“And I what? And I ruin your career out of spite? Really? This movie is going to put you on the map. With or without me in your bed, you’re going to make it, Maggie Vine.”
“You don’t have to phrase it that way.”
“How else would you like me to say it?”
He put his hands on either side of my arms, holding my body steady, so that his statement would soak in through my bones, so I would believe it.
“You’re going to make it. I’d like to be by your side when you do, but I wouldn’t dare stop you from succeeding if I’m not. I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this, but a career win for you on this movie is a career win for me. I’m up against the clock, I hired you for a reason, and no one else is taking your place. I know you have the best team, and I know you’ve heard horror stories, but Mags, I wouldn’t take this away from you, not for the world.”
I wanted to tell him the truth, that I hadn’t just “heard” horror stories. I had lived one. Truthfully, the idea of someone who was so deep inside my soul hurting me—the idea of Asher Reyes turning on me—it felt impossible. I had tried to leave hope in the rearview so I could focus on reality, and it was possible that believing in Asher’s good nature was too optimistic, but trusting him felt more realistic than hopeful.
“Mags, I’ve spent so much time trying to hide what’s going on inside. Something about you, about the way you always made me feel, about the way you make me feel—it feels like everything. In the ocean yesterday—that’s the most alive I’ve been in almost twenty years.”
I gazed up at him with wide eyes.
“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” I asked, my voice trembling with regret.
Asher’s eyes flickered down to his hands as his mouth searched for the words.
“I didn’t know if I meant something to you, the way you meant something to me. And then, the cards fell into place on this movie, and it felt like a window I could open.”
“And if that movie hadn’t come together the way it did, exactly when it did, would we be standing here like this—you and me?”
He looked me dead in the eyes. “I would have found you, because the question mark was killing me,” he said without hesitation.
I took a step forward, my hands on his hips, my eyes locked on his.
“You meant something to me. You know you did. And you still do,” I said.
He exhaled into a smile and pulled me tightly toward him. I wrapped my arms around his neck as the ocean air swirled around us. There was a silly grin on my cheeks. It felt like letting go and holding on, all at once; like watching every piece fall into place.
* * *
SOMETIME LATER, I HELD THE same expression as Summer drove me back toward the city, her usually aggressive driving tempered by her wavering attention—which was half on the road, and half on myself.
“So, did his penis grow since the last time you saw it?” she asked, as we passed by a vegetable stand.
“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…？