Manhattan // Josh Kiszka

I

"Um, hey Ava. It's me. How are you? Actually.... never mind. Uh, I just wanted to let you know you can come by at any time to get the rest of your stuff. You still have the key right? I'm sure you do. So, uh, yeah. I can even box it up for you so that we don't have to, you know... see each other. Um, anyway. Yeah. Just let me know, I guess. Bye."

This wasn't supposed to happen. It's not what he wanted. He begged her to stay. He promised her they could work it out. He tried to assure her that everything would be fine. But she knew better. She knew it wouldn't be fine. She knew she couldn't bring herself to do it, even if she didn't want it either. She wanted to stay, she really did, but the distance pulled her away. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It shouldn't have been like this.

Josh stared at his phone, thinking about the voicemail he had just sent. Did I sound too nervous? Was I too harsh? Did I get my message across? He dreaded having to send it, knowing the second he hands her back her things, it must really be over. She had packed most of it up a couple weeks ago and moved back in with her mother. She told Josh that he should keep the apartment.

The band relocated to Los Angeles for work. It was definitely a switch for them; they were so used to the cold, bitter Michigan, and the California sun was more ideal for them. The boys originally had a house together in Burbank. Just a simple, neutral toned, two-story house. It was perfect for them. They lived there for several months, until Josh met Ava.

It was an impulse buy. They became attached to each other so quickly that it only seemed right to have a place together. Over the course of one night and two bottles of wine, they found a small, cozy apartment available in Downtown Los Angeles. The next morning they couldn't believe what they had done the night before, but they didn't regret it. They couldn't wait to take that next step in their relationship.

It was in the early hours of the morning when they met. It must have been around two or three when a drunken Ava walked up to Josh in a San Francisco bar. She had attended a Greta Van Fleet show at the Fillmore with her friend who insisted she'd go. Ava wasn't a hermit, but she enjoyed her free time and preferred to spend it alone. But that's not to say she had an abundant amount of spare time; Ava was a dancer. Ballet, pointe, jazz, contemporary, tap, everything. She'd been dancing since she was put in dance class at three years old by her mother, who, by definition, was a true dance mom. Ava wasn't allowed to give up. "My children are not quitters!" her mother would say. Luckily for Ava, she loved it. The stage was her home. Long practice days and weekend competitions never held her back. Ava was born to be a dancer.

"Go talk to him! He's right over there!" Ava's friend, Liz, said to her.

"What do I say to him?" Ava replied, taking another sip from her martini.

"Anything! Tell him you loved the show." Liz pushed Ava over in the boy's direction.

Ava's vision was fuzzy. She had maybe a little too much to drink that night. She could make out a man, most likely in his early twenties, with curly hair and a short stature. He was talking to two other boys, who both had long brown hair. Ava thought that she was seeing double because they looked so similar. She stumbled to their table, but tripped on her heel and fell to the ground.

"Whoa, are you okay?" The curly headed boy knelt down to Ava and reached out his hand to her.

"Y-Yeah, I'm good," she said, taking his hand. "Thank you."

"No problem." The boy smiled at her.

"I was s-sent over here by m-my friend over there," Ava points over to Liz sitting at the bar, "to t-tell you that I enjoyed t-the show. Also I'm drunk."