I was rewatching the end of season one of Sex and the City while I tried to finish packing, wondering how Carrie Bradshaw would pack for a month-long trip around New England crammed in a tour bus with a guy she couldn't stand.

When I was in high school, my parents got access to premium channels on our DirectTV (which was a big deal back then in Casselton). Although I'd been warned to stay away from HBO because it was still too mature for my 15-year-old self, I accidentally switched it on one day after school to see Carrie Bradshaw deep in one of her internal monologues as she bought three pairs of wildly stylish Manolos. That was it, I was hooked. Back then, she was every single thing I wasn't, and she personified everything I could have been if I just sucked it up and left behind all the dreary nothing in Casselton, despite the fact that nobody ever did. Leave, that is. 

When I first moved, sometimes I imagined Carrie narrating my life and daily escapades, or asked myself what Carrie would do in certain situations.

As an unadmitted pathological people-pleaser, Sienna has found herself in a classic Manhattan predicament of the young professional - say yes to the questionable job nobody else at the PR firm wants following around the most unpleasant perfectionist of a metal musician, if the payoff means that your boss will see value in your unrelenting professional pursuits and thereby giving you the validation you seek. Supposedly.

Thanks, Carrie.

A knock at my apartment door interrupted my intense internal debate between two pink cardigans that might have actually been identical. I paused my Sex and the City episode and answered the door for Lyanna, who I asked to come over and help me pack/let me complain one last time before I was forced into a confined space with Devon McCall for an extended period of time.

"Your building not having an elevator is really cute in an antique aesthetic kind of way until you gotta lug this ridiculous thing up four flights of stairs," she groaned by way of greeting as she wheeled a big silver suitcase through my front door.

Even though my actual apartment had been recently updated with crisp white walls and chrome appliances and fixtures, the building itself had not been. It wasn't ideal, but when it came to apartments in SoHo, you took what was given to you, since whatever was given could be taken away tomorrow if you didn't claim it. Thank god my roommate Cassie and I shared the same tastes and figured out how to make the space our own over the last few years, with brightly-colored maximalist furniture (including a ridiculous lime green couch and psychedelic pillows we snagged from a flea market), a silver bar cart between the kitchen counter and our wall-mounted TV (strictly for martinis and whiskey sours only, obviously) a few pieces of cheap modern art, and even a light-up neon pink sign that read WHAT IF IT ALL WORKS OUT? on the exposed brick wall above the couch.

"Well, you're a lifesaver, thank you," I told Lyanna as I led her through the open living room back to my bedroom. "I've never gone anywhere for more than a week so none of my suitcases are anywhere close to big enough, and I think I'm starting to get carpal tunnel from all the folding."

I'd taken the smaller of the two bedrooms, since at the time that Cassie and I had moved in, she was comfortable contributing a little more in rent. Even an influencer with barely 100k followers made more money than a grad school student working part-time in the shoe department at Bergdorf's. I had space for only one Ikea shelf and a set of dresser drawers pressed against the one open wall in the room. I normally kept all my jewelry in catchall dishes and stands on top of it, but most of my bracelets and rings had already been packed in a few pouches from Bendel's, leaving the space on top of my dresser eerily empty.

The one thing I preferred about my bedroom to Cassie's was the way the afternoon sun would come spilling in through the one big window in the room. I positioned the disco ball I drunkenly stole (procured and repurposed, if you asked me) after a New Year's party at a bar in Brooklyn last year in just the right spot across the room, so when the sun hit it, little bits of rainbow light confetti exploded on my walls and ceiling.

It was the little things like that about the space that I had worked so hard to make my own that I would miss crammed on a bus for such an extended period of time.  

"Cassie's still gone, huh?" Lyanna asked as she lowered herself onto the plush white rug of my bedroom.

"Honestly, I'm worried she's gonna move out to LA permanently and I'm going to have to either find a new roommate or move," I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I can't afford the rent for this place on my own."

It had in fact worked out for Cassie, whose B-list Influencer status had snagged her a B-list baseball player out in LA, but it was looking rather dismal for me at this present moment. 

Lyanna shot me a conspiratory grin. "Hey, maybe if this works out, you could."

"Big emphasis on the if," I drawled as I dropped onto the only empty spot on my bed that wasn't filled with piles of rejected clothes. "Like if Devon McCall doesn't reaggravate my migraines first."

I'd filled Lyanna in on Devon's PDA (public displays of attitude) at the recording studio, almost desperate for her veteran advice on dealing with...difficult clients.

"I thought you said those botox injections you were getting were working."

"Yeah, but I had to cancel my next appointment because I'm going to be in like...New Hampshire or something." I dismissively flicked my wrist. "I haven't had an attack in months, but with my luck I'll get one on this tour and it's going to be because of him."

"Okay, so pack extra Excedrin and your ice packs, and then do what you can to mitigate your time with him specifically." Lyanna shrugged as she selected one of the two potentially identical pink cardigans, folding it neatly before putting it on top of a pile at the foot of my bed of other sweaters I was planning on packing. "You liked the other band members, didn't you?"

And in true PR veteran fashion, she made it sound so simple and so precise. The problem was Devon didn't seem like either.

"Yeah I did, but Devon is the front man." I spit the words front man out like a poison that I needed to desperately expel from my body before it killed me. "He's their lead singer, he writes all their music, their lyrics, he's their main freakin' producer for crying out loud. Sure, the rest of them kind of contributed in their own way, but I mean...Raf called them Devon's minions."

Lyanna sputtered out a laugh. "That's hysterical. Like little yellow guys from the movies."

"Exactly!" I threw my hands out in exacerbation. "Except it's not funny. The band wouldn't make any decisions without his final say so about this EP they're releasing this week, and they do whatever he tells them to."

"Maybe they just..." Lyanna paused as she examined a silk baby blue maxi skirt before putting it in my to pack pile. "Trust his creative judgment, or whatever. He's clearly talented in some capacity. I'm not making excuses for him or anything because he sounds like he's got a ten foot pole up his ass, but they also all know him better than you do, so maybe they just know something you don't."

Instead of admitting that what she said made a tiny bit of sense, I arched an eyebrow at the skirt. "What am I supposed to wear with that?"

Lyanna rose to her feet and padded over to my closet, packed to the max despite the fact that half of my wardrobe was either on my floor or on my bed. She pulled out an old black leather jacket I'd bought from Reformation last year and worn maybe once, swaying it around on its hanger in front of me. "This."

I gawked at the jacket. "You do know I'm not joining the band, right?"

She slid the jacket off the hanger and zipped it up before folding it in expert fashion for my to pack pile. "I don't know when leather became exclusive to people in rock bands. Leather is extremely versatile and fashionable, and I know you know that."

I groaned as I flopped onto my back, landing in a small pile of sweaters. "I hate when you're right."

In the brief moment of silence, I tried to go through the rest of my lists in my head to prepare for the inevitable departure, which was now only hours away. I'd already packed up my skincare and makeup in a smaller shoulder bag, and ideally the handful of shoes I'd set aside would fit in my overnight duffle. I had all of my electronics and their chargers in my work tote, and Lyanna and I would find a way to make all of my clothes fit in her giant suitcase. It wasn't that we were going anywhere where I couldn't get something I needed if I forgot anything, but I didn't want to be a burden. I wanted to be prepared.  

"When did you get this?"

Lyanna's voice sat me back up, curious as to which article of clothing she'd found discarded on my floor. She held up a black one-shoulder maxi dress, tags still dangling from the sleeve. It was an impulse buy at All Saints after I'd had an annoyingly bad date with a guy I'd been talking to (and hopeful about), and I'd talked myself into needing a sexy revenge dress. Obviously I hadn't actually found a time or place to flaunt whatever revenge I thought I needed to have since purchasing it.

"I don't need to waste whatever limited space I have with a dress like that," I told her. "I'd have nowhere to wear it."

"First of all, it takes up like no space, it's viscose and polyester, and second of all, you never know where you might end up going," she insisted, and another coy smirk lifted her lips. "But you know what I do know? You are touring with another band. A band of older, more experienced, and more emotionally mature men. There's nothing wrong with just...being prepared."

There were several things about Lyanna's statement that almost had me laughing. "I'm so not interested in dating some rockstar. Hell, they're barely rockstars. They're just guys in bands. I don't want a guy in a band, I want a Mr. Big."

Mr. Big being Carrie Bradshaw's on-and-off romantic conquest that took her through most of the show. The older I got, the more attractive I thought he was.

Lyanna sat back on the floor and leaned back on the heels of her palms. "You know in hindsight, Mr. Big kind of treated Carrie like shit for most of the show."

"I know, I know. I mean more so the general concept of him," I insisted, gesturing to the paused frame on my laptop screen of episode seven of Sex and the City, where Carrie is in the midst of explaining to Miranda how she refuses to compare her infatuation with Mr. Big to anyone else she's been with because it feels just wrong to do so. I wanted that feeling specifically. "Like season one Mr. Big. A charming, successful New Yorker who's well-dressed every time we seem to accidentally run into each other at random Nolita bars, playing a cute game of cat and mouse with each other until we eventually decide to go on a real date and end up sleeping with each other afterwards because the chemistry is just too undeniable."

"Uh huh," Lyanna deadpanned me with an eye roll, but I was too in the yapping zone.

I crawled over to the foot of the bed and snatched the dress from Lyanna. "Not some tattooed singer with an attitude problem who dresses like he's going to a funeral."

She snickered. "Well, that sounds specifically like Devon."

I held my hand up. "Like I said, it's the concept of him. Same principle applies."

"Right, of course," she deadpanned me again, but this time it felt like she was willing to let the conversation end. Thank god.

After we'd finished stuffing my suitcase, Lyanna helped me carry my bags down the stairs and outside to the curb, where an Uber was waiting to take me to Port Authority where our tour bus was being loaded and ready for takeoff.

"If you need me, I'm a text away," she reassured me as she pulled me into a hug. "I'd say call me, but you know I never actually answer my phone."

"I'll spam your work email," I joked with her as we unwound ourselves from each other's arms.

"My little girl is all grown up and ready to save the world." She sniffled and produced a few crocodile tears for dramatic effect.

"Yep, one metal band at a time."

⋆ ★

I'd done a brief Google search of tour buses that bands typically use so I had a general idea of what to expect (in the way that you Google search a restaurant menu so you had a general idea of what you'd be getting ahead of time), but the bus that The Green Inferno rented made anything I'd searched up look like nothing more than an astrovan. I couldn't help but wonder who the hell was paying for all of this.

"I picked this one out," Raf told me with a sideways grin as he gave me a tour of the bus while it was still being loaded up.

I stood mouth agape as he pressed a button that opened the sliding door that led from the driver's area to the actual inside of the bus. The walls were lined with a glossy finished wood paneling and the cushiest black leather couches I'd ever seen. One side had a TV mounted into the wall beside a window, and the other side eventually turned into a four-seater table and a kitchenette, already stocked with a Keurig and plenty of coffee pods, along with a random assortment of snacks overflowing from the shelves above the sink. There were cabinets along the top of either side of the area that I was sure were already filled with other essentials.

"If there's something specific you want, just let me know," Raf offered as he saw me eying the two family-sized packages of Oreos on the top shelf above the sink. "I'll find a way to get it."

"I appreciate that, but I'll be good," I offered him a polite smile. Coffee and Oreos? I'd live, wired and sugar-high but very content nonetheless.

"We share pretty much everything, so take whatever," Evie chimed in as she joined us. She scooted past me and opened up a tall cabinet beside the sink, which was revealed as the fridge. She unloaded a few colorfully packaged boxes of what looked like White Claw type seltzers into the shelves in the door before shimmying past us again and off the bus.

"Toilet and shower are to the left." Raf slid open another door to reveal a small but exceptionally clean and modern bathroom with chrome fixtures and bright white tiles. "Sink is obviously out here for your hand-washin' and teeth-brushin'." He stopped at another sliding door similar to the one at the front of the bus. "And the entire back half of the bus is twelve bunks, which is double what we need, so everyone can kinda spread out, store their shit, and not feel like they're sleeping on top of each other. They're small, but the mattresses aren't too bad and they've all got privacy curtains."

"Raf gets the actual bedroom thing in the back of the bus, because he's old and we're all just so considerate of that." This time it was Gareth that had joined us, grinning as he scooted past us and jostled Raf in the sides. Raf aggressively but affectionately ruffled Gareth's hair like he had that night at Sweet & Vicious before Gareth opened the door to the bunks.

They were stacked three vertically on top of one another and two side-by-side on each side of the bus, some with its curtains drawn open to reveal duffles or backpacks or other personal items. I tried to figure out which one could have been Devon's so I could pick a bunk furthest from him. Since it seemed now was the time for me to pick one and it wasn't like I was going to outright ask where he'd settled, I gambled and claimed the top and middle bunks on the left side closest to the door leading to the front part of the bus.

"So it's just the six of us then?" I asked Raf, alluding to what he said about the number of bunks needed, shedding my lightweight North Face puffer and putting it in the middle bunk I'd claimed.  

Raf nodded as he stepped backwards into the front part of the bus, taking a seat at the table. For once, the t-shirt he wore underneath his flannel was blank. "We're technically doing Beyond the Pines a favor by stepping in to open for them at the last minute, so they're lending us mostly all of their crew and sound engineers and whatnot."

"Sounds like a good thing then," I said as I rummaged through my bag for my chargers. Each bunk conveniently had its own outlet, and I wasn't about to go a god damn millisecond on this bus without my phone.

"There's one more thing I want to tell you before we leave." The seriousness of his tone (still thickly accented) snapped my gaze back up to face him. He rubbed his freshly-trimmed beard, which I was quickly learning was a habit of his he did before saying something he maybe didn't want to say.

"I'm all ears," I offered him a tight smile as I leaned against the doorway to the bunks.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry for how Devon's been acting. I know he doesn't exactly make the best first impression."

"Or second," I exhaled the words before I could stop them, but Raf just chuckled and nodded.

"Fair enough. I know it's not an excuse, but he's had a tough few years, and it's all just wound him up a little tight. The surgery was really hard on him, and..." he hesitated again. "Well, there's just other things that haven't been so great."

I thought back to what Lyanna had said about all them knowing things I didn't know about Devon. Evidently even she knew more than I did.

"Oh, well...don't worry about it. I can handle it." I exhaled again and let my shoulders drop, hoping he'd believe me.

"I know you can, but you don't have to." This time he was the one offering me a faint smile. "Just let me know if he acts up, and I'll smack him upside the head."

"Oh I might have to take you up on that." I laughed, but the joking was short-lived.

This time we were interrupted by him. He silently shuffled by us, his face shadowed by the brim of his Yankees cap. As I sidestepped to let him into the bunk area, the scent of his cologne washed over me, fresh and clean like the way it would smell after the rain back home. I was still standing half in the doorway, feeling my breath start to hitch as I realized my gamble had not in fact paid off (which is why I didn't do that to begin with). Devon was in fact directly across from the ones I'd picked, and I tried not to let the disdain show on my face as I watched him take his hat off, raking a hand through the dark, cascading waves of his hair.

When he turned around to face me, I was reminded of how hard he'd been to read when I met him. He looked me up and down, and for a moment there was an uncharacteristic unease that flashed in his deep brown eyes, as if he was as unsure about me as I was about him.

"If you get motion sickness or anything, you should sleep on the bottom bunk. It works," he finally told me as he gestured to it, his tone even and as annoyingly satisfying as ever. 

"Oh. I don't, but..." I exhaled a breath. "Thanks, though. I'll keep that in mind."

He gave me a curt nod before shuffling past me to leave the bus, drenching me in his scent again and reminding me that along with everything else, I'd also have to smell him for a month.

Well, that was just great. What the fuck would Carrie do here?

⋆ ★

i love my girl lyanna she's so wise, but we are saying goodbye for her for the time being as THE TOUR BEGINS NEXT CHAPTER. ARE WE STOKED?

next chapter is devon's! would love to hear any thoughts/predictions so far <3