Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(58)



“I’ve waited here for you / Everlong.”



A stripped-down, aching version of “Everlong” flew out of my lungs, as if the pain of that unrequited moment had been punching my gut for eleven years, begging to break free. Just like the first time we sang it, my eyes didn’t leave his, not once, and his eyes didn’t leave mine.

I nailed the last note and slowly stepped back from the mic, breathless. The tent filled with tempered cheers and claps. There were some crossed brows—Garrett’s and Cecily’s perfect parents appeared confused by my song choice—it didn’t exactly scream, “Marriage: yay!” I had done nothing to disguise the fact that I was singing this song to the groom at his engagement party, but thankfully, Cecily couldn’t read between the lines. Instead of trying to stab me with her perfect Bubble Bath oval manicure, she giddily clapped her hands high above her head. She didn’t know this song was a fixture in Garrett and Maggie’s What Could Have Been Hall of Fame. Garrett’s arms stayed wrapped around Cecily the entire song, so casual observers absolutely thought I was singing to the happy couple. But he knew better.

His expression was unreadable against mine, his jaw shifting under my glossy green eyes, and I knew that his head was also filled with the dizzying memory.

He knew.

He knew I wanted nothing more than to go back to that moment and do it over. I should have let him kiss me. Everything might have ended differently for us both. We could have built a chaotic, sparkly, wild, love-filled life together. The what-ifs stung my eyes, and slowly, I watched his expression soften. There was pain all over his face, the kind that he only let me see.

Quickly, Garrett turned away, his eyes back to Cecily, with a forced smile across his face. I felt my lips quivering, and I quickly handed the guitar back to its rightful owner and rushed offstage.

I kept my eyes away from him, but as I mazed through the crowd, I walked past Garrett, and I let the sharp corner of my shoulder edge into his tall frame. Tears sprung to my eyes as we made contact, and he arched back, taking me in for a moment.

I had to escape this party before I went full Claire Danes. Yes, I sobbed with my entire body, as if puppet strings were pulling every line of my face down to my toes. I was not a pretty crier.

I held my breath as I made it past the crowd and out of the tent, somehow tempering my bubbling emotions, which I surmised made me look like a fish gasping for air. I could feel my chest caving in as I turned to walk toward the tasting-room gazebo. I would call an Uber and hide behind one of the large trees on this Tuscan villa until I shoved my body into a getaway car.

In front of me, Summer paced in a tight circle with her phone glued to her clenched fist, her body blocking the stairs going up to the estate. I shifted away from her, unsure how to leave this vineyard before I broke down and confessed to everyone that I was helplessly in love with the groom. I glanced behind me, my heart racing as I saw Garrett making his way past the crowd—making his way toward me.

I was at a dead end. I needed an escape route. I whipped my head around to find freedom: the sprawling vineyard.

Suddenly, my heels were sprinting in and out of soft dirt, salt air beating against my wet cheeks, legs moving faster and faster through endless rows of grapevines. I couldn’t stop running as the throbbing pain behind my eyes gave way to white-hot tears.

“Will you just slow down?” said an exasperated voice behind me.

It was him. Of course Garrett had followed me. There was nothing Garrett hated more than disappointing other people. I picked up the pace, running faster.

“Really?” he yelled.

Yeah. Really. I couldn’t slow down. I was terrified of what would happen when he caught up to me. I was petrified that he would say words I couldn’t bear to hear—that he wanted to be my friend, that he hoped we could find a way past that kiss. The thought of giving Garrett the closure he needed to move on and be happy with someone else was shattering.

Suddenly, my wet eyes were met with a wooden fence. I had reached the end of this stretch of grapevines. Instead of turning around and facing our ending like a grown adult, I kicked my heels off, threw them over the fence, and hurled my body upward, onto the other side.

Apparently, using my mother’s Peloton bike twice a month hadn’t adequately prepared me for a five-foot fence-hop. My cheek hit the sandy ground with a thud. I winced, blinking back the night’s swirling blue-and-yellow sky above, which lit up a gorgeous stretch of empty paddocks and horse stables.

I stumbled upward, seeing stars in my eyes as I held my side—scalding pain stinging inside my ribs. I snatched my shoes and lumbered toward the row of horse stalls in front of me, exhaling under the dark wooden roof, which housed cooler air, with the romance of hay and horse shit swirling inside. There was a horse for each respective stall, and I was relieved to find most of them sleeping and uninterested in my presence. I leaned my back against one of the stall doors, letting the metal lines edge into my back—cold against my sweltering skin.

A white miniature pony stuck her head out of the opening in her stall, jolting my body from its moment of peace. Her excitable wide brown eyes were just inches from mine, and while the other horses were getting their eight hours of sleep, this lady was eager to party. I took in the bronze plaque on the stable door, reading: DOLLY. Under her name there was a framed newspaper article all about Dolly, who was apparently W?lffer Estate Stables’ mascot, and the happiest bitch on the block.

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