The Shippers(90)

His beige suit was too hip to be beige. Maybe it was flax. Or biscuit. Or stone.

Whatever it was, it was working. Cooper looked absolutely lethal: rocking his linen suit—vest and all—and wearing the very same ice-blue tie he’d blindfolded me with.

I stared at it in horror as he strode closer.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, ventriloquist style, when he got close enough.

Cooper shrugged, like nothing was weird. “Rescuing you.”

I turned to face away from the audience so I could speak to him normally—remembering to cover the mic. “I don’t need to be rescued, thanks very much.”

But Cooper wasn’t there to fight. He just said, “Okay. You don’t need to be rescued. But would you like to be rescued?”

I didn’t want to give him the victory. I didn’t want to give him anything.

How dare he show up here and be nice?

Dammit!

But I was too desperate for principles.

“Fine,” I said.

“Fine, what?” Cooper said, a smile peeking through.

“Fine, you can rescue me this time. But don’t do it again.”

“You got it,” Cooper said with a little nod. “Never again.”

Then he turned around to face away from the audience, too, lining up next to me. And then, out of the breast pocket on his suit jacket, he pulled out a pair of heart sunglasses and slipped them to me like we were passing notes in class. Then he pulled out a second pair for himself.

He gave me a sideways look and a nod, like This is what we’re doing.

Reading his movements in sync, I slipped my glasses on just as he did his, and then I turned around when he did—Blues Brothers style—to face the room.

Like this had been the plan all along.

The room burst into cheers.

Okay, maybe I had needed to be rescued—a little bit.

With Cooper beside me, and the safety blanket of my new heart glasses, I closed my eyes and did what I was best at: I pretended Cooper and I were in my bedroom.

Next to me, Cooper started strumming our opening chords. And then I gave myself over to Cooper, and his mini banjo, and the soul-deep pleasure of singing a perfect harmony with another person. And then I just knew, in a way that I never, ever knew anything, that I was going to be okay.





Thirty


IN THE END, we got a standing ovation.

Ashley jumped to her feet, pumping her arm and whooping wildly as soon as we were done, and the whole room followed her lead and stood up. Even Brody.

Okay, this was superior to just not dying.

I couldn’t help but feel a little good. Just try to feel bad when a full ballroom of wedding guests is cheering for an encore—I dare you.

It was Pete’s turn next, and as he took the mic, he said, “Well, that’s gonna be a tough act to follow.”

As all eyes shifted to Pete, I took Cooper’s hand and dragged him out to the hallway.

Out of earshot, I spun around, grabbed Cooper by the tie, pulled him in close, and said, “Where have you been?”

“Careful,” he said, disengaging from my grip.

“You literally missed the boat! Who does that? Even Pete didn’t miss the boat!”

Cooper nodded. “Yeah. It’s a long story.”

“Did you miss it by accident—or on purpose?”

Cooper looked up to think. “Little bit of both?”

“Don’t be infuriating,” I warned. “You quit! You left! You declared you were ‘done.’ What are you doing back?”

Cooper took a breath. “I changed my mind.”

“About what?”

“About quitting.”

Was that how it worked? He got to quit and then un-quit at random—and never experience any consequences? Were those the rules for Cooper? He could disappear from my life whenever he wanted and then just show back up like it was all fine?

No. He couldn’t say he was coming to rescue me—and then leave me to be murdered. He couldn’t offer to sing with me and then just disembark. He couldn’t move to London and never, ever explain why.

Not today.

“No,” I said then, turning and walking away.

“No what?” Cooper demanded, following me.

“No, you can’t change your mind. You can’t show up here with your mini banjo and your forearms and act like nothing happened. You left me. You said terrible things and walked off! You wouldn’t even let me explain!”

“Yeah,” Cooper said, nodding like he fully agreed. “I’m sorry about that.”

But I wasn’t done. The anger felt good.

I walked faster—but Cooper paced himself a half step behind me.

“And then I begged you for help,” I went on, “even knowing that you had quit our friendship. Do you have any idea how desperate I must have been to do that? But I thought you were my person. I thought if anything ever really went down, you’d be there—no matter what. And something was really going down. I had faith in you like I don’t have faith in anyone else. And then you abandoned me.”

“I didn’t abandon you.”

“What part of ‘I quit, I’m done’ and then leaving the ship isn’t abandoning me?”

“I was just—having a moment.”