But right now, the clinic felt so far away. That jerk client, who had yelled at me about bloodwork for his dog, bloodwork that his dog needed, and that I knew he could afford—the ones who couldn’t afford it never yelled—seemed like a distant dream. Everything felt unreal except for my own heart beat, Sam’s breath falling lightly onto my forehead, tickling my eyelashes. I wanted to actually fall asleep here, rest right here in this moment forever, and never have to think about what would happen tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

I didn’t, of course. Because the bar was about to close.

And because Kiki was saying my name.

I sat up, pulling away from Sam, blinking and confused.

“...that is, if she’s awake enough to close out the night for us,” Kiki said into the mic, smirking.

Sam nudged my shoulder, made a shooing motion toward the dance floor with a sleepy, encouraging smile.

When I turned toward the screen, I gulped. When had I even requested this song?

I hazarded a glance at Sam, who was sitting with their chin propped in their palm, that calm smile still on their face, and I remembered. After Sam had told me about their favorite song from when they were a teen, that Smiths song, I had put in my favorite syrupy song from my youth. And god, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d heard it, but as soon as the first notes of The Bangles’ “Eternal Flame” came on, I understood Sam’s stricken look at the bar when they heard Morrissey. Because it took me there immediately, back to my childhood bedroom, lavender walls covered with posters of bands I idolized, listening to this song and wondering if anyone would ever love me.

Little Lily was so misguided about so many things, was so consumed with things she wanted to change. Too big and too small all at once. And almost everything that Little Lily didn’t know what to do with, Grown Up Lily now loved. Grown Up Lily now knew all those things were strength.

But no matter how put together grown up me was, my voice still couldn’t quite hit that slightly breathy, high, sweet vulnerability of Susanna Hoffs. When I started, my voice was rough around the edges from over-singing, but I made my way, shakily, to the first chorus.

But even then, I sounded a little warbly. Normally when I could get loud, stretch out the strongest lines, I was at my best. But this wasn’t even just because my throat was scratchy. This was because this song was too fucking earnest, and I was feeling too many things, and was too strung out to be able to hide any of it.