My humming lips parted in the air, eyes on him until the words found my throat.
“Mine’s closer.”
30
THIRTY-FIVE
THE ENGAGEMENT PARTY FROM HELL roared on as the glasses of rosé buzzed behind my eyes. Summer had excused herself due to a fashion emergency—one of her brand’s A-list model ambassadors had decided he was equipped to solve the Middle East crisis on Instagram, and he wasn’t. I leaned coolly against a high-top table, pretending to send and receive important texts on my phone, while actually doom-scrolling Twitter. My eyes darted to a pop-up tent yards away from the dance floor, as Garrett’s laugh pierced through the air. His parents had hired a famous illusionist to come and perform magic tricks for the crowd—because an entire band at a winery wasn’t enough. I chewed on my lower lip, watching Garrett pull two cards from the magician’s hand. Garrett slammed his palm on his chest, stumbling back, head shaking, in total awe.
Suddenly, from the speakers, I heard, “Can Maggie Vine come to the stage please?”
Below the stage, Cecily giddily waved me over with one hand, while holding an acoustic guitar out to me in her other hand. My eyes turned big and round, and I shook my head toward the stage, plastering a “thanks, but no thanks” smile on my cheeks. Cecily cut through the scattered crowd, darting toward me like a bullet, grabbed my arm, and tugged me toward the stage.
“Cecily, look, I’ve had a lot to drink and I really don’t want to.”
“Please?”
I stared into her perfect blue pleading eyes and her pink pouty lips.
I stuck my tongue down your fiancé’s throat. The least I can do is sing you a song.
I swallowed my lack of pride, grabbed the guitar, and hopped onstage. I made it a point to slowly tune the already-in-tune guitar, taking the time to figure out which song to play. My chest tightened as I watched Garrett approach Cecily, with his alarmed eyes locking on mine. His brows were pressed together, and the usual smile on his face was gone.
I could hear my heartbeat in my eardrums as he stared up at me. I wanted so badly to let my song “Let’s Lie” leave my mouth, but I wasn’t brave enough, for so many reasons. A handful of years ago, I wrote that song while sucking in tears, a song that would haunt me later. Just once, I had let the song go in front of an audience that didn’t include the man it was meant for. Later, I recorded it in a professional studio. I had never been able to listen to it ever again after that recording session—and it wasn’t just the emotional pining behind the lyrics. Every time I ached for Garrett, I could hear the blooming melody of “Let’s Lie” in my head. But it always grew into something evil like a chemical reaction to a cocktail of pain, so I willed one of my best songs away like one would a dark nightmare.
I looked down to the dance floor where Cecily clung to Garrett’s broad shoulder like a monkey to a tree branch. All eyes were peering up at me, impatiently waiting. I had to sing something. Garrett shifted nervously, wrapping his arm around Cecily and resting his chin on the top of her head with eyes narrowing on mine.
It was the crushing jealousy that did it. It was looking down on Garrett, watching him go all-in on the wrong woman. It allowed my mouth to open on a live microphone and go back to the moment we shared a stage, years and years ago—the moment his lips were inches from mine, when our futures were hopeful, when his smile lit up my entire being. I pierced my eyes into his, and out it poured.
“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.