Together Apart

Chapter Four: Liam

I hate interviews. I never say the right thing, never manage to pull off that fun and outgoing personality that gets people hired on the spot. To make matters worse, after every interview I've had in the last two years, I've had to face August, the king of fun and outgoing. As I step off the elevator on the 37th floor of a shiny tower on the corner of 24th and Lexington, I am hit with a wave of nerves, twisting the fist clenching my stomach even tighter than usual. I fight the urge to reach out and grab August's hand; that's not the best first impression to give. I hate that he even has to be here; it's embarrassing.

I approach the front desk, where a bored-looking woman is tapping away on her keyboard with long acrylics. She looks up at me, unamused, and lets out a monotone, "how can I help you?"

-"Uh, hi, I'm here for an interview with Ms. Ronson."

-"Go wait over there," she drones, gesturing weakly to a bank of leather couches, "she'll come get you when she's ready." She cranes her neck to look over my shoulder, finally noticing August hovering behind me. "Who are you?"

-"I'm just here for support," August quips, using our normal line, before throwing the woman a wide smile and the little shrug that always makes girls blush.

-The receptionist casts her eyes down, trying to suppress a smile of her own. "Okay," she says, in a more animated tone, "you both can wait there, I guess." August smiles again, and she blushes, hiding her mouth behind her hand.

August tends to have that effect on people. His personality is infectious; his charisma wins you over in seconds, and his smile makes you smile. Everywhere we go, August charms the shit out of people while I just stand there like a limp noodle, acting as a foil to make him look even better by comparison. It helps that he's objectively pretty attractive. He's tall but not too tall, broad but not too broad, and his dirty blond hair (long on the top, short on the sides--I'm at all his haircuts) falls effortlessly into his face. When his mind is elsewhere, which is often, I sometimes watch him subconsciously brush the strands out of his eyes; he even makes that look cool. Everything August does screams "effortless." I, on the other hand, am all labor. Half the time people don't even notice me, though I'm six-foot-one and pale as a ghost so it's hard not to. Whatever. For once, we're here for me and not August, and even though I only applied here because August made me, I'm actually excited about the possibility of working here. I just have to get through the interview.

August and I sit down on the leather couch in the waiting room. My heart is beating faster than normal, and it isn't just the curse. I go over the script I wrote in my head, thinking up eloquent answers to the questions I made for myself. If only life were just memorizing the rules and following them; I was always good at following rules. "Bí dofheicthe," my mother used to say. Be invisible. I'm used to having to hide; my family left Ireland when I was only two to escape death at the hands of a shadowy cult that wanted to take out all the old magical families in the land. The Ó Meadhra, my family, is one of the oldest in the nation, and my grandfather was the chief. My mom spent her entire life preparing to take over, but instead she was forced to uproot her life and run to America with three little kids. My dad stayed behind to protect the house; we haven't heard from him since. The Iron Sigil came the next night, and massacred the entire family. The Ó Meadhra line was extinguished, except for us four, hiding in the Seattle mist with new names and new roots. Little Liam Ó Meadhra became Liam O'Mara, just another child of a single mother in a working class home in Granite Falls, Washington. All my life I've played a part; and what's this interview if not just another audition?

A wave of calm washes over me and I look over and see August's hand on my arm. He looks at me with concerned eyes; I must've let my nervousness show on my face. I remind myself that just because August can tell doesn't mean anyone else can. He's dangerously good at reading me; I have to be more careful around him.

-"Are you nervous?" he asks.

-"A little, I guess. I don't want to mess up your thing."

-"Hey, it's not a big deal. Besides, you're gonna kill it."

-"It kind of is a big deal."

August pauses, losing patience. He knows I hate small talk, and I know he hates when I call out his bullshit. "Fine. It is a big deal. I got the internship of my dreams, and because I can't get rid of you, I need you to not fuck this up." His smile is gone, and his jaw is clenched. "Please." he adds, as an afterthought. He's always trying to save face. It's a quality he shares with my mother.

An office door down the hall opens, and a woman's head peaks out. She has her hair in braids, which are gathered at the top of her head and tied in a bun. "Liam?" she asks, looking at August and I. August pats my arm lightly, and gives me a smile of encouragement. He recovers quickly. Steeling myself, I stand, and hope for the best.