bar, I know it’s River.

I’m quiet for a moment as I swallow three years of accumulated pride. River and I…we’ve managed to build a shaky professional relationship since he left me in the hotel room at Jess’ wedding. And by ‘shaky’, I mean we only just manage to work side-by-side all night. At Halogen, we get by with ignoring one another, and, when that doesn’t work, passive-aggressive insults and muttered arguments keep us fueled. When our mutual friends hang out outside of bar hours, we do what any frenemies would do—ignore one another unless we can’t avoid it.

Hello?

River? I close my eyes, frustrated with myself when my voice comes out trembling.

Rachel?

Yeah, I whisper.

What’s up, Mouse? he asks. When I don’t reply, he sniggers, Cat got your tongue?

I want to be mad at his pet name for me, but I can’t find the energy. Not right now.

Rachel? he says again, cautiously.

No. Shit. Do not cry. Can you come get me? I say quickly as the first tear falls.

Yes. He replies immediately. If he’s wondering what’s wrong, he doesn’t ask. Where are you?

I’m at my apartment. I sniffle. On Sherbourne. I rattle off the address, aware that I’m talking fast to try and bank my tears.

Okay. I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Hey…Are you okay?

Mmhm, I murmur past the tears in my throat.

Alright. See you in a few, little Mouse.

’Kay. I hang up before he says anything else.

A loud crash sounds from the apartment, and Raj and I look at each other, both our eyes wide. That didn’t sound good.

No, I affirm. To me, it sounded like the judge’s gavel. The final verdict. And it’s indicating that I am completely fucked.

River

It takes me twenty-three minutes to get to the address that Rachel gave me, and, although she told me she was fine, something about the heartache in her voice lodged a block of icy fear in my stomach. There’s not much that could happen that would have Rachel calling the bar in the middle of the day, and I can only think of awful scenarios that would have her lowering herself to ask for my help.

Two firetrucks block the entrance to her street, and when I see the lights flashing in silent horror, I pull up to the nearest curb and turn off the car before hopping out.

My heart is racing in my chest as I approach, and, still, my mind is telling me that the group of people huddled in front of the apartment building all look calm, if a little rumpled.

The first person to see me is a young Indian guy who’s probably a decade younger than my thirty-five. He’s a kid. His body, proudly on display in a pair of bright red boxers, still has the gangly-limbed appearance of youth. And even though I am fully clothed, and he is not, he looks at me skeptically as I approach the group and ask, Is Rachel here?

She’s collecting her things now, an elderly woman replies. She pats her neat chignon as she talks, and the gesture pulls an exaggerated eyeroll from the elderly man standing next to her.

Who are you?

I turn to face the kid. River, I say, extending my hand. I’m a work friend of Rachel’s. I don’t mention that Mouse would snort at my use of the word, ‘Friend’.

Raj. 3A. He smiles for the first time and returns my shake. "These are the Adelmans