Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(50)

Love was her kryptonite. Love was my cherry on top.

“What are you thinking about?” Asher asked, scanning my faraway eyes.

I traced the tiny white scar on his chin with my finger as I felt his hold tighten around my body. I closed my eyes, as if the admission was embarrassing.

“I’ve never seen a man hold my mom. Or kiss her. My whole life, I’ve never seen someone else love my mom. She’s thirty-five, she’s the youngest of anyone’s mom that I know, and she’s made her mind up: her future is set in stone. She’s better off on her own. She doesn’t want this. And I’m—” I went silent, thoughts strangling my throat. My mom knew how to love once. My dad told me sweeping, heart-bursting stories of the way they loved each other. Big. Epic. I could tell by the way my mom met his eyes whenever he came into the city, how she looked away all too quickly, that she was afraid of loving him ever again. How could a young woman bathe in bright sunlight, only to find her thirty-five-year-old self content with partly cloudy for the rest of her days?

I felt Asher sit up under me, bringing me up with him. I held the crisp blue sheet above my breasts as I looked away from him. He turned my face toward his.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his hand cupping my cheek, his eyes wide.

“I’m…I’m scared,” I cracked. “I love you so much, and I’m terrified that you’re going to break my heart, and then I’ll decide never to do this again. I don’t want to become her. I don’t want to be thirty-five, with real love existing only in the rearview mirror.” I felt the hot tears run down my cheek. He wiped them away instantly.

“Come here.” He cupped the back of my head, pulling me toward his chest. I exhaled tears into the curve of his neck, gripping on to the back of his head, as if holding on to something that I would one day long for.

“Love will never be in the rearview for you, ever,” Asher whispered. “I’ll always be sitting next to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” I said, real small, like it scared me to challenge the brightest future anyone had ever presented to me.

Asher shifted my body so my eyes were right in front of his, with his hands on both of my cheeks.

“You plan on breaking my heart?” he asked.

I shook my head effusively. “I could never.”

“I couldn’t ever break yours,” he said.

I inhaled, wiping away tears and shaking off the panic. My forehead pressed against his, and I let a smile find my face, like an exhale.

“Promise me again?”

He gripped his hand on the back of my head, holding on to me as tightly as I was holding on to him. “You, Maggie Vine, will never be thirty-five and alone. On midnight before your thirty-fifth birthday, I’ll be next to you.”

“And I’ll be next to you,” I said, exhaling relief.

“You promise?” he asked, his lips against mine.

I opened my mouth, whispering, “I promise.”

His eyes searched my lips, and then his mouth followed.





27

THIRTY-FIVE




“AND THEN…I’d very much like to kiss you?” said Summer, repeating my words to Asher back to me as she aggressively honked her Range Rover’s horn.

“Was that necessary?” I asked, looking at Summer’s hand, which rested on the center of the steering wheel, ready to honk again.

“That shithead fucking cut me off.”

“Summer, we’re going five miles an hour. He just switched lanes.”

We were on our way to Garrett’s engagement party, and stuck in horrible traffic on Route 27.

“Why have I seen no paparazzi photos of you and Asher since that dinner? I’m getting bored. Give me something to work with, Vine.”

“I’ve been camped out at your house, which thankfully the paparazzi haven’t found, and my manager wants me to lie low.”

“You should milk this more. Build your social media following by being seen with him. You need a foundation before your career skyrockets.”

I shook my head at Summer and looked to the backseat of the car, studying a giant box wrapped in lavender paper, with a huge white ribbon on top.

“What did we get them?” I asked.

A shit-eating grin danced on Summer’s face.

“Something Cecily would hate.”

“Towels that aren’t monogrammed? God forbid.”

Everything she registered for was pastel-colored and monogrammed. It was as if Cecily was afraid they’d forget their own names in their own fucking apartment.

“A karaoke machine,” Summer announced.

I stiffened.

“You did not.”

Summer eyed my expression.

“I did. What’s your problem?”

“Don’t you think a karaoke machine would remind Garrett of his old life? And make him feel sad?”

“Yes. That’s exactly why I got it. Because his fiancée sucks and he sucks now, too, and I want him to live with his suckage every day.”

“Summer, that’s not nice.”

“I know. I’m not a nice person.”

I reached back toward the card tucked under the ribbon.

“What are you doing?” she asked.