Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(75)

“Summer.”

“What? My boobs didn’t stop growing until I was twenty-one. How am I to know if penises work the same way?”

“His penis was great then, and it’s just as great now.”

“Boo, you’re no fun. I want the dirty deets.”

I shifted in my seat, my vagina pounding and sore underneath me, a reminder of all of last night’s heroics. Prior to that night, I hadn’t had sex in four months. Clearly, it was advantageous to have gone this hard, but baby steps weren’t my forte.

“Okay, maybe he was a little thicker,” I offered.

Summer made a vomit motion with her mouth, and I slapped her arm as her shit-eating grin grew into a laugh.

“I hate you,” I said.

“I know, I’m the best. Did you two retrosexuals talk about what all this means?”

I stared out the blurry windows, watching the cornfields fly by as the cloudless afternoon sky beamed down. The answer was not a yes, and not a no. I hoped that we didn’t feel the need to define it, because it was clear as day that it meant a lot to us both. We were the kind of kids who said “I love you” to each other before we gave ourselves a label. We believed in big feelings, we let our hearts guide us, and I was certain this time was no different.

“Sort of. I think it means something kind of…big.”

“Big like his penis? How big?”

Summer made a gesture with her fingers, and I slapped her wrist. She put her hand back onto the steering wheel with a squeal.

“I love this,” she said.

“You have too much serotonin up there right now, it’s unsettling,” I said.

Summer grinned as I felt my phone vibrate. We both looked down, and instantly, Garrett’s name on my lock screen sucked the buzzy air out of the car. I pressed ignore and slumped in my seat, resentment brewing inside me.

“How do men just know?” I asked, bitterly.

“What do you mean?”

“They just know. Men know when you’re on the verge of moving on, and they swoop in to remind you that they still exist. They have a ‘she’s fucking someone else and happy’ sixth sense.”

“Come be a lesbian. We stay friends with our exes, like one big happy passive-aggressive family.”

“Tempting.”

I felt my insides darken as I stared out the window, watching the horse fields pass me by. Garrett’s name was a brushstroke of black paint on my glowing heart, and I hated that I had so little control over his effect on me.

“Garrett who?” Summer sang, trying to brighten my face back to its happy place. “By the way, you can stay with me the rest of the week, if you want,” she added.

Summer kept her eyes ahead and nonchalantly strummed her fingers on the steering wheel. I knew what she was doing, and she knew I knew. She was stalling. Summer wanted me to stay in her condo for another week so that I could be a buffer for her and Valeria’s soon-to-be complicated future. She was desperate for an excuse to keep from having The Conversation with her wife.

“When is Valeria back?” I asked cautiously.

Summer tensed. “Tomorrow afternoon.”

“I should probably get out of your hair tonight.”

I could only hope that the paparazzi had grown tired of not seeing me at my front stoop.

“Are you going to talk to Valeria about—”

“I don’t know,” Summer said, answering my question before it could fully leave my lips. She let out a labored exhale as our car slowed, entering a traffic pileup on 27. “I don’t know…” she repeated.

Just weeks ago, I had envied every part of Summer’s life. It was effortless and shiny, with a world of opportunity at her oval fingertips. And now, she was driving straight into confusion and heartache, maybe even into a dead end. I inhaled the scent of Asher’s lavender pomade on my shirt, as if it was my finish line. My body was fighting like hell to make the green light ahead, while Garrett was tugging me backward. I had let Asher kiss Garrett’s heartache off my body, but it wasn’t an instant cure.

My entire life, the what-ifs never disappeared. What if Asher Reyes and I had never broken up? What if Garrett Scholl and I had kissed the night of my twenty-fourth birthday? What if Cole Wyan hadn’t been at my show at the Bowery Electric five years ago? What if…?

A lengthy honk interrupted my ode to the road not traveled. Summer released her hand from the horn and flipped off the BMW merging into our lane. I grinned, relieved to have some semblance of normalcy back inside our vehicle.

“You got a text,” Summer said, eyeing my brightening phone sitting on the console between us.

I held my breath, bracing for the worst as I peered down toward my phone like it was a horror movie. I exhaled relief, seeing it was a text from Asher.

Not NOT thinking about you xx.

My heart fluttered and a silly smile broke across my face. The finish line was coming into view. I could live without the object in the rearview. Not just live without—I could soar without it. For the first time in so long, the what is was better than the what-if.





39

THIRTY-FIVE




I HID BEHIND A CONSTRUCTION pole, my eyes scanning the area around my tiny, charming, five-story walk-up. As far as I could tell, there wasn’t one paparazzo in sight, but just in case, I sprinted toward the building like I was running to rescue someone from a fire.