Where Some Back Down by Ellebeth
Summary: "Love is patient. Love is weird, and sometimes gross. Love is elusive, and you found it. So treasure it." - 30 Rock

A love story, warts and all, and a sequel to The Boys on the Bus.
Categories: Fanfiction > Backstreet Boys Characters: Brian
Genres: Dramedy, Romance
Warnings: Sexual Content
Challenges:
Series: We Are the Story
Chapters: 17 Completed: No Word count: 69209 Read: 35391 Published: 02/16/15 Updated: 03/02/16

1. Part I by Ellebeth

2. Part I: Chapter 1 by Ellebeth

3. Part I: Chapter 2 by Ellebeth

4. Part I: Chapter 3 by Ellebeth

5. Part II by Ellebeth

6. Part II: Chapter 4 by Ellebeth

7. Part II: Chapter 5 by Ellebeth

8. Part II: Chapter 6 by Ellebeth

9. Part III by Ellebeth

10. Part III: Chapter 7 by Ellebeth

11. Part III: Chapter 8 by Ellebeth

12. Part III: Chapter 9 by Ellebeth

13. Part III: Chapter 10 by Ellebeth

14. Part IV / Brian by Ellebeth

15. Part IV: Chapter 11 / Brian by Ellebeth

16. Part IV: Chapter 12 / Brian by Ellebeth

17. Part V by Ellebeth

Part I by Ellebeth

9/7/13: 10:30 a.m.

Louisville

A marching band might as well stormed through my door. It might have been less disruptive. The second I had it open wide enough, two women ambushed me with hugs and squeals, both a few years younger than me, one a tattooed Snow White, the other a blonde Amazon.

“It’s the big daaaaaaay!” Rochelle sang out, planting kisses on both my cheeks.

“Morning, girls,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster in the absence of caffeine, half-muffled by Lindie’s boobs.

The two took off down the hall, Lindie in the lead. I assumed she remembered the house pretty well from her weekend here earlier in the year. In their wake, two garment bags had been laid hastily over the back of the living room couch, a gym bag tossed to the floor and an enormous wheeled train case -- full of all the various cosmetics Rochelle planned to use to beautify everyone in this house, I figured -- parked next to it.

“Sure. Yeah. Make yourselves at home,” I mumbled. “Pancakes in the kitchen.”

I turned back to the front door, where Howie stood in a wrinkled T-shirt and jeans, sunglasses still covering his warm brown face, holding a Starbucks cup and shaking his head.

“They both did espresso shots just now,” he said. “And I assume they got more sleep than me.”

“Probably more than me, too,” I admitted. I hugged Howie, and he returned the hug with one arm and a peck on the cheek, holding his Starbucks cup a safe distance from me. “How was the bachelor party?”

He grinned. “Like old times. Fourth Street, stupid human tricks and a lot of Halo. You can ask him the rest later. He was out cold when I left.”

“Well, come on down here and hang out for a minute. Mom’ll want to shovel pancakes down your throat.” I turned and padded down the hall toward the kitchen, hardwood chilly against my bare feet, still in the T-shirt and bogarted boxers I’d slept in.

“Is Baylee ready to go?”

I threw a skeptical look at Howie over my shoulder as he hung his sunglasses from the neck of his T-shirt. “I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

In the kitchen/dining room, the place to be was around the huge pine table, eating chocolate chip pancakes and turkey sausage off square white dishes. My mother, charming, birdlike, bathrobed, graying chestnut-brown pixie cut sticking up in a million directions, was chatting brightly with Rochelle and Lindie as she forked pancakes and sausage onto plates for them from the granite island in the adjacent kitchen. My best friend, Alicia, sat in front of an empty plate streaked with maple syrup, elbows on the table, listening to the conversation. Baylee sat at the far end of the table in an Adventure Time T-shirt newly stained with syrup, eating, with great gusto, a sausage wrapped in a pancake.

“You’re not ready,” Howie said to him.

Baylee gave him a shitty grin. He was so his father’s Mini-Me. “Nope.”

Howie walked up behind him and ruffled his newly short blond hair. “School haircut?” Baylee nodded, his mouth full. “Nice. Manly.”

I crossed my arms and smiled at them. “He’ll be shaving before we know it.” He was a couple months shy of 11, but the haircut made a world of difference. My little buddy wasn’t a little kid anymore, not that I had ever really known him as one, I supposed.

Baylee rolled his eyes, swallowing hard. “I’m never gonna shave,” he informed us. “I’m gonna grow a great big beard like Duck Dynasty.”

Mom finished waiting on the girls and walked over to Howie. “I’m terrible with names. Remind me,” she said cheerfully.

I gestured between the two. “Connie Fuller, Howie Dorough.”

Howie shook Mom’s hand firmly and gave her a charming smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Fuller.”

“Please. Connie. And the pleasure’s all mine.” Mom waved a dismissive hand, a gesture she seemed to have practiced in the mirror, and I could barely squelch a smile at the starstruck look in her eyes, as if it was just hitting her this weekend, after all this time, whom exactly I associated with.

“You two could be sisters.” Howie said to Mom, shooting me a wink. Behind him, Baylee rolled his eyes.

“All right, well, go on, then,” Rochelle said, shooing Howie away as she settled in next to Alicia. “We’ve got the ultimate girls’ day ahead. Sorry you have to be part of it, Baylee,” she added.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll send your Uncle Kevin back over here in a little while.” Howie pointed a stern finger at Baylee. “You better be all showered and ready to go. He’ll crack the whip.”

I walked Howie to the front door. “Thanks for bringing the girls over,” I said as I opened the big, white wooden door. “You have done your duty, good and faithful bandmate.”

“Y’all have fun primping.” He turned and hugged me again. “I’ll see you this evening, Mrs. Littrell.”

I made a big show of looking around. “Wait, when did my mother-in-law get here?”

Howie rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“That’s not even my name yet. And as far as my readers are concerned, it never will be.” I leaned against the cool doorframe, enjoying the breeze against my bare legs and the little wave of nostalgia that swept over me as I said, “Seriously, though. You were the first person to pick up on what was going on, you know that? I think even before me.”

Howie nodded. “And you remember what I said then? I said be good to my brother.”

“And now what do you say?”

He shrugged, but his eyes were warm. “Be good to my brother. Be excellent to each other.”

I smirked. “Is that your big wedding-day advice?”

His eyes widened. “Oh, shit! That reminds me.”

He darted out to his rented SUV, and I followed him. He reached into the backseat and produced a little white jewelry box, tied with a purple ribbon, with a square, folded piece of hotel stationery tucked under the box.

I smiled at the sight of the little box. Leigh and Kevin’s wife, Kristin, had told me to expect an unspecified “something borrowed” from each of them. They had designated themselves Backstreet nannies for the day as we all got ready, but both of them had told me privately they wanted to do something just for me. It was a beautiful thought, this friendship, this sisterhood into which I was being welcomed.

Inside the box was a little vintage hair comb of white silk flowers and pearls. The note read, in loopy script:

My mother wore this on her wedding day, I wore it on mine, and I hope it brings you luck on yours. You guys are in our prayers for a beautiful day & a beautiful life! See you tonight!

xoxo,

Leigh

It was so lovely that a little squeak escaped me in spite of myself. I patted Howie’s shoulder. “You guys are better than I deserve,” I managed. “Every one of you.”

Howie smiled. “We’re pretty damn excited for you, Mrs. Littrell.”

“Not yet.”

“Close enough.” He winked, and then he got into the SUV and drove away, leaving me standing in the damp grass, with seven hours and 45 minutes until I married Brian Littrell.

Part I: Chapter 1 by Ellebeth

10/8/11

Louisville

I woke to a bird song outside the window, a ray of pale light slanting through the blinds, and a luxurious mattress under me in a room I had never seen before.

I rolled over onto my back to stare at the ceiling, propped myself up on my elbows to survey the room, and the mattress gave beneath me, cradling me. A soft white down comforter was tucked around me. My purse was sitting on a dark, knotty pine dresser that matched the bed in which I was lying. I was fully clothed except for my boots, discarded beside the bed. The mirror at the end of the bed showed a wild rat’s nest of curly brown hair and faint twin rings of mascara under my eyes.

And beside me, naked back to me, was the criminally gorgeous, incredibly sweet man to whom this bed belonged, whom I had come here to see, my Brian. My Brian. Who would have thought?

I leaned back into the pillows and smiled to myself as I studied him, memorized the way his skin traced his muscles. He was mine, mine to ogle, mine to touch, whenever I wanted, a thought I still found crazy, and after a month of phone calls and FaceTime and silly texts and missing him until I hardly knew what was real, lying next to him seemed like little more than a lucid dream. I reached out and brushed my fingertips down his spine, grounding myself in him. Warm with sleep, soft skin over hard muscle. Not a dream, I hoped. My body was already humming to life at the nearness of him.

He stirred and rolled over toward me, cracked open a blue, blue eye. Smiled lazily.

“Hi,” he whispered. His hand settled at the curve of my waist.

“Hi.” I stroked his arm, tracing muscles again.

“You’re not a dream, are you?”

“I don’t think so.” Unable to help myself, I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Want me to prove it?”

His sleepy smile broadened, his eyes darkening. “Yeah. C’mere.”

He tugged me closer, fingers in my belt loops, his other arm sliding around me as our lips met. The kiss deepened, our mouths melting together, weeks of longing bubbling to the surface, and he rolled on top of me, hands working their way under my shirt. I moved my hands from his back to the button on my jeans, desperate to get rid of the rough fabric separating our reacting bodies. He was wearing only his boxers, and he was already pressing against me, and I’d spent too many hours in mildly uncomfortable lingerie for him to miss it.

His mouth left mine and trailed back to my ear. “What does Meg want?” He eased my arms over my head and my shirt up, hands roaming over hot skin. “Did she miss me?”

“Wh..what makes you say that?” I gasped and squirmed against him as his teeth grazed my earlobe.

He didn’t say anything for a moment as he pulled my shirt over my head, then helped me out of my jeans, tossing my clothes to the floor. On his knees, he surveyed me, and a smile tugged at his lips.

“I really missed you,” he whispered as he leaned forward and tangled his fingers in my hair and his lips crashed into mine again and we passed the point of no return.

Later, as we lay entwined and sweaty in the unfamiliar bed, Brian pressed his lips to my forehead.

“Yep,” he whispered. “Youuuu missed me.”

I pinched his stomach, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. I’d been dreaming for weeks of this moment and the passionate minutes that had preceded it, at times so vividly that I’d woke up aching.

He tilted my chin up and kissed me, a kiss that stretched on for what could have been hours as he pulled me on top of him. He ran his hands over my hips, moving higher, and I caught them and pinned them over his head.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered against my lips. “I planned out this whole day.”

I pulled back and smiled down at him, batting my eyelashes. “So did I, and I’m looking at it.”

He grinned back up at me. “Well, you know what I’m looking at? Besides a gorgeous woman in my bed?” He closed his eyes. “Right now, all I can see is…bacon.”

I let go of his hands and rolled off him. “You’re a pain in the ass.”

“You love it.” He kissed my shoulder. “Let’s go make some breakfast.”

It was a long road to the kitchen after he walked out of the room. I snatched my panties and his T-shirt off the floor, wandered down to the expansive bathroom to brush my teeth, got distracted by fantasizing about his massive whirlpool tub. My hair was hopeless, and the stubble that had rubbed so tantalizingly against my neck as he nuzzled me had left red patches here and there, but there was no keeping the thoroughly satisfied smirk off my face, not even as I shoved a toothbrush into my mouth.

“Michaels, you sly dog,” I said to my smirking, bright-eyed reflection through a mouthful of toothpaste. I spat pale blue into the sink and grinned into the mirror again. “You minx, you.”

In the kitchen, Brian stood in front of the stove, still shirtless, his back to me. I was sure I had wandered into a romance novel. I leaned against the huge pine table and arched my back in a stretch as I glanced around, admiring the granite countertops, the exposed brick wall, the sunlight pouring in. Some bachelor pad.

“You sure you should be frying bacon naked?” I said to his back.

“I wouldn’t be the first in the band to try it.” He glanced over his shoulder. A sinful smile split his face. “Damn, Miz Michaels. That’s dangerous, walking around like that. I might not let you out of the house after all.”

“Make up your mind, Littrell.” I joined him at the stove and took over the bacon, letting him focus on the pancakes bubbling up on a griddle nearby.

He reached over and pinched my ass. His voice was low. “You’re a sexy, sexy girl.”

Well. Maybe it wasn’t bacon he was hungry for after all. I insinuated myself between him and the stove, running my hands over his chest. “You’re a hot mess,” I whispered seductively, planting a kiss on his chin. “But definitely hot.”

His voice deepened even more, and he wiggled his hips against mine. “You’re too sexy for your shirt, so sexy it hurts,” he sang.

Moment over. I pushed him away, gently. “Obviously. That’s why I took yours. So, what are we doing today that you wanted to get out of bed at all?” I turned back to the bacon and gave it a flip, releasing a loud, satisfying sizzle that almost drowned out the new growling of my stomach.

“Nothing. I was just hungry.” He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. “No, I thought we’d go down to the Highlands. It seems like your kind of place. Lots of record stores and…indie stuff. Hipsters. The song of your people.”

I smiled. “Is that what you really want to do today? That’s thoughtful.”

He leaned back just enough to very unsubtly eye my ass, the wolfish grin back on his face. “Course it’s not.”

It took us another two hours to get out of the house, half an hour of which was spent fooling around in the shower. By then, the shadows had already grown short beneath us. It was a chilly day, and the air felt crisper than it usually did in New York. I inhaled deeply and pulled my snuggly cardigan closer around me, fluffing up like a bird.

“I know. Fresh air, right?” Brian smiled at me as he opened the front passenger door of his blue Jeep for me. “Why do you think I left L.A.?”

We rolled down side streets lined with mature trees and big, unpretentious houses like Brian’s rambling brick ranch house. They looked like the homes of doctors and lawyers, maybe a professional athlete with nothing to prove – not a world-famous musician.

“Did you always live over here?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I just bought this house last year. Used to be up on the bluffs by the country club.” He smirked, but there was no mirth in it. “That front yard wouldn’t’ve fit in my new house. Real people don’t need that kind of space.”

I knew what I was about to say might be mean, but I didn’t stop myself. I didn’t look at him, either, though. I didn’t want to see the look on his face. “Are you a real person?”

There was silence from the other side of the car, but only for a moment. ”I am here,” he said finally, warmly. “No bodyguards. No fans. No TMZ.”

We parked on a busy street, full of quaint storefronts and fancy sidewalks. He pulled an old UK cap low over his eyes and hopped out to open my door. We were in front of a little coffeeshop and a tattoo parlor. Across the street was ahuge record store. My eyes widened, and my feet threatened to carry me across the road on autopilot, but Brian grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the café.

“Papa needs caffeine,” he said.

I looked longingly over my shoulder at the record store as we walked into the café. “You act like you don’t have a coffeemaker,” I grumbled.

Inside the coffeeshop, the air was thick with java beans, and a peppy old Mescaleros song was on the PA. Half a dozen people sat at tables and on sofas, staring at laptops. A couple of 20something women in leggings nursed steaming white mugs. A black guy with a shaved head and stretched earlobes, assuredly still in college, was the only person to look up when we walked in.

“How’s it going?” he greeted Brian. “Caramel latte, right?”

Brian pointed a little shooter finger at him, pulling out his wallet with the other hand. “You got it. To go. And for the lady…” He looked expectantly down at me.

“Um, just a chai,” I said. The smell of coffee was overwhelming, so that I could hardly breathe, but it seemed tacky to order a Diet Coke here.

The barista smiled at us. “You the girlfriend?”

“My reputation precedes me.” I looked up at Brian, who smiled and touched the small of my back.

“I’ve been coming here a lot to write,” he said. “Lotta musicians around here. David’s been taking care of me.” He nodded at the barista, who beamed as the espresso machine whirred.

“He’s gonna listen to my demo. Right, bruh?” David’s dark eyes were wide and eager.

Brian shrugged. “Anytime. Just let me know when it’s done.”

I glanced around the café. I felt like a searchlight was shining directly on Brian, like neon arrows were pointing to us. Even on his climactic visit to New York last month, a city of millions of souls, a few fans had stopped him in the course of our one day out. But here? Here he was just another guy. Maybe the hipsters of the Highlands could have cared less about him, but weren’t there a few ironic ‘90s fans here who recognized him from old posters?

“How do the other guys stand it?” I asked Brian as we stepped back out into the sunshine, cups in hand. I nestled my hand in the crook of his arm. “My God, you get to live.”

He blew at the opening in his cup and took a long drink, wincing at the heat. “They like the pace a little better. I’m pretty much an old geezer.”

“Don’t tell Howie that.” I popped my sunglasses back on and eyed the record store. “Please say we’re going across the street now.”

He kissed my hair, and I heard the smile in his voice. “As you wish.”

The Princess Bride reference wasn’t lost on me. I pulled back and smiled up at him. “I’m a very lucky lady.”

He studied me for a moment, then scrunched his nose and just shook his head a little, that private smile on his face, the one that had won me over all those weeks ago.

The record store was two whole stories, long aisles crammed with CDs and records, and I quickly lost myself in the vinyl. They had Blonde on Blonde dirt-cheap, and I snapped it up; I hadn’t listened to it in years. They had Band of Horses’ first album, too, and I’d never seen it on vinyl; I grabbed that one, too. And that was only in the first few letters of the alphabet.

“When do I get to sit outside a fitting room while you model sexy clothes?” Brian was standing opposite me in the next aisle, flipping through records with considerably less focus.

“In your wildest dreams,” I said. I took a drink of my chai, which was getting cold, and ran my fingers over the little ridges the stack of records formed. “You knew what you were getting into with me. Did you know I used to work at one of these?” I looked back up at him with an unabashedly geeky smile.

He returned my smile. “You mentioned it once or twice. Your stepdad’s friend. I pay attention.” He glanced back down at the records, pulled out something at random and held it up. “You want some Men at Work?”

I squinted at the cover art – Australian edition, very nice – and plucked it from his hand. “Don’t hate. ‘Who Can It Be Now?’ is my fucking jam.”

“You sure have a lot of jams.” Brian was shaking his head as I shoved this third record under my arm.

“You and I are music people.” I smiled at him. “Not the same kind of music people, but don’t you listen to everything you can get your hands on?”

He pointed at his find, laughing. “Not that. I don’t even know what chundering is.”

“You don’t make fun of my New Wave phase, and I won’t make fun of yours.”

Brian made a dismissive sound. “I bet you were an infant when that record dropped.”

“And I bet you were already old enough to be attractive,” I teased.

Brian narrowed his eyes at me. “I bet you were already old enough…” he mimicked me under his breath.

“What’s that?” I went back to rifling through records.

“Shut up, Richard,” he muttered in the same voice.

Two hours later, the sun was a little lower in the sky, and I had five records. Even Brian had one. No one had bothered us.

“So, now what?” I asked Brian as we drove away.

“Wanna go see how baseball bats are made?”

I gave him my most polite smile. “If that’s what you want to do.”

He grinned. “I don’t. Wanna go day-drink bourbon?”

Ten minutes later, we bellied up to a bar in an old firehouse. The place was deserted. There was a Merle Haggard record on the PA. The bartender looked like a sorority girl, but drawled and cracked gum like a tough old broad in a diner. I ordered something with lemon and honey, Brian a Knob Creek, and she poured them with an acrobatic wrist and slid them nonchalantly across the bar.

Brian clinked glasses with me. His eyes crinkled as they met mine over the glass. “This is how I knew, you know.”

I took a drink, which left a delicious line of heat through my chest, and looked around. “I don’t remember that, uh, fateful honky-tonk trip being quite this laid-back.”

“Nah, not this part.” He took a long sip of his whiskey. “The second time I drank with you. On the bus. That was how I knew, you know, this wasn’t just going to be a little flirting.”

“Which, really, you’re just about paid to flirt,” I pointed out, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

He pressed a hand to his chest. “That stings. I’m trying to be romantic.”

“Well. You know.” I studied the way the light filtered through my drink. “I’m not so good at that.”

He nudged me, and when I looked up, he winked at me. “You’re good at being you. Keep doing that. No, you were all silvery in the moonlight, with your hair all wild and free, and you touched my hand and…” He smiled and covered my hand with his, an echo of that night. The world narrowed to his blue, blue eyes. “It was like being electrocuted. In a good way. That was the first time I thought about kissing you.”

A sigh came from neither of us. We both looked at the bartender, who was a few feet away, her elbows on the bar, listening to us with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“Really?” I said to her, and she scurried away to help a nonexistent customer.

I turned my attention back to Brian. “I’m awfully glad you waited. I’ll never think of a hotel hallway the same way again,” I said lightly.

He played with my fingers. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, more seriously.

I laced my fingers through his. “I’m glad I’m here, too. I miss you, sweetie.” The word “sweetie” felt foreign on my tongue as I said it, but what did it hurt to try it on for size?

He took another drink of whiskey. “So how do you like my old Kentucky home?”

I studied the bricks above the bar, arranged into a diamond pattern. “How can I say? It’s only been a few hours. I…like that the air isn’t full of smog. I like that it doesn’t take an hour to get everywhere. I like that you’re a regular person here.” I smiled at him. “Mostly, I like that you’re here.”

The bartender was back. She harrumphed. “God, you two.”

“We’ll take the check.” I scowled back at her. “Hater.”

In the car, our drinks a memory, Brian said, “So. The next place we’re going. You brought something nice, right?”

I ran through my suitcase in my head as the trees and storefronts and old houses passed us by. “Define ‘nice.’”

“They won’t let me in without a jacket.”

I was pretty sure there was a dress in my suitcase. That purple sheath dress I’d bought for someone’s wedding, sometime, somewhere. I’d packed in a hurry before work yesterday. God, yesterday. It seemed like a million miles away from this friendly place, with its whiskey and crisp air.

“We’ll make it work,” I said to him.

“Good. It’s a 7:30 reservation.” He reached over and squeezed my thigh with a purpose that surprised me. When I looked at him, he waggled his eyebrows at me. “I was thinking since we have to take off our clothes anyway…”

Piano keys tinkled throughout the car. Nick’s name appeared on the radio display. Brian made a face at me and pressed a button on the steering wheel. “What up, dawg.”

Nick’s voice filled the car. “Wow, you answered. Why aren’t you having sex?”

I shushed Brian silently. “Funny you should ask that,” I said out loud to Nick.

“MEG!” Nick practically shouted. “What the fuck is up, lady?”

I snickered. “Not Brian’s dick, since you picked now to call.”

Nick roared with laughter. Brian’s ears went from zero to beet-red in about half a second, but he, too, started laughing hysterically. The Jeep wobbled a little.

“Hey, now. My voice turns all kinds of people on.” Nick’s voice got low and seductive. “I got those panties dropping all the way to Argentina.”

“Not these panties,” I said. I winked at Brian, and we shared a filthy grin. “That’s your boy’s job.”

“Yeah, yeah. So whatch’all doin’?”

“Driving back to the house from doing awesome, non-sexual things,” I said.

Nick sounded disappointed. “How awesome could they be? Damn it, Rok, you failed me.”

Brian was still chortling a little. He wiped his eyes. “You calling for a reason, broseph?”

“Yeah. Did you see that bullshit email from Lori?”

Brian frowned. “No. I haven’t really looked at my phone much today. What’s it about?”

“Ahhh, something about Prague. You probably oughta weigh in.”

“All right, I’ll get online when I get home,” Brian said. “Sorry,” he mouthed to me.

When we got back to the house, Brian kissed my cheek and made a beeline down the hallway. I set down my bag of records on a fat leather couch in the living room. I’d never noticed how cozy this place looked in the daylight, with its leather and its fireplace and its painting of a bluegrass field. There was a TV tucked away in the corner, unobtrusive. I plopped down on the couch and instantly regretted it – not because it was uncomfortable, but because I knew I’d never get up.

A duck quacked in my purse. I fished out my phone and found a text from Alicia: “Having a good time? (And by a good time, I mean a lot of sex)”

My ears were warm this time. “Why does everyone keep asking me that last part?” I typed back.

Her next text popped up quickly: “Long distance relationship with guy I would go straight for (nothing personal)? Of course I’m asking.”

I grinned, no, probably leered. “Yes and yes. Kentucky is nice. Brian is nice. Not walking like John Wayne yet, probably by tomorrow…”

Alicia’s next text took a few minutes to come through: “Peggy Jo you sly dog ;) I’ll let you get back to it”

I put my phone away and glanced around. It was anyone’s guess how long Brian’s business was going to take. I hauled myself out of the cushions, with some difficulty, and wandered into the kitchen. Brian had told me we were having a big dinner, but my stomach was growling something fierce. I opened the fridge and found a forlorn-looking cup of strawberry yogurt in the door. I tried not to look at the expiration date. Probably what was left of an abortive attempt to eat like an adult, not that I’d ever made such an attempt. I opened drawers in search of a spoon.

“You snoopin’ on me?” came a Southern-fried voice from the doorway. I looked up, and Brian was walking toward me.

I smiled at him. “You get your business squared away?”

“Yeah.” He came over to stand next to me as I finally located a spoon. I felt something against my hair, heard him inhale slowly and smiled a little to myself. “My job’s not that unique. We have bullshit emails and meetings, too.” He ran his hand over the countertop. “You gonna eat?”

I couldn’t resist. I couldn’t. Everyone already assumed it was all we were doing.

“Not this,” I said mischievously, and took off down the hall.

I got about halfway down the hallway before strong arms circled my waist and lifted me off the floor. I kicked and squealed the entire rest of the way to the bedroom, even as warmth spread through my body.

Brian tossed me onto the bed and started tickling me like crazy. I tried to tickle him back, but he grabbed my hands and pinned them over my head.

“You can’t tickle me if you don’t have hands,” I gasped. He tried moving one of my hands to his other hand, but I yanked my hand free and started tickling his stomach. “Foiled!”

“Stop! STAHP!” He leaned forward and blew a raspberry on my neck.

“Aw, gross!” I wiggled out from under him and across the bed, grabbing for a pillow.

Neither of us moved. Both our laughter died down. He reached out for me. “C’mere. I’m not gonna get into your pants right now.”

I snuggled into his arms. “Should I feel insulted?”

He kissed my forehead, playing with my hair. “Let me hold you. This is the best.”

“This is the best.” I inhaled his scent. “I miss you.”

“Don’t miss me yet.” I looked up at him, and he kissed me softly. “Miss me Monday. Enjoy us now.”

We almost didn’t make our 7:30 dinner reservation – not because of sex, but because we fell asleep cuddling. Somewhere, Nick and Alicia were probably both chastising us for being lame. At any rate, the sun was down when we got back in the car.

We drove for a long time and finally parked on the outlot of a hospital. The restaurant seemed totally out of place, an old plantation house surrounded by strip malls, a Whole Foods sign glowing green across the street.

Brian cut the engine. “Corbett’s. The ambiance isn’t much from the outside, but this is the best restaurant in Louisville. Probably in Kentucky.”

I smiled at him. “You spoil me.”

“How else am I gonna impress a girl who lives in New York?”

I waved a dismissive hand. “Please, you act like I actually eat at these high-class places. I’d have been just as impressed with a really great slice of pizza.”

“Oh, well, in THAT case.” Brian made a show of moving his hand back to the keys. Instead, he leaned across the car and kissed me softly. “You should be spoiled, girl,” he said more seriously. “It’s my pleasure.”

I smiled into his eyes, so close to mine. I would never deserve this man. “Be careful what you wish for,” I said, and kissed him again, briefly. “Are you always gonna be this nice to me?”

He nuzzled his nose against mine in an Eskimo kiss. His grin turned shitty. “Probably not. But I’ll damn well try.”

There was something different about Brian as we walked into the restaurant. Maybe it was just that I’d never seen him wear a suit offstage, or that he gave the hostess a different name when she pulled up our reservation, or that everything felt a little sexier inside the upscale old house. It was the sort of place where you sit up a little straighter, keep your voice a little lower and try not to slurp your drink. Much. I smoothed the skirt of my purple sheath dress over my legs and tried to keep my knees together.

It wasn’t until the salads were cleared away that I realized exactly what was different about him. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it sooner.

“You took your contacts out,” I said.

He glanced at me over the tops of wire-rimmed glasses. “I had a headache,” he said, a little defensively. I kept staring at him until he sighed. “I wanted to make double-sure we didn’t get recognized. This place is too special.”

Of course. A date would never be just a date. He couldn’t wear a hat here, so of course he needed a disguise. It wasn’t quite a bucket of cold water – more like a dripping faucet, a constant little annoyance I would have to learn to ignore. A hat. Glasses. I supposed I should be thankful he wasn’t wearing a Groucho Marx mustache. I pushed it all from my mind.

“It’s beautiful.” I glanced around: candlelight, fresh flowers, windows framed in white wood, music so soft you could barely hear it. The servers seemed to materialize out of the walls when our glasses or plates were empty. “And the food is out of this world. I don’t know where I’ll put it all. I should have brought a looser dress.”

You’re beautiful. And you find a place here even if it makes your stomach hurt.” He grinned. “The prix fixe is the only way to go. The menu’s a little overwhelming otherwise. I told you. It’s the best.”

I swirled my wine around in my glass. The best restaurant in Kentucky, hiding in plain sight next to a hospital. The disguise. I couldn’t ignore it, now that I’d noticed it. It all felt a bit like a hiding place.

“Why here, Brian?” I knew it was abrupt, but I plunged on. “I mean, really, why Louisville? I’m not complaining, but everything about this day has felt so random.”

He stared out the window, into a little garden patterned with moonlight. “Well, I mean, I knew we were going to end up back in Kentucky if we left L.A.,” he said. “I wanted to be in a city. It just made more sense. It’s close enough to my family. Mom and Dad are still in Lexington. My brother and his family are 40 minutes out. It’s…home. It’s my own version of home.”

He smiled a little. “There was no way I was moving back to Lexington. It’s like science fiction going back there.”

“Do you do it much?”

“I try, whenever I have Baylee. I’ll be there for Thanksgiving.” He didn’t quite meet my eyes as he took a drink of wine. “You could be too,” he said in a rush.

I bent my head, trying to catch his eyes. I bit my lip with pleasure. “What’s that, Littrell?”

He set down his glass, cleared his throat and looked me in the eye. “Will you, Meg, spend Thanksgiving with me? There, I got it out there.”

It was this or White Plains with Alicia’s family. I didn’t hesitate. Hell, it was only money. “God, yes. Will your family mind?”

Brian reached for my hand. “My mother will kill me if you don’t.”

I didn’t pull my hand away, letting his warm touch linger. His eyes sparkled in the candlelight. I forgot the disguise in the face of that warm smile. Was this how it would always be? Fits and starts? Weeks of nothing but talking and longing, broken up by weekends of deep bonding and forward motion? Losing time and making up for it?

I turned my hand over and squeezed his. “Does this weekend feel like…I don’t know…progress…to you?”

He ran his thumb over the palm of my hand. “It always will,” he said softly. “I think that’s just how this goes. We steal these weekends and make them count.”

Words were bubbling to the surface, fighting to find their way out of my mouth. I could see them in his eyes, too. Why else would he have asked why I liked it here?

“It won’t always be just weekends.” My eyes dropped to our hands. “Will it?”

“That’s not really for us to say yet, is it?” His other hand joined ours. “So let’s just focus on dinner. And dessert. And second dessert.” I met his eyes, and he winked at me. “And one thing at a time.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the server approaching. I withdrew my hands, but I nodded at him and smiled. One thing at a time. Tomorrow would come when it came. And the next day, and the day after that. There was nothing more we could do. There was nothing I’d rather do.

End Notes:
"Shut up, Richard."
Part I: Chapter 2 by Ellebeth

11/23/11

Louisville

You couldn’t say I hadn’t been warned. But no warning could have adequately prepared me for what was waiting on the other side of security.

I stood in the middle of the corridor as if rooted to the spot. Travelers were rushing around me, running home to family, to traditions. Brian was standing in the arrivals area. I could see him, cap pulled down over his eyes, but he hadn’t seen me yet.

But the little blonde boy standing next to him had. His eyes pinned me in place. They were very familiar eyes, electric blue, not wise and tired, but wide and innocent. And very, very skeptical.

It was all real now. I could no longer pretend that my boyfriend didn’t have a kid. That kid was no longer an abstraction. That kid was staring me right in the face.

I briefly considered my options. I could face this head-on, like the adult I purported to be, but what fun was that? I could turn around and run right back to the gate, pretend my plane had crashed, live out the rest of my life in the concourse like Tom Hanks in that one movie. I could pretend I didn’t speak English and go outside to hail a cab. I tried to dredge up my high school German. Of all the useless languages I could have taken.

Brian was waving at me now. Even with his eyes shaded, I couldn’t miss his grin, or the flowers he was holding. I squinted. Wait, those weren’t in his hand. They were in the kid’s.

I pasted a huge smile on my face. “Shit,” I said through my teeth.

Alicia’s voice echoed in my head, from months in the past, before this moment had ever materialized in my head. Your garden-variety divorce does not constitute a problem when you’re a single New Yorker in your 30s. And neither does his having a kid, if he does. It was easy for Alicia to say. She wasn’t staring at that kid.

I reached Brian, on legs made of rubber, and he threw his arms around me. I was shaking too badly – my God, shaking! – to do much more than put my arms around him awkwardly.

“Hi, sweet girl.” He kissed my cheek. “Stop shaking. It’s OK,” he whispered.

He pulled back, a hand still on the small of my back, and placed his other hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Meg…this is my son, Baylee.”

Of course. Of course he was. But the pride in those words was enough to melt my furiously beating heart.

Baylee was virtually a smaller clone of his father, with more and blonder hair, a mess of curls not terribly unlike my own. He was less than a head shorter than me; I couldn’t begin to guess where he got his height. He held out the flowers to me – tiger lilies – but suspicion clouded his eyes.

“Hi,” he said tentatively.

“Hi, buddy.” I forced a smile as I took the flowers.

I’m not your buddy, his eyes said as we started walking, Brian between us.

I didn’t remember the ride back to the house from last time – I’d been too sleepy after a late flight – but it certainly hadn’t seemed this long last time. The silence in the car was suffocating. Well, not quite silence. A steady stream of video game beeps and chirps issued forth from the backseat. I had no idea how to interrupt it.

Brian reached over and took my hand. He smiled at me, his face shaded and hollowed by the bleak orange and gray light that slid in and out of the car.

“It’s OK,” he said simply.

Back at the house, Baylee still had his nose buried in his Nintendo DS. It was a wonder he found his way into the house.

“Baylee,” Brian said. Flatline. He reached down and covered the screen with one hand. Baylee glared up at him as a mournful chord sounded, no doubt his character’s death knell.

“You’ll live,” Brian went on dryly. “I’m gonna get Meg settled into the guest room. If you go get ready for bed, we can watch a movie.”

Baylee side-eyed me. “Is she gonna be there?”

Brian heaved a sigh and set down my suitcase. “Can you show yourself to the guest room?” he said to me. His eyes were exasperated. “My son and I need to have a word. Again.”

He pulled Baylee toward the kitchen, and I grabbed my suitcase and started down the hall. My feet felt like lead. They should have felt like clouds, but I was going to the wrong destination for that.

Motherfucking guest room bullshit,” I muttered under my breath.

I turned the second doorknob on the right, flung it away in disgust and flipped on the light. Soft brown walls, a green quilt on the double bed, a watercolor of a forest. There was a door open in the corner; I peered through it and saw a small bathroom, all white. It was all very nice, I supposed. But not nearly as nice as snuggling with Brian, much less snuggling-adjacent activities. Of course it made no sense to share his bed tonight. I’d never be able to forget that his son was across the hall. But these were all theories, and practice sucked.

I pushed my suitcase over halfheartedly. It landed on its back on the floor. I sat on the bed, bouncing a little. I waited. I opened my suitcase and pulled out a pair of yoga pants, throwing my jeans into the suitcase. It was a bit chilly to ditch my cozy sweater. When had Thanksgiving gotten so cold? I sat on the bed and waited some more.

Finally, Baylee trudged past the door. He didn’t look at me. The door next to mine opened and closed. Brian followed a few seconds later and leaned against the doorframe. He curled his lip.

“Kids are just a…blessing,” he muttered, every word oozing with sarcasm. “They’re just swell.”

I smiled. “Now, now. Don’t say that like he’s not.”

I patted the spot next to me on the bed, and he sat. He kissed me, fingertips under my chin, and my eyes fell closed. His mouth, his touch were always so much sweeter for the wait, and now his kiss felt a tiny bit forbidden, with a child on the other side of the wall. My hand moved to his leg, and he broke the kiss.

“We’re doing the right thing,” he murmured. “It’s the crappy thing, but it’s right.”

“It’s definitely the crappy thing.” I laid my head on his shoulder, unable to suppress a sigh of pure longing. Just his warmth next to me was enough to set my body humming, just a little.

“I know. I miss every inch of you.” He put an arm around me and kissed my forehead. His voice dropped even further. “I guess we’ll just have to sneak out to the car for a quickie tomorrow.”

I pinched his leg. “Stop.

Baylee’s door opened again. I sat up straight and folded my hands in my lap at the sound. Brian moved his hand from my waist to my shoulder.

“OK. Let’s do this.” Baylee stood in my doorway. I couldn’t tell if the smile on his face was fake, or brave, or pure, or what.

“You brush your teeth?” Brian said.

Baylee grimaced and walked away, and I thought I heard him mutter, “I tried.”

“Do I smell a little smart-ass?” I whispered.

“Oh, totally.” Brian grinned at me. “No clue where he gets it.”

I wanted to laugh. Instead, I pressed my lips together and jumped right in. “Does he…know I’m your girlfriend? How do you handle that with a kid?”

The faint sound of running water came from the bathroom. Brian twisted his lips in an idle, thoughtful gesture. “Yes. And he knows I think you’re very special. He’s a smart kid. I won’t lie to him. That’s sort of what we were talking about.” He smiled wryly. “I basically told him that he needs to act like a human.”

I swallowed. “Does his mom know about us?”

“Yes! Of course. I had to tell her.” Another wry, fleeting smile. “Couldn’t have Baylee going home talking about some strange woman in my house.” He tweaked the tip of my nose. “Or my bed.” I made a stinky face at that last part, and he pulled me closer and kissed my forehead. “Yeah, yeah.”

I sighed and leaned into his shoulder again. “I don’t know how to talk to him,” I admitted in a whisper. “I’m not good with kids.”

“He’s not expecting much,” Brian said. I raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. “Well, he’s not. He’s a kid.” He brushed my chaotic hair over to one side and traced circles on my neck with his thumb. I closed my eyes at the tender touch.

“Be yourself,” he whispered. “It’s good enough for me. It’ll be good enough for him.”

The water shut off, and Brian and I both hopped up from the bed and walked out into the hallway. Baylee came out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Star Wars?” he said hopefully.

Brian nodded. “Sure thing, buddy. We’ll watch it up here. We’ll make some popcorn.”

We all started back toward the living room together. Even in the dark, I could feel Baylee’s eyes on me.

“You better like Star Wars,” I thought I heard him mutter.



11/24/11

Lexington

Fields of vivid green rolled by outside the window, broken up by low white fences. The sky was a velvety, ominous gray; it had rained the whole way here.

“Relax,” Brian said without looking at me. The car slowed, and he flipped on the blinker.

I steadied my voice. “What makes you think I’m not?”

“You’re destroying that grocery bag.” He reached over and pulled one of my hands away from the damp and shredded edge of the brown paper bag, which held a bottle of wine. Just as quickly, he dropped my hand and wiped it on his pants. “And your hands are kinda sweaty. Like, two pairs of gloves sweaty.”

I couldn’t help but smirk at the Dumb & Dumber reference. “Well, yeah. We’re in the Rockies.”

We turned down a long driveway, dotted with trees whose branches still held a few brown leaves.

“Time to put the game away, pal,” Brian said to Baylee. The video game beeps stilled.

The driveway rolled by underneath us. My lungs constricted as the house came into view: a gorgeous story-and-a-half house, very new-looking, with a circle driveway. There was an attached garage that looked like a tiny house unto itself, with a basketball hoop in the driveway.

Brian cut the engine behind a black minivan with a tribe of white stick figures on the back window. The back door opened, and Baylee was off like a shot, heading for the front door, which bore a wreath of colorful fall leaves and velvet ribbon.

I stared at the house. My heart was pounding beyond control. I hadn’t met a boyfriend’s parents since college. I hadn’t met a boyfriend’s kid, well, ever, prior to last night. Now it was all happening within the span of 24 hours. Certainly this had felt serious from the start, but now – now it was serious. It was easy for us to say and feel whatever we wanted in a vacuum. As of this weekend, we no longer existed in a vacuum.

I contemplated emptying the paper bag and breathing into it.

“Hey.” I turned at the sound of Brian’s voice, at his hand on my knee, and he leaned in and kissed my cheek. His eyes were serious but reassuring. “None of this would be happening if I didn’t love you. I want us to be a team. I got your back. They’ll love you, too.”

“And if they don’t?” I challenged him.

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I did marry the last girlfriend they didn’t like.”

I got out of the car, slowly. I ran my clammy hands down my black pants. I thought I looked parent-worthy, snuggly cardigan, nice T-shirt, black pants, flats. I wrapped my fingers around the neck of the wine through the bag. Brian took my other hand and pulled me into the house.

It was beautiful inside, a grand foyer with a staircase leading to a loft, a little sitting room with coats heaped on a bench and a small table circled with low chairs and plastic place settings. There were paintings on the wall, impressions of leaves and creeks rendered in short, heavy, vivid strokes.

“Mom’s paintings,” Brian said proudly. “She got herself a hobby when she retired.”

There were photos on the wall, too, two big canvases of young men, one leaning against a tree, the other sitting on the ground with one knee bent up. I had only a moment to squint at the latter before Brian tugged at my elbow, mumbling in embarrassment, but it was long enough to realize I was staring at my boyfriend’s senior picture. I snorted with laughter.

“Nice hair, babe,” I said. “Do you own stock in American Crew?”

“Cram it, Meg,” Brian said through his teeth.

“There’s my little duck!” I turned at the squeal, and a woman in her 60s, wearing a green apron and a messy blonde braid, rounded the corner and folded Brian in her arms. She was small, birdlike, sort of like my mother, but I glimpsed iron will in the force with which she hugged him.

Brian squeezed his eyes shut, and I saw fondness and embarrassment jockeying on his face. “Hi, Mama,” he said.

Mrs. Littrell let him go and turned her attention to me. “And you…” She placed her hands on my upper arms, as if sizing me up, but there was warmth in her eyes. “You must be Meg.” She hugged me as tightly as she had Brian. “I’m Jackie, you don’t even think of calling me anything else, oh, I’m just so pleased to meet you in the flesh, you must let him show you off to everyone else.”

I patted her back, awkwardly. “The pleasure is mine…Jackie.” I caught Brian’s eye. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Jackie grabbed both our hands and dragged us through the house. She was talking a mile a minute in a soft, rolling drawl. “The bird’s doing great. Heather’s working on the mashed potatoes. We just put in the green bean casserole.”

“You made two pans, right? One for me?” Brian winked at me behind his mom’s back.

“Now, Brian Thomas, you have never gone hungry in this house.” Jackie stopped and poked him in the stomach. “It’s only back home you need to eat some real food.”

Brian squeezed her shoulder. “You should take that up with my heart doctor. You know how he feels about real food.”

Jackie craned her neck around a corner. I followed her head into a family room with a massive stone fireplace and a TV as big as a refrigerator, showing football. Two men, who both looked older than Brian, were sitting on the couch. Baylee was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with four – four! – other fair-haired kids about his age, three boys and a girl.

“Y’all, look who’s here!” Jackie said brightly, shoving Brian into the room.

The kids with Baylee all leapt to their feet and took off for Brian, ambushing him with hugs that sent him stumbling back into me. “Uncle B! Uncle B! What’d you bring us?”

“I…” Brian looked at me, visibly trying not to laugh. “I think I brought you a new friend?”

I smiled at the kids. Two of them did now appear to be a few years older than Baylee, and they were almost exactly my height. “I’m Meg,” I said to them.

The little girl smiled brightly. She had her strawberry blonde hair pulled back with barrettes. “I’m Hannah.” She jerked a thumb at each of the boys in turn. “That’s Hank. Hunter. Hayden.”

Hank, the biggest boy, who also had strawberry blond hair buzzed close to his head, scowled at her. “I can talk, thanks. Just not as much as you.”

A laugh escaped me. These kids were probably the source of 90% of their parents’ gray hair.

The younger of the guys on the couch leaned past the older and waved at me. He looked like essentially a taller, balding version of Brian. “I’m their dad. I’m Hal. I’d get up, but…” He gestured at his lap. There was a little blonde boy asleep between him and the old guy, head on Hal’s leg, mouth open in a snore. “And this is Henry.”

The old guy got up. He was in his 60s as well, at least a head taller than Brian, and his hair was pure white, but other than that, the resemblance was uncanny. Same broad smile and blue eyes. He clapped my hand in both of his. “I’m Harry. You must be Meg.”

I smiled. The grin on his face put me at ease. “So everyone says.”

“We’re glad you’re here.” He pointed to the bag in my hand. “Can I take that?” I handed him the wine, and he whipped the bag off it as if presenting a prize. He nodded approvingly at the pinot noir, which had cost a lot more than I usually spent on alcohol. “Good choice. Jack!” he called to the kitchen. “Is the corkscrew in there?”

“I figured we’d wait for dinner,” I started to mouth to Brian, but he was already flopping down on the couch – on the side away from the sleeping child, thankfully, because he sometimes had sense – and bro-hugging his brother.

“I’ll get one,” I assured Harry. I might as well earn my keep.

I wandered into the kitchen, which was all white in a way that should have been Star Wars-esque but somehow still felt homey, with a painting of a rooster rendered in angry little red and yellow strokes. Jackie was back at the counter, manning a stand mixer whose bowl was full of potatoes, while a younger woman bent over the oven, fussing with the turkey. A bald-headed baby in a pink onesie dozed in a carrier on her back.

“There should be a corkscrew over there on the island,” Jackie said without looking up from the mixer, pointing in the general direction of a white island where a couple bottles of wine already sat opened. I walked across the room and grabbed the corkscrew.

The younger woman straightened up, strawberry blonde hair falling like a curtain. She was probably a decade older than me and looked very, very tired, with bruise-dark circles under her green eyes, but she smiled warmly. “Meg, right?”

I smiled. “That’s me.”

She crossed the room and clasped my hand. “I’m Heather, Hal’s wife.” She half-turned so I could see the baby. “And this is Hope.”

Six kids, and the entire damn family had H names. Jesus H. Christ, indeed. I cooed obligingly at the baby and excused myself to bring Harry the corkscrew.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked Jackie on my way out.

She looked up long enough to wink at me. “I think you get a free pass this year. If you ain’t sick of my son by next year, I’ll put you to work.”

That was assuming he wasn’t sick of me by then. I pushed the thought out of my head.

Baylee and the H brigade ran past me at full tilt just as I was heading back into the family room. I hit the wall and sucked my stomach in to keep from getting trampled.

“Put your coats on!” Brian and Hal shouted after them, more or less in unison.

Harry smiled as I handed him the corkscrew. “I’ll grab your glass from the dining room. Unless you’d rather have something already open in the kitchen? We have another bottle for dinner.”

I waved a hand. “Oh, no, the pinot’s fine.”

Another quick smile from Harry. “Good. Otherwise I’d think it was poisoned.” He walked out.

The little boy on the couch jerked awake. His face crumpled. “Daddy, bathroom,” he whined.

Hal put a hand to the kid’s butt and made a face. “I’ll be back,” he said, picking up the kid in one arm and heading for the bathroom.

I sat next to Brian on the couch. “I will not be having six children,” I informed him, “so don’t get any ideas.”

Brian snickered as he put an arm around me. “They think they’re the Duggars. And just think about this.” He mapped out invisible lands with his free hand. “Allllll those kids are homeschooled.”

I couldn’t resist. “How do you homeschool a baby?”

Brian moved his hand to the curve of my waist and tickled me. “You and your smart mouth…”

“Hey, hey, hey, no getting fresh on my couch.” Harry walked back into the room and handed me a glass of dark wine to match the one in his hand as he sat back down.

Brian pouted. “What am I, yesterday’s newspaper?”

Harry jerked a thumb at me. “She’s a guest. You’re my kid. Get your own drink.”

I liked this family.

Brian harrumphed and got up from the couch. His phone fell out of the pocket of his khakis. I wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t rung. I glanced at the screen in passing. It was Howie.

I snapped up the phone and ran my thumb across the screen in one practiced motion. “Littrell’s House of…” I caught myself, realizing Brian’s dad was at my other elbow, before I could say anything inappropriate. Instead, I went on, “Fish. You hook ‘em, we cook ‘em.”

“Meg Michaels, as I live and breathe.” I heard the smile in Howie’s voice. “Happy Thanksgiving, kid.”

“Thanks. What’s up with you?”

“Well, I was calling to gloat about fantasy football, but I guess we can stall until he comes back. We’re having Backstreet Friendsgiving. He ever mention it?”

I smiled. “Maybe once or twice. Sounds like a good time.”

“Yeah, we’ll pass the phone once he comes back.”

“Well, what if I don’t want to give the phone back?”

“That’s fine. Speaking on behalf of the band, I like you better anyway.”

“Howie, you old…” I caught myself again. “So-and-so.”

Howie chuckled. “You’ve got one of his relations sitting next to you, don’t you?”

“Good guess,” I said. Brian came back into the room, holding a beer by its neck. I cupped my hand over the phone and stage-whispered, “Say nothing, act natural.”

Brian snatched the phone from me. “Hello?” He frowned. “Real funny, D. How was I supposed to know Stafford was actually gonna do work today?”

“One of the guys in the band?” Harry said to me. I nodded. “So you’ve met them all, too?”

I grinned. “They’re how I met Brian, if you take my meaning. Work.”

Harry nodded. “Brian mentioned that. Rolling Stone? I read that back in the day. Is, uh, Hunter Thompson still around?”

Yep, I officially loved this family. I smiled sadly. “No, he died several years ago. We never got to work together.”

“You know, he was an old Kentucky boy.” Harry inclined his wine glass toward the TV. “We didn’t agree on much, but I think we would have agreed on the Cats.”

I had no idea what he was talking about. We were watching an NFL game, which I was pretty sure didn’t involve cats. I had absolutely no idea what was going on. Woo, sportsball!

“Yeah, pass us around.” Brian beckoned me closer and put the phone on speaker.

“What up, dawg?” Nick said. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Carter,” I said. “You staying out of trouble?”

Nick was grinning from ear to ear, I could hear it in his voice. “Never.”

“Good,” Brian said. “I’d be disappointed. How ‘bout this game?”

“I’ve got the Packers defense, so fuck you,” Nick said cheerfully.

“I benched Stafford,” Brian said glumly, “so fuck the horse you rode in on.” Harry cleared his throat at the other end of the couch, and Brian looked only a little guilty.

Hal walked back into the room, bouncing the little boy – Henry, I thought – against his chest. He looked forlornly at the three of us, taking up his real estate, and settled into a recliner. Henry-or-whatever squirmed against him, and Hal set him on the floor.

“Hey, lemme talk to someone else,” Brian said.

“OK. Hold on.” There was some shuffling, and a voice I didn’t know filled the phone. “Hey, brother. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Harry and Hal both looked up like a shot had gone off. Brian’s eyes widened. “Kevin. What is up, brother?”

“Hey, not a lot. Enjoying the holiday. You over at the parents’?”

“Yeah.” Brian held out the phone. “Everybody say hi to Kevin.”

“Hey, Kev,” Harry, Hal and I said.

“Kevin, there’s someone I’d like you to uh…meet?” Brian’s eyes met mine.

“Hi, Kevin. I’m Meg,” I said into the phone. “I’m, uh, Brian’s girlfriend.”

Kevin didn’t say anything for a moment, but I could hear him chuckling. When he spoke again, his voice was full of amusement. “So you’re the famous Meg. These idiots think you hung the moon.”

I grinned. “Well, then, how idiotic could they be?”

“Well, my cousin thinks you hung the moon, too, and I don’t think he’s an idiot. You keeping him out of trouble?”

I elbowed Brian affectionately. “I do what I can.”

“Good. Am I gonna meet you at A.J.’s wedding?”

I looked at Brian. He gave me a hopeful grin. “December 17,” he mouthed.

I thought quickly about my Christmas plans. I was taking a week off to go home to Illinois. What was another flight, another couple days of traveling?

I nodded. “OK,” I mouthed to Brian. “I’ll do my best,” I said to Kevin.

The phone made another couple of circuits, and then we hung up. Brian gave me a funny look.

“I figured Kevin was going to the wedding, but I’m a little surprised he’s at Friendsgiving.” He stroked his chin absently.

“Does that…mean something?” I prodded. Everyone, I realized, was looking at us.

Brian shrugged, his expression unreadable. “Don’t know.”

“I see. And, uh, when were you planning to invite me to this wedding?” I mock-glared at Brian.

He looked guilty. “It slipped my mind? Multiple times?”

Harry shook his head and finished the last of his wine. “I didn’t raise you in a barn, boy.”

Hal was staring at the TV. He held up a hand. “Hold up…”

The guys all fixed their eyes on the TV. I followed their eyes just in time to see a bulky, blue-suited guy catch the football and tumble into the end zone.

Harry and Hal both jumped to their feet, whooping. Brian kicked the coffee table. The little boy looked balefully at them all and walked into the kitchen. I followed him.

“We’re close. Very close.” Jackie was scraping the last of the mashed potatoes into a serving dish. She looked up at me. “You can do one thing to help me. Can you rally everyone to the dining room to say a prayer?”

I smiled at her. Something about this woman made her impossible to say no to. I suspected she’d spent many years cultivating that. “I’ll do my best.”

The little boy was looking around helplessly, his mom and grandma busy. I squatted to his eye level. “Wanna be my helper…” I racked my brain again for the name. “Henry?”

I held out a hand to him. He looked at it suspiciously for only a moment before putting his chubby hand in mine, and we walked out of the kitchen. I thought I saw Heather wink at me as we went.

I stuck my head into the family room. “Dining room. Prayer.” That was easy.

At Harry’s direction, we walked back through the kitchen, through a mud room, and out to the open garage, which held a pickup truck and a red Dodge Caliber with a horse-themed license plate. It wasn’t as cold as it had been last night, but I still missed my jacket. “We won’t be out here long, little buddy,” I said to Henry, even though he was wearing a thick sweater.

I raised my voice toward the older kids, who were shooting baskets enthusiastically. “Guys, come inside and pray!”

Baylee, of all people, abandoned the game and walked toward me. So did Hannah. The other kids, a couple of them griping, followed him.

“Are you cold, little tot?” Hannah said to Henry. She took his hand from mine and hustled him inside.

I tried to think of something to say to Baylee. “You guys having fun?”

Baylee actually half-smiled at me. “Yeah. Are you?”

Caught off-guard, I smiled back. “I am. Your dad has a really nice family.”

The other kids ran past us. Baylee shoved his hands in his coat pockets and looked at me. The smile was gone, the suspicion back. “Dad likes you a whole lot.”

My heart was in my throat. So we were going to do this now, huh?

“Yes, I think that’s right,” I said. “I…I like him a whole lot, too.”

“You gonna try to be my mom?” He couldn’t have gotten his point across more bluntly if he’d been holding a lead pipe. “‘Cause my stepdad tries to be my dad, and I’m not a fan.”

I wondered if he’d gotten that little piece of vocabulary from his obviously sassy older cousins. I bit my lips and racked my brain for an appropriate answer. Only one made sense.

I placed my hands on Baylee’s shoulders, lightly, awkwardly. “I don’t know what the future holds,” I said slowly, the words coming out only as they came to me, “but I will make you one promise, Baylee. I promise I will never ever, try to be your mom. You already have one of those.”

I dropped my hands and held one out to him in a handshake. “Can I be your friend?”

He eyed my hand as if it were a dead fish, but eventually gave me his and shook. “We’ll see,” he said, his tone neutral. “Keep being nice to my dad, and we’ll see.”

He walked into the house, and I exhaled, my breath leaving my mouth in a long cloud.

In the dining room, the family had circled the table, hands joined. I squeezed in next to Brian, who laced his warm fingers through my cold ones. On my other side, Hannah held out her hand expectantly to me, as if it were only natural.

“Let’s quiet ourselves in the presence of the Lord,” Jackie said.

We all bowed our heads. I stared at the green swirls on the cream-colored rug. I had never been one for prayer. It was odd to think of joining a family that was so big on it. It was odder still, I realized almost instantly, to think of joining this family. And it was most of all odd to think that joining this family felt only natural right now. I closed my eyes with them.

“God, we give you thanks for this day you have made,” came Hal’s voice. “We thank you for this food you have given us, for the hands that harvested it and prepared it. We pray for those who don’t have enough to eat today or any day. We pray that they will be fed. We give you thanks for family, for friends, for new friends…”

Brian squeezed my hand hard. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Yes, perhaps this place could be home.

Part I: Chapter 3 by Ellebeth

12/17/11

Beverly Hills

Cinderella’s carriage had been a pumpkin and not an Uber, her heels glass and not black leather. But none of that stopped me from feeling a bit like her as I stepped slowly out of the car and stared up at the castle-like hotel before me, tinted golden pink by expensive uplighting.

“Welcome to the pros,” I muttered under my breath.

There were head-to-toe black outfits everywhere, some toting walkie-talkies, others cameras. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a paparazzo inch toward me, but when I turned to glare at him, he backed off. I never heard a shutter.

And why would I? At the end of the day, I was showing my distinctly un-famous face at what was probably, objectively, no matter how dear he was to me, a D-list wedding.

I fished the ornate invitation from my purse, the Spectacular! Spectacular! headline catching my eye again in passing, and showed it to the guy at the door. A bouncer at a wedding. We didn’t have those in Illinois. Maybe in Staten Island, but for entirely different reasons. Alicia didn’t call my adopted hometown Jersey East for nothing.

The lobby alone, all chandeliers and plush carpets and uplighting, made me feel like hiding behind the concierge desk. In my mind, I heard violins playing some foofy French concerto. A few glamorous, very tall people stood in clusters. Heat prickled in my cheeks, and my little black dress seemed ill-fitting, the peplum droopy and chintzy, my stilettos clumsy, my purse cheap. This wasn’t my element. I should just get on the next plane back to my shitty little—

A wolf whistle sounded from across the lobby. No one but me looked up. I turned around, ready to retort, but the smart words died in my throat as Brian strode toward me. I’d still been in the shower when he’d left to come over here and pop his head into the groom’s suite, and he looked stunning. I’d never seen him in a tux, but here we were, and it was classic and fit like it was made for him. Which, I realized half a second later, it probably had been. My Macy’s clearance special felt all the cheaper.

He laced his fingers through mine and kissed my cheek gently. My heels were so high that for once, he didn’t have to lean down, much.

“You’re the most beautiful woman here,” he whispered in my ear.

My knees wobbled, and it wasn’t the shoes. He knew just what to say. I bit my lip. “You devil. I bet you haven’t even been in there yet,” I said lightly.

“You’re right. I haven’t.” His eyes twinkled dangerously, and my knees disappeared entirely. “Forget the wedding. Let’s just get a room.”

I wanted to drag him upstairs myself, but before I could reply, a hulking black man I didn’t recognize, and hadn’t even seen behind Brian, cleared his throat. He inclined his head toward the ballroom. “You look very nice, ma’am, but I ain’t got all day.”

I’d always thought “breathtaking” was a cliché, but I stumbled backward at the sight of the ballroom, which seemed too large to be in such an intimate hotel. The walls and ceiling had been draped with white cloth, projected with images of Paris at night, a starry sky above us. Behind the altar was a huge red windmill, so large that the happy couple’s heads would be level with the bottom of the windmill’s arms. A string quartet in tuxedos sawed away next to the altar. Rows of red velvet chairs awaited us, already filling up with the butts of the well-connected.

“He wasn’t kidding about the Moulin Rouge theme,” I whispered to Brian as the security guy melted away.

Brian snickered. “Does either one of them look like someone who’d do something halfway?”

Howie strolled up to us, wearing white tie and tails, obviously not paying attention. “Bride’s side or…” When he saw our faces, he rolled his eyes, grinning. “Who let you in?”

I winked at Howie. “We’re on the catering staff. We just wanted to see the ballroom.”

Howie returned my wink and offered his arm to me. “Miz Michaels, you’re a vision.” He inclined his head toward Brian. “If you’re ever sick of this jabroni, I’m sure I could figure out something with Leigh.”

I eyed Howie, who was actually a hair shorter than me, in these shoes. “Howie, I never thought I’d say this, but you’re a little short for me.”

“Yeah, and ‘jabroni’?” Brian chuckled as he followed us down the aisle. “Is all that wrestling rubbing off?”

“You don’t know what kind of day it’s been,” Howie said to me. He stopped a few rows from the front. “Have fun, kids. I’ll see you at the reception.” He subtly pantomimed tipping back a bottle.

Brian gestured for me to go ahead, and I settled into my seat, eyes still on the windmill, which practically filled my field of vision. What kind of people got married in front of the world’s most famous whorehouse, I would never quite figure out.

A throat cleared next to me, and I turned to find green eyes watching me, topped with heavy black Groucho Marx eyebrows, one of which lifted.

“Sure, settle on in,” their owner said dryly, with just a hint of a drawl. “We’ll introduce ourselves. I surely wasn’t relying on your boyfriend to be a gentleman, cuz,” he said pointedly as he leaned past me to give Brian a meaningful glare.

Brian didn’t miss a beat. “Hey, it’s time someone told you the truth. I actually grew up in that horse barn behind the high school. They just brought me in the house for Christmas and stuff.”

“You don’t need any introduction, anyway,” I said to my neighbor, who could only have been Kevin. I grinned and proffered a hand. “Mr. Richardson, I presume. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Kevin returned my smile, genuine but more reserved than Brian. “Miz Michaels, I presume. The pleasure is all mine. Your reputation precedes you by a mile.”

“Then it couldn’t be that much of a pleasure.” I smiled at the warm-faced blonde woman at Kevin’s other elbow. “Hi, I’m Meg.”

“Brian’s lady. Right.” The woman smiled and waved. “I’m Kristin.”

“You and Kristin should have lots to talk about,” Brian said in my ear. “She’s a photographer, too. Maybe we should all play Chinese fire drill so you two can chat.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Kevin said. The dry dad was back. He looked at his watch. “We’re not in the horse barn, and anyway, we should be starting any minute.”

“Whatever you say, Mufasa.” Brian winked at me as I leaned back in my seat.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, A.J. and a middle-aged woman in a red pantsuit, carrying a small notebook, walked up to the altar. A.J. was wearing the same white tie and tails, capped off with a top hat and white gloves. Of course. I half-wondered where his monocle was. I shot a skeptical sidelong glance at Brian, who just shrugged with a little smile.

The tune of the violins changed, and I thought I recognized it as “Come What May” from Moulin Rouge! Nick walked down the aisle in his tails, with a tall blonde woman on his arm who wore a long, frilly red dress. I recognized her as Rochelle’s friend Lindie, who’d visited us on the tour. It made perfect sense for them both to be standing on the altar, but it seemed awfully convenient, given the little twitch at the corner of Nick’s lips, the snicker Brian couldn’t quite muffle. This time, Kevin and I both cleared our throats, and I thought I heard something between a squeak and a snicker come from Kristin.

And then we were all on our feet, and between the heads of other people, I saw Rochelle, walking alone, a vision in champagne-colored satin and lace, bright red streaks in her dark hair and a bright smile on her face, eyes only for A.J. I stole a glance at the altar, and I thought I saw A.J. brush a knuckle under one eye.

My own eyeballs prickled. Slippin’, Michaels, slippin’. I barely knew these people, in the grand scheme of things. Fate’s sense of humor was even more twisted than mine. My fingers found Brian’s and gave them a private little squeeze.

For all the fanfare, the ceremony didn’t last long. Lindie read from 1 Corinthians 13 in her brassy twang. The officiant pressed her notebook to her chest and declared, “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” They were devoted to the theme, that was for sure.

I was waiting for A.J. to sing, but I knew the moment he opened his mouth to speak his vows that there was no way it would happen. His voice betrayed the same tears his furious blinking had suggested. Rochelle, who had made it through her vows without so much as a quaver, now gave him a watery smile of her own and appeared to squeeze his hand hard.

“For better or for worse,” the officiant prompted.

“For better or for worse,” A.J. repeated, his voice even raspier than usual.

I thought back to my own mother’s wedding, the one I’d been alive for. It had looked almost nothing like this -- half a dozen people in a park on the Mississippi River, Mom holding carnations, me wearing a poufy pink dress -- but wasn’t it all the same in the end? Wasn’t this, at its heart, universally, no matter the language or place or time, how two people agreed to go all in and share their lives?

“In sickness and in health,” A.J. said.

“Forsaking all others,” the officiant went on.

“Forsaking all others.”

I stole a sidelong glance at Brian. He was watching me, with that little smile he reserved only for me. My face warmed. I returned his smile, squeezed his knee, turned back to the front. And still I could feel his eyes on me.

“Until death do us part,” A.J. was saying.

The world tilted, just a bit. I never would have said it out loud. I never would have said it in a place like this. But as I thought again about my mom and stepdad exchanging their vows under the bridge, suddenly, unbidden, came another image: I was the one in white, and Brian was the one holding my hands, and we were the ones who had found each other. The thought, silly and far too soon as it was, took my breath away.

Under that giant, ridiculous windmill, the officiant spread her arms wide and said, “I present to you the new Mr. & Mrs. A.J. McLean.”

A.J. grabbed Rochelle and dipped her, and they mashed their faces together in a kiss that provoked a few wolf whistles in the midst of the wild applause. Over their heads, I thought I saw Nick wink at Lindie, who I could swear rolled her eyes, even as she thumbed at her own cheek.

The string quartet struck up “Heroes” -- I wanted to applaud all over again -- and A.J. and Rochelle practically skipped down the aisle, hand in hand, grinning like idiots.

As Nick and Lindie made their way back down the aisle, I looked at Brian, who was grinning past me. “He did it, man,” he said to Kevin.

“He sure did.” Kevin rubbed one eye unconvincingly and muttered something about an errant contact, but he was smiling fondly. Kristin half-smiled and rubbed his arm.

Brian beamed at both of us. “Our little Boner’s all grown up.”

Two people in the row in front of us turned to look at Brian. I should have been embarrassed, but I felt too many things in too few seconds. And anyway, hadn’t he said we were a team?

“Tourette’s,” I said to them, batting my eyelashes innocently. Brian pressed his knuckles to his mouth, but I caught a wink.

Without much warning, we were shepherded back into the lobby, which was full of high-top tables and scantily clad women -- Moulin Rouge dancers, I supposed -- bearing trays of champagne flutes and unidentifiable foods. The concierge desk had been transformed into a bar, flanked by red-lit ice sculptures of windmills. The string quartet was setting up in a corner.

“They watched Moulin Rouge!, right?” Kristin said as she walked up alongside me. She was several years older than me and a full head taller, even in the highest heels I’d ever worn, and she bent to be heard over the buzz that filled the lobby as guests filtered out.

“I have to assume so, with the music they picked for the ceremony.” I grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray.

Kristin pressed her lips together, but they curved upward anyway. “So…they know it’s about a whorehouse, right?”

I threw an arm outward, realizing half a second too late that champagne wasn’t a solid. “Exactly.”

“OK. I’m just glad that occurred to someone else.” She winked at me. “So Brian said you’re a photographer?”

I glanced around as subtly as I could and caught sight of Brian and Kevin talking to a guy I didn’t recognize. “Yeah. Well…as a hobby. It’s not my day job. They probably told you what that is.”

Kristin nodded, smiling. “Rolling Stone. That has to be fun.”

“It’s…” I sipped my champagne. “Not as glamorous as you think. I cover politics these days, but even music wasn’t always that exciting.”

The lie rolled off my tongue more and more easily these days. The truth was, I missed the hell out of it. Politics was more important to the world, but it didn’t quicken my heart quite the same way, didn’t run quite so deeply in my bloodstream. There were days already that I looked longingly toward my old pod of desks, or made up excuses to slow down by my old boss’ door, or clenched my teeth against the sound of my new boss’ voice, or asked myself outright if it was worth giving up a really specific part of something I loved to make it easier to be with someone I loved.

Brian caught my eye again. He was talking more animatedly to his and Kevin’s companion, a pale-haired bro in a slim-cut navy blue suit that shimmered just a little. He gestured with his highball glass in my direction, grinning from ear to ear. The bro looked, and his lips formed an acknowledging “oh, yeah” and a polite smile. Caught in the crosshairs, I waggled my fingers in greeting and winked at Brian.

Yeah. OK. It was probably worth it.

“Have you seen anyone you know?” Kristin was asking. She saw my wave at Brian and smiled. “Oh, God love him. Kev said he seems so happy. You must be pretty good for him.”

My face warmed. I felt like clapping my hands to my heart and swooning. I felt like walking over to Brian and wrapping my arms around him and showing the world that no, they weren’t mistaken, he’d picked me, of all people.

Instead, I looked up at Kristin, changing the subject. “Do they talk a lot?” I blurted out, of all the asinine questions.

Kristin shrugged, her face veiled suddenly, evasive, maybe a touch guilty. “They’ve been talking more,” she said simply.

“Hmm.” I kept my tone noncommittal. Brian had never once mentioned it. He was hardly obligated to tell me about every conversation he had, every shit he took -- that particular topic was at least half the reason he was friends with Nick, I was pretty sure -- but it did seem odd, surprised as he’d been to hear Kevin’s voice on Thanksgiving.

I cleared my throat. “Uh, you asked if I’d seen anyone I know. I don’t think I have yet, actually. I never met a lot of my music sources in person.” I’d glanced around a handful of times already for a face I recognized, a producer or an artist I’d profiled -- the guys knew a lot of people, and I’d been here before for stories -- but I came up short. Had I already been gone so long?

“I was just curious.” Kristin nabbed two little bacon-wrapped concoctions off a passing tray and proffered one to me. I popped it into my mouth; it was a huge, stuffed green olive.

Brian and Kevin walked back over to us. Brian slipped an arm around my waist and pecked me on the lips. I caught a hint of whiskey. He licked his lips and grinned.

“Mmmmmm, bacon,” he said, doing his best Homer Simpson.

I sighed. “I cannot take you anywhere. And I’m supposed to be the crass New Yorker.”

“You’re good enough for the both of us.” He squeezed me around the waist. “I’m definitely with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

I smiled into his eyes, which did not seem to be bullshitting me. “You’re sweet. I wouldn’t say that while the bride’s in the room. She’ll black your eye.” I glanced around. I didn’t see A.J. and Rochelle, come to think of it. Probably taking pictures or consummating their marriage upstairs or whatever newlyweds did during their guests’ cocktail hour.

“So, Meg, how you liking La-La Land?” Kevin had slipped his hand into Kristin’s and was surveying the crowd.

“I think the air tastes different here. And I don’t think that’s all smog,” I said. A woman walked past, her hair dyed lavender to match her dress. I was pretty sure she was not Lady Gaga. Maybe one of her ladies-in-waiting. Maybe she went to the same hair salon as Rochelle. Either one of those would probably get you a mention on TMZ.

Kevin chuckled. “It’s definitely not. Still feels a little weird to be out on the beat.”

“Out on the beat? Stealing my reporter talk?” His lingering good-ol'-boy drawl and easy smile put me at ease. I was certain it ran in the family, blood and band alike. The last Backstreet Boy I had to win over. The thought was fully formed before I could stop it, and I dared not speak it out loud.

Across the room, I finally spotted a familiar face. “Speaking of which,” I said, “I think I need to go say hi to one of the Neptunes.” I made the words as casual as possible. NBD. Just one of the biggest names in hip-hop and one of the few people out here who had always, always given me the time of day. I could not imagine what they were doing here, and then, in my next breath, I realized friendship was a funny thing in this place, another thing that tasted different.

Brian followed my gaze. “Oh, yeah. I haven’t seen that guy in years. They did a remix for us on Black and Blue. I’ll go with you.” He pinched my waist and winked. “I need to show you off, sweet girl.”

I mock-glared at him. “You need to show me off? Like I’m a new car?”

He kissed my cheek. “You’re better than a car. If only just.”

Kevin made a disgusted noise, and Kristin laughed. “Enjoy that while it lasts, Meg. It’ll wear off faster than cheap gold plating.”

We wove our way through the room, Brian’s fingers laced through mine. He paused a few times to say hello to a face he recognized, always touching the small of my back as he added, “Hey, I’d like you to meet my lady friend, Meg.”

Finally, we reached Pharrell from the Neptunes, who was wearing, so help me God, a shorts tuxedo with Vans sneakers. He looked like James Bond from the waist up and a Less Than Jake roadie from the waist down.

“What’s up, bro?” Brian exchanged a complicated handshake with Pharrell that ended in a bro-hug.

“Hey, man, just enjoyin’ the blessed occasion.” Pharrell’s eyes landed on me, and he squinted as if trying to place me. “Now, don’t tell me. I should remember that hair.”

I smiled. I’d tamed my hair with a clip tonight, but it was a nice excuse. “Meg Michaels, Rolling Stone. It’s been a while, dude. I wanted to come over and say hi in person for once.”

“It has.” Pharrell hugged me. “You ain’t rung my cell lately. They keepin’ you busy?”

“I cover politics now. Run for Congress, and I’ll give you a call.” I winked.

“Aw, man. You think music’s bad?” He turned to Brian. “We gotta do another remix. I think I got A.J. almost halfway convinced to do another solo album.”

Brian clapped him on the shoulder. “Man, good luck with that. I think he’s gonna be a little preoccupied for a while.”

I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye and glanced over to see a black-clad photographer with an industrial bar through one ear. He flashed his teeth in a cheesy grin.

“Aw, crap,” Brian muttered as Pharrell wandered away. “Now you’ll be on TMZ.”

“Oh, I think they’ll just call me ‘a guest,’” I muttered back. “Unless we do something to make them pay attention.” I saw another flash out of the corner of my eye as Brian took my hand again, playing with my fingers. “That might qualify.”

“Hate to break it to you, girl,” Brian said through his teeth, “but if it’s a slow news day tomorrow, you’re gonna have a few new Google hits no matter what.”

“So you’re just being sweet because you can?”

He grinned. “I can’t help it. I’m the sweetest person you know.”

I kissed him. Screw the photographers. “You’re a pain in the ass is what you are,” I said against his lips.

“God, break it up.” Howie was at my elbow. “You’re like a couple of teenagers. If I look over on the dance floor and Rok’s trying to cop a feel, I’m gonna blow a dart at you.”

“Do you often bring blow darts to formal events?” I deadpanned.

“Oh, no, he totally does,” Brian said. “He blew a tranquilizer dart at Kevin at his wedding when he thought he was getting too nervous. It was like watching a friggin’ sequoia fall.”

The gorgeous, purple lace-clad, dark-haired woman next to Howie rolled her eyes, but played along. “We won’t even talk about our wedding. I had to send one of my bridesmaids to confiscate it. We could have had a lot of fun with that during Mass.”

“Very funny, girls.” Howie placed a hand on the woman’s back. “Meg, I’d like you to meet my wife, Leigh.”

Leigh squeezed my hand in both of hers. “It’s wonderful to meet you finally. These guys were just ecstatic when you and Brian became a couple, so I figured you had to be great. What did you give them on that tour?”

I grinned. “Special brownies?”

Howie cleared his throat. “We had a deal, Miz Michaels,” he mock-grumbled. “Anyway, I’m supposed to tell you to go back in the ballroom. We’re gonna have dinner soon. I think they stuck us all at one table.”

“Good. More time to…” Brian exchanged a speaking glance with Howie, who nodded.

Leigh smiled at me, a little wearily. “The original psychic friends. Better get used to it.”

In the ballroom, the red velvet chairs had been rearranged around red-draped tables. Nick was already sitting at our table near the front, staring at a tray of artful little rolls and crackers.

“Y’know, you should probably buy that bread a drink if you’re going to undress it with your eyes like that,” Brian cracked as he plopped into the seat next to Nick.

Nick rubbed his stomach. “That sandwich was a long goddamn time ago, Rok.” His eyes landed on me, and he wolf-whistled. “Meg, you’re a laaaaaaaaady! What is up?”

Brian glared at Nick, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “I’m the only one who gets to whistle at her. Get your own. You could probably get some bridesmaid booty tonight.”

“You ain’t wrong. Giggity.” Nick waggled his eyebrows at Brian as he got up to hug me.

I side-hugged Nick around the waist. “Carter, you say giggity again while you’re touching me, and I’m within rights to punch you.”

“Nick, don’t scare off Brian’s nice girlfriend,” Kevin said wearily, as if Nick were a toddler pulling the cat’s tail, as he sat down across the table.

“If you’d been on that bus, you’d know it’s a little late for that,” I said, doing my valiant best to ignore the look that passed among them as soon as that first part was out of my mouth.

No sooner had we all settled into our seats than someone near the front of the room played a trumpet and we were on our feet again, cheering wildly for A.J. and Rochelle as they entered the ballroom, holding their joined hands triumphantly in the air and grinning incandescently. Brian squeezed my hand hard, and I could see in his eyes how close he was to bursting with joy for his friend.

Waiters brought out course after course, a colorful salad, a velvety orange soup, steak, new glasses of wine to go with them all. I sat up as straight as I could, tried to use the proper forks, swallowed before I spoke. I was a long way removed from the country, but this wasn’t quite my element. I was pretty sure Brian and I both were far too domestic for this, and I didn’t quite think it counted as the wining and dining he’d tried to promise me in the beginning.

The two wives were ridiculously nice, and we fell into an easy conversation about photography and music and the guys, rearranging ourselves to sit together. It was only when the talk turned to kids that I glanced across the table and noticed all five guys engrossed in conversation, their chairs pulled together, A.J. squatting on his haunches beside them as Rochelle drifted to the next table.

“What do you suppose they’re so serious about?” Leigh took a sip of her wine. Kristin took a long drink of her wine as well, gazing at the front of the room, her expression unreadable. Leigh scowled at her. “Well, you’re real useful.”

“They’re probably talking about fantasy football,” I said helpfully. Both women looked at me like I’d grown another head, for the first time in the conversation, and it was my turn to hide in my wine.

As we were finishing our cake -- which, unsurprisingly, was about seven tiers tall and topped with what looked like an elaborate sugar Eiffel Tower -- A.J. and Rochelle walked onto the huge dance floor, hand in hand. A 10-piece band had encamped near the dance floor, but they sat idle. Instead, something pre-recorded spilled forth from their speakers as they embraced and began to waltz. Something familiar and very, very ridiculous.

Brian’s voice filled the room from 12 years in the past: “You are my fire…

No,” the wives and I said out loud. All four guys at the table, including Kevin, gave us shitty grins. I could feel everyone in the room looking at our table.

“You knew about this,” I said to Brian as I sat down next to him again. It clearly wasn’t a question.

He was practically cackling. “’Course I did. A.J.’s horrible at surprises.”

I patted his knee. “Remind me to tell you a story about my birthday.” This song, after all, would never not remind me of going for a punishing run that morning, fighting a losing battle against my emotions when I was sure all was lost with Brian.

“Oh, yeah. When was that?” He laid an arm across the back of my chair.

I cleared my throat delicately. “About three weeks after I left the tour.”

Brian looked at his lap and mumbled something about shitting the bed. I couldn’t be sure in this light, but I thought I saw his face reddening.

“Yes, you did.” I couldn’t quite keep the smile out of my voice.

He winked at me. “Will you let me make it up to you next year?”

I pressed my lips together against a smile, a wave of warmth. “Depends if you’re sick of me yet.”

He pulled me closer. “I wouldn’t worry too much about that, sweet girl.”

The band struck up “Dynamite” as soon as “I Want It That Way” ended, and Rochelle turned to the rest of the room, beckoning us to the dance floor with both arms. Kristin grabbed my hand and pulled me up before I could object.

The room seemed to explode in color and light and music as the band played song after song, their range impressive, never slowing down for a moment. I never wanted for a drink in my hand or a dance partner. Brian seemed to be in the mood to dance, and our late night in Nashville proved to have been no fluke; we made a good pair on the dance floor. There was no confusion now, just pure joy. And knowing what else he could do with his body gave me a whole new appreciation for his dancing. More than once, his eyes teased me with the promise of later. The I am going to sleep with you look didn’t scare me anymore. Far from it.

At one point, Rochelle grabbed my hand and twirled me around and pulled me into a circle with the wives. I remembered how kind she was, but being included with the wives was a whole different level. Somehow, it didn’t scare me, either, and I gamely sang with them, “I wanna be the one to walk in the sun, oh, girls, they wanna have fu-un...

Maybe this could be my element after all. I was about as interested in moving to L.A. as Brian seemed to be in moving back, but this was my first time seeing the guys as his girlfriend, my first time seeing their wives at all, and it felt seamless, easy, natural. I’d never been the kind of person who’d had tons of friends, but yes, perhaps these could be my friends. This was the last piece I’d had to worry about.

Eventually, the music stopped. I looked around. The guys had disappeared to a corner of the floor. A.J. beckoned Rochelle over as someone brought out a chair for her to sit in. Leigh tugged my elbow as we all backed away, giving them some room. Kristin pulled her phone out of her bra, and I saw her open the video app.

All five guys started to harmonize, a chorus of “ooooohs,” then “Just to be close to ya…

“Awww.” Leigh sighed in my ear. “They did this at our wedding.”

I could hear a murmur in the crowd. I looked at her. “All of them?” The glance she gave the floor answered my question.

I wrapped my arms around myself and listened. If there was such a thing as a deep cut with the Backstreet Boys, this was it. I’d only heard this song once, years ago. Their voices sounded so different now that it was no wonder they didn’t seem to perform it much anymore.

A.J. was down on one knee as his part in the song arrived. “There will never be no one else for me,” he sang, his heart in every word. ”You are like a dream that became reality.”

Rochelle had her back to me, but her hands went to her face. I smiled. What a nice treat for her.

Was this what I had to look forward to?

Michaels, you idiot! Quit putting the cart before the horse!

I glanced over my shoulder. At least half a dozen other people were taking video on their phones. It was suddenly as clear as day. My heart turned over with the realization. Of course. If there wasn’t something on TMZ tomorrow, I’d be stunned. That was their scheme, their serious conversation.

I looked back at the front of the room, at Kevin, at the clear enjoyment on his face. This wasn’t just a treat for the bride. It was a teaser for the rest of us.

Now Nick was singing: “So lonely is the night without you to hold meeeee tight…”

That was an awkward thing to sing when you were the best man. I caught his eye and shook my head at him. I could have sworn he mouthed “Bite me” before he started harmonizing with the others again.

Brian stole a glance at me as he jumped in. “My life would mean nothing without the jooooooy you bring to meeeee.” He winked at me.

Leigh elbowed me gently. “God love him,” she whispered. “And God love you.”

I didn’t look at her, but kept watching the guys. I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the wedding, but maybe the cart wasn’t too far in front of the horse.

When the song ended, Brian walked up to me and kissed my cheek. “Let’s get some air,” he said, before I could say anything.

Outside, the night air had grown chilly, and I shivered. Brian shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and draped it over my shoulders. I slipped my arms into it and pulled it around me, and he took my hands and pulled me close, kissing me back by my ear. It was a pretense.

“Kevin’s coming back,” he said into my ear. The smile in his voice was unmistakable.

There it was. The three words seemed to explode in the air. I feigned surprise. “You’re shitting me.”

“I am serious as sin. We need to talk to Jenn and stuff, we can’t say anything for a while, but I think we’re gonna make this happen.” He was grinning from ear to ear as I pulled back to look at him. “I don’t know how yet. But…” He squeezed my hand. “Stay tuned.”

Hearing him say it, I was suddenly flooded with the implications. There would be press, there would be performances. Maybe a tour. Maybe an album. Their 20th anniversary wasn’t far away. Holy shit. This was bigger than Kevin. It was bigger than us. I opened and closed my mouth several times, like a dying fish.

Finally, I threw my arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “Y’all crazy, but you said we’re a team, and I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

“It’s gonna be a big year, girl.” He squeezed me around the waist. Hope filled his voice. “You gonna be there?”

I pulled back. His eyes were shining with anticipation and, yes, prompting me to answer. I bit my lip. “You gonna let me?” I parried.

He pulled his jacket a little closer around me, tugging me closer by the lapels. “I think we can make something work.”

Our lips met in a sweet kiss that quickly deepened. I slipped my arms around his waist, and he ran restless hands up and down my back through the jacket.

“I’m gonna order a car,” he whispered against my lips, one hand leaving my back, no doubt going for his phone. “We need to go in and tell them bye.”

“So soon?”

He pulled back. The naughty look in his eyes brooked no argument.

In the car, with Brian’s jacket still tucked around me, I laid my head on his shoulder. My feet were throbbing, my eyelids heavy. The Uber would surely turn back into a pumpkin at any moment. My ears rang and my brain swirled with too much music and joy, too many drinks hitting me at once.

“That might have been the happiest I’ve ever seen two people,” I said.

He laced his fingers through mine. “If couples could always remember how they felt tonight, I think they’d stay happy a lot longer.” His thoughtful voice was leavened with a little too much whiskey that seemed to be hitting him all at once, too. “I mean… Yeah. You know what I mean.”

I smiled. There was something bittersweet in the thought, knowing what he’d been through, but I dared not bring it up. “I think you’re on to something.”

Brian squeezed my hand. “You really were the most beautiful woman there. Don’t tell them I said that.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” I snuggled closer to him.

He tilted my face up to his, fingers under my chin. “You’re safe with me.”

It could have been the drinks at work on my brain, but it didn’t feel like a silly comeback at all. His eyes, so blue even in the dark, implied otherwise. I leaned in and kissed him, a kiss I meant as much as I’d ever meant anything, and the world seemed to narrow to our lips and spin around us.

The driver cleared his throat what felt like 15 seconds later. I broke the kiss and looked out the window to see Brian’s little tile-roofed hiding-in-plain-sight bungalow, glowing softly with expensive uplighting. Time flies when you’re sucking face. Brian tore himself away to fumble with his credit card, and then he was grabbing my hand and pulling me out of the car so abruptly that I almost tripped over my heels.

It was dark inside the house, but moonlight patterned the floor through the back sliding door. I leaned against the wall, pulled the clip out of my hair and shook it loose. “Wonderful Tonight” popped into my head, and I hummed a few bars, watching Brian in the dark as he locked the door. He took his jacket off me and hung it on a hook by the door, and then he was sliding one arm around my waist and bracing the other against the wall as he pulled me close, surrounding me with his warmth and his scent.

“My darlin’, you were wonderful tonight,” he half-whispered, half-sang as he nuzzled my hair aside and nibbled the junction of my neck and shoulder. I didn’t bother trying to muffle a moan, but he covered my lips with his before I could make another sound.

The world was spinning and tilting again. I wrapped my arms around his neck to keep from slithering down the wall, dizzy with desire. His hands slid down, splaying over my ass and giving it a healthy squeeze, before lifting me off the floor so I could wrap my legs around his waist, my skirt bunching around mine. I could feel him hard against me, and I moaned again into his mouth.

After what could have been seconds or hours, I felt Brian work one hand between me and the wall, ease down the zipper on my dress. His other hand was on my ass under my dress. He broke the kiss, and his eyes were startlingly intense and so very, very blue. It was hardly the first time we’d had sex, not even the first time this visit, but something about this felt more serious, more passionate.

“I meant it, sweet girl.” His eyes dropped to where his hand was tugging at the neck of my dress, easing it down along with my arm so he could kiss my collarbone.

“Mmmmeant what?” I tangled my fingers in his hair to hold him to the spot, but he lifted his head again.

“Look at me,” he whispered, so uncharacteristically serious that I looked. There was a hope and a passion in his eyes I’d never seen. Never.

“I wanna share all these…these things with you.” His soft voice roared in the silent house. “I wanna share my life with you. I want that to be us.”

The world narrowed to his eyes, which felt very far away, even though our faces were inches apart. I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the moment engraving itself on my heart and mind. I hadn’t been so stupid to think of other weddings tonight. Some couples saw their turning point only in the rearview mirror. I saw ours right here, against this wall, which was not lost on me.

“Are you asking?” My voice came out very small and shaky.

“I’m saying I’m all in.” He ran the backs of his fingers down my cheek, a tender, feather-light touch that made me shiver. His eyes crinkled a little in the corners. “I really…really love you, Meg. Really.”

My throat constricted around any words I possibly could have offered him. Instead, I pressed my hands to his cheeks, so he couldn’t get away, and I hoped my kiss could get the point across. I’m all in. Ask me. I’ll say yes. I want this. I want you. I’ll never stop.

Finally, my throat stopped burning, and I broke away just long enough to whisper, “I love you, Brian. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands were under my ass again as he pulled me tighter against him. “Yes, you are,” he whispered against my lips. I still couldn’t quite tell if he was joking as he went on, “You’re gonna come to my bed and let me love on you, and I’m never gonna let you leave.”

He finally stepped back from the wall, still holding me close, and we stumbled toward the bedroom, our promises hanging in the wake of every step.

End Notes:

Remember, in 2011-ish, “Happy” was nowhere near a thing yet and Pharrell was mostly just one of the Neptunes.

I believe I remember reading that the “I Want It That Way” thing actually did happen at A.J.’s wedding.

Also, my first-ever fic (when I was about 14) may or may not have featured the guys singing “Just to Be Close to You” to the protagonist at her wedding…

Part II by Ellebeth

Part II

9/7/13: noon

Louisville

The doorbell rang again. Rochelle leapt up from the couch as if it was on fire. “That better be who I think it is.”

I craned my neck toward the front door and heard her harrumph as she opened the door to let Kevin in. “It’s not,” she informed me.

“Nice to see you, too, Ro.” Kevin cast his eyes around the room as he ambled into the foyer, nodding his head politely at each of us in turn. “Lindie. Miz Fuller.” He smiled down at me. “Miz bride-to-be.”

“What’s up, Mufasa?” I greeted him.

“Not a whole lot.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth slowly on his heels. “I see you’re all having an exciting day.”

Lindie and I were stretched out on the overstuffed leather couch, mimosas in hand, feet on the coffee table, a space for Rochelle between us. My damp hair was wrapped in a towel, and I had exchanged my pajamas for frayed jean shorts and an old Western shirt left over from my Uncle Tupelo-and-Schlitz phase circa 2006, green plaid sleeves rolled to my elbows. Mom was sitting in an armchair, working a cross-stitch. Chicago was on the TV in the corner. Alicia and Baylee had both gone off to shower.

“The other half of Meg’s wedding present was supposed to have been here at 11:30,” Rochelle said.

Lindie drained her mimosa. “It’s a mani-pedi-mobile,” she informed me.

I looked between her and Rochelle. “That so?”

Rochelle rolled her eyes. “Way to go, Lindie. Anyway,” she continued pointedly, “the girl texted and said she had a flat tire. That was…” She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her yoga pants. “20 minutes ago. So until then…” She gestured at the TV. “Oh, and it’s time to take your hair down,” she said to me. “I think the leave-in stuff should be done by now.”

I got up and side-hugged Kevin. “Thanks for coming by. I’ll go see if Baylee’s ready.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Kevin protested. “I’ll go.”

“I insist.” I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted down the hallway, “BAYLEE! LOOK ALIVE!”

“Coming!” he shouted back.

I smiled brightly at Kevin, who was shaking his head, as I unwrapped my hair. “See how easy that was?”

Rochelle’s phone rang. “Mani-pedi girl!” she said cheerfully, and walked off toward the kitchen.

Kevin looked around. “OK. So. The suits are in the room.”

I pointed to the box of greenery and white flowers in the sitting room. “And the boutonnieres and so forth are in there.”

“Right. I’ll get those. He shouldn’t need to bring that much other stuff.” Kevin scratched the back of his head nervously. He was holding a pink gift bag in his other hand.

“He has a list. I helped him dig up everything this morning. We’re good.” I patted his arm. “Deep breaths, Mufasa.”

He blew out a breath. “Your fiancé is a mess. I think he’s rubbing off.”

I screwed up my mouth, a momentary little current of concern coursing through me. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s just excited. He woke up and had his coffee and instantly started spazzing out. He is dying to talk to you.” Kevin grinned down at me and patted his pocket. “I had to take his phone away.”

In the background, Renee Zellweger trilled, He looooooves me so, and it all suits me fiiiiiine... I wanted to clap my hands to my heart and swoon, but I had an image to uphold, so I swallowed my lovesickness and just snickered. “That sounds right. Alicia took mine.”

“You two are like a couple of teenagers.” Kevin smiled. “I thought this day would never come. And I didn’t even get to see you two get started. I, uh…”

He studied his fingernails, suddenly serious. “Look, I know you and I…haven’t exactly had the…bonding time…that you and the rest of the guys did back when you and Brian first met. But you’re a friend to all of us in a big way, not just another one of the ladies – even though the ladies are obviously all really important to us, too.” He cracked his knuckles. “You are everything to my boy Brian, though,” he said quietly. “And today is, uh…” He shook his head as if frustrated with himself. “I’m not expressing myself well. I’m really happy for you guys. I want nothing but good things for you. But that seems really inadequate. You know?”

“You’re killin’ me.” My voice was shaking a little, betraying me.

“You – you know what I’m trying to say.” Kevin reached out and hugged me hard, swiftly, arms around my shoulders, rocking me back and forth. “You’re a hell of a lady. You got us the old Brian back.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed the lump in my throat. “Dammit anyway, Kevin.”

He patted my back awkwardly, then let me go and thrust the gift bag at me. “And here, you should have this.” He smiled sheepishly. “It’s from Kris. She said it’s your something borrowed. I have no idea what it is.”

There was a pink envelope and a large, red, square jewelry box. I opened it to find a pearl necklace.

Kevin’s eyes went soft with memories. “I gave that to her for our 10th anniversary. Good omen, I guess?”

I ripped open the pink envelope. The card inside was festooned with glitter and crystals. Inside, Kristin had written:

Congratulations & every blessing to you guys. Welcome to the Pop Widows Club!

See you tonight,

Kristin xoxoxo

“What’s that?” Baylee was standing at my elbow, wearing a clean T-shirt and shorts, backpack on his shoulders. He could look me in the eye now, a terrifying thought.

“A very nice gift from your Aunt Kristin.” I put the card and jewelry box back in the bag and turned to Baylee, squaring my shoulders. “OK. Show me your bag.”

Baylee took off his backpack and held it out for me to inspect. Undershirt, Nintendo DS, dress shoes, dress socks… I squinted and pushed the shoes aside. At the bottom of the backpack was a can of his dad’s most expensive hair pomade. I fished it out and held it up.

“Seriously?” I said to him. “You don’t think everyone else in that room has hair product you can use?”

“I’m being a good groomsman,” he said defensively. “Uncle Nick said I should try to remember stuff Dad would forget. He probably forgot his hair stuff.”

I handed his backpack back to him. “You’re gonna be a really good groomsman, buddy.” My heart threatened to burst as the next words left my mouth, without a thought to whence they had come, and my voice shook again, dammit. “Your dad and I are very proud of you.”

Unexpectedly, Baylee threw his arms around my neck. It was the first time he’d ever hugged me of his own volition.

“I’m really glad you’re marrying him,” he said, half into my damp hair. “You’re awesome.”

My heart stopped. I patted his back, eyes overflowing suddenly. “Me too, Baylee.”

Mom had set aside her cross-stitch and walked over by now. Over the top of Baylee’s head, our eyes connected, and I saw that she, too, was trying not to cry. She had been so thrilled to gain a grandson, even as he still called her by her first name, even as she tried to feel her way through this new relationship, tentatively putting a hand on Baylee’s back as we hugged.

Baylee pulled away from me, shifted his backpack and looked up at Kevin. “All right, Uncle K, let’s move out,” he said, stiffening in a march toward the front door.

Kevin had picked up the box of flowers. He sighed. “You are too much, short man.” He knocked an affectionate, teasing elbow into my shoulder. “Next time I see you, you’ll be a bride.”

“I’m sure gonna try.” I knew as I said it that I meant so much more. A bride, a wife, a stepmom. A mom, I hoped, one of these days. Things every little girl dreamed of. Things I had never dreamed I would be to this guy’s wonderful cousin, to this ornery not-so-little boy who had just cut the crap and hugged me like he meant it.

“You’re gonna do great.” Kevin winked, and then he was walking out the door, leaving me barefoot in my foyer, with six hours and 20 minutes until I married Brian Littrell.

Part II: Chapter 4 by Ellebeth

6/21/12

Manhattan

“Michaels.” Matt practically jumped into my path.

I blinked at the sudden obstacle standing between my lunch hour and my desk. This day had been going so well. The sun was shining, and the air felt about as clear as it ever had in late June. The ferry ride had never felt so much like the beginning of Working Girl. The pizza place downstairs had slices half-off today. I was even having a rather good hair day. Best of all, my editor, Matt Taibbi, whose voice made me want to punch a cat, who thought he was Hunter S. Thompson’s heir but really wasn’t fit to be Dr. Thompson’s shoe-shine boy, hadn’t shown up in the newsroom. Until now. His sudden appearance, his broad, swarthy, unnaturally young-looking face looming before mine, was a literal and metaphorical cloud over the day.

He jerked his head toward a conference room on the other side of the newsroom. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” My voice came out a little too high, and I cleared my throat and held up the Styrofoam cup of Diet Coke in my hand. “Let me put this down, grab a notepad.”

“You won’t need it,” he tossed over his shoulder as he walked in the direction he had just pointed me.

I narrowed my eyes after him. I took one more fortifying gulp of soda, dropped my purse into my desk chair and headed for the small conference room, notepad and pen in hand.

I was two steps from the door when I noticed a woman in an electric blue blazer sitting at the conference table. I didn’t know her name off the top of my head, but I’d seen her a few times, and the sight of her today froze me in place. I knew this much: She was from HR.

Matt had stopped to talk to someone. I glanced around. It seemed awfully quiet. On the other side of the newsroom, I could see a guy my age I didn’t know well standing over his desk, filling a cardboard box. A sniffle closer to me seemed to echo off the walls. I walked into the room on legs that suddenly felt like rubber, and Matt closed the door behind him as I settled into my seat.

I waited for someone to speak. The HR lady tapped a thin stack of papers on the round tabletop. She had a pinched face and a severe red bob. There was, I noticed, a small box of cheap tissues sitting in front of her as well. Matt folded his hands in front of him on the table, tapped his thumbs together, then quickly put his hands in his lap. He looked like a frat boy in a police interrogation room.

“Meg, have you met Sheryl from HR?” he said, his voice tight.

I shook my head. Sheryl extended a hand across the table, her fingers clenching mine in the sort of no-nonsense handshake I imagined she expected from applicants. Her voice was a touch nasal. “Pleasure to meet you.” I had a sick feeling the pleasure wasn’t going to be mine.

Matt seemed to force himself to look at me. “I’m gonna have to rip the Band-Aid off here. We gotta let you go.”

I could hear the whoosh of my own blood in my ears, the sound of my own heart in free-fall.

“This has nothing to do with your performance,” Matt went on, blurring before my eyes. “I’ve been told from up above that things aren’t getting better for us financially. I might as well tell you there are a number of people leaving today.” He looked down at his hands. “They…wanted staff’s direct editors to break it to them.”

Sheryl pushed some of the papers across the table toward me. I stared at them, my jaw slack. She spoke briskly, as if from a script, but her voice seemed to be coming from the end of a tunnel. “You’re entitled to one week of severance pay for each year of service. We’re rounding to the closest year, so that means you’ll receive four weeks of severance. Your medical and dental coverage will end at that time as well. That’ll be…” She consulted one of the papers she’d kept in front of her. “July 19.”

Four weeks from today. I did hasty math in my head. “So today’s my last day,” I finally croaked.

“Yes.” She tapped the top sheet of paper. “We have some other business to address.”

Every journalist in America had dreaded this day for the last three or four years. No one, it was now painfully clear, was immune. Some greeted it with tears, some with anger, some with a flash of their lives before their eyes. I felt like I was watching the room through a microscope, clinical, far removed. This was not my life. It was someone else’s. And I burned with anger, a sudden explosion of anger, at the people who would do this to the stranger I was watching.

My throat tightened, and I cleared it. “Could I have a moment with Matt first?”

“Of course.” Sheryl stood up from the table and parked herself outside the conference room. I could feel her studying me through the window, like a gorilla in the zoo.

My hands were starting to shake violently. Don’t cry, a voice in my head said angrily. Don’t you dare fucking let him see you cry. Keep breathing.

I stared across the table at Matt, who was studying the tabletop as though it held ancient secrets to life itself. Why in God’s name had I ever left music? Why had I chosen to spend what ended up being my last nine months at my dream job working for this clown? Thomas, my old editor, that mean and rumpled old lion, never would have let this happen to me.

When at last he looked up and spoke, his voice was quiet, penitent. “Meg, I’m sor—”

“Fuck off,” I said. The effort to keep my voice steady was exhausting enough without unleashing everything I was dying to tell him. “Just save it and fuck off.”

Matt looked back down at the table. He pressed his lips together. “Obviously, there’s nothing I can say. But don’t shoot the messenger.” There was a lethal edge to his voice.

Silence settled over the room. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I looked out the window at Sheryl, who suddenly took an interest in her fingernails.

“I’ll be outside when you’re done with Sheryl,” Matt said finally. “It’s been nice working with you, and I’ll help you get a job wherever you want. This is really hard for me.”

He’d hit exactly the right spot, the critical chink in the armor. My eyes flooded. “Hard for you?” I echoed, my voice cracking under the weight of my incredulity.

Matt shoved back from the table abruptly, his chair groaning against the floor. He never had been one for emotion. “I’ll be outside,” he repeated hastily, his expression unreadable, as he all but fled the room, brushing past Sheryl in the doorway, who looked after him with mild surprise. I ripped a Kleenex violently from the box on the table and waved her into the room.

Sheryl was the picture of efficiency, shuffling papers, collecting shaky signatures, reciting insurance terms and severance policies, ignoring the spasming muscles in my face as I fought to keep it a composed mask. My brain was mush by the time I stumbled out. Or soup, a soup of memories and disbelief. Not working at Rolling Stone. I could not imagine a world in which that was true. It wasn’t true. Not yet.

Matt was standing next to my desk with a printer paper box. The writer who sat next to him was staring up at him in terror. Her head snapped forward to look at her screen, with the same attention Sheryl had given her fingernails, as I approached.

“You have 10 minutes,” Matt said. He avoided my eyes as he set the box on my desk.

“Until?” I prompted.

“UntilsecurityandIwalkyouout,” he mumbled in one breath.

Like a common criminal. Christ. Staring at him, I yanked my bottom desk drawer, the one half-full of mementos from the music beat, off its track and emptied it into the box. I threw in my purse, sneakers and termination paperwork. I shouldered my messenger bag and looked down at my desk phone. The entire process had taken 45 seconds. The other writer was staring openly at me now. I ignored her.

“Let’s go.” I grabbed the box, heavy with my life’s work, and stared a hole in Matt’s guilty olive face until he turned to start walking.

As we approached the reception desk, a tall man with slouching shoulders in a wrinkled blue dress shirt, a ring of gray hair sinking ever lower on the back of his head, stood with his back to us. In front of him was a woman in a bright purple sheath dress who couldn’t have been a day over 25, blonde hair in a severe asymmetrical cut, eyes pink and chin trembling. Thomas had hired her to replace me on the music beat. And today, he was escorting her to her fate. He was no better than Matt after all. My own eyes prickled again as they caught his victim’s. Thomas turned to follow her eyes to me, but in the instant his face fell, the elevator doors opened, and two tan-shirted security guards walked out to meet us.

The elevator was as silent as a library, the six of us crammed in. I shifted the box in my arms. The young music writer sniffled loudly.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Afternoon, Michaels.” His voice was scratchy, and he swam before my eyes as I looked over my shoulder at him. I was too afraid of bursting into sobs to reply. I managed a jerky nod of acknowledgement, which made the tears spill over. I saw a muscle tick in his jaw -- he had never handled crying staffers well, either -- but there was only a shockingly uncharacteristic pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed silently, as if it had been his doing. I nodded again and faced forward, wiping my eyes with my shoulder, leaving a faint streak of mascara on my sleeveless blue blouse.

In the lobby, the click of the music writer’s heels echoed on the marble floor, cold, jarring. A security guy held the door open. His expression was blank.

This was where it ended. A horrible heat began way back by my ears and seemed to fill my head. My blood was whooshing in my ears again, and I could not quite get a breath in.

Matt looked at the floor, lips pressed together. Thomas extended a hand to the music writer, who by now looked dazed. The gesture, though, seemed to snap her out of it, and a half-wheeze, half-sob escaped her as she looked at his hand in horror. I focused on a spot above her head so the sight of her tears wouldn’t break my fragile, hard-won composure as she turned to storm out.

And now it was just me. Thomas’ jaw was clenched again. Matt opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. These were the last faces I’d see here, probably the last time I’d see them, the man who’d hired me for my dream beat, the man who’d fired me from what had come to feel like my consolation beat.

“Thomas,” I said hoarsely, nodding at him again. “Thank you.” There was nothing else I could say, but I willed my eyes to show him that I was thankful beyond any measure those two words could convey, that I’d never hated him at all, that there was no one else I could nearly call a father figure.

He nodded back, and I knew he’d gotten it by the too-gruff way he said, as he so rarely did, “Meg.”

I turned to Matt. “Taibbi.” There were volumes I could say to him, but none of it would get me another job. None of it would take this day back. But there was one thing I simply had to say. He had told me not to shoot the messenger. Tough shit.

I held up a middle finger as I inched backward toward the door. “Give my regards to Wenner.”

Matt exhaled sharply through his nose. Thomas couldn’t quite stifle a smirk. And then I turned my back on both of them and walked out the door, the box growing heavier in my arms by the moment as I stumbled into the bright afternoon, the unforgiving future, sun sneaking between buildings that no longer welcomed me.

Only then, on the street, did I finally burst into tears.




7/13/12

Staten Island

“I can’t believe Village Voice never called you back. Those bitches.” Alicia twirled the bottom of her half-empty PBR bottle on the bar.

I stared into my pint of Yuengling, watching the foam evaporate. “I can. I sent them a cold résumé. What did you expect them to say?” I looked up at an unseen colleague. “‘Oh, look, one of the 17 newly laid-off Rolling Stone writers! We’ve never, ever seen one of these before! Let’s invent a position for her posthaste!’ Yes. That will absolutely happen never.”

“You’d think getting your name on Romenesko would be a better reference.” Alicia set her bottle on the bar with a little thunk. The brown glass glinted red, reflecting the vintage neon Coors Light sign behind the bar, light that gleamed off Alicia’s carefully gelled black fauxhawk.

We’d been nursing cheap beers all night in an intentionally divey little place across from the ferry terminal, a few blocks from my apartment. Springsteen came from the touch-screen jukebox on the wood-paneled wall, and the top-shelf liquor bottles all looked a little dusty. The late Yankees game was on; the guido at the other end of the bar watched intently, interjecting the occasional curse.

“So Village Voice was a no.” She shrugged. “What else?”

“Got 20 minutes?” I sighed into my glass, sending ripples across the surface of the beer. “I’ve sent out at least 50 résumés. Ten of them were cold. Every single writing job in the tri-state area on J-Jobs, plus a bunch of shitty marketing jobs on Indeed. I’ve gotten a handful of form-letter no’s and that’s it.” I took a drink to distract myself.

“Maybe it’s time to go freelance.” Alicia signaled the bartender for the check, scribbling on an invisible pad.

“Yeah, I don’t really have the time it took you to make it work,” I said. “I sat down and did the math. Financially, I can survive six months here without a job, and that’s if I really push it.”

“Financially?” Alicia echoed.

“Emotionally, I’ll be in a hug-myself jacket in another three weeks. You know this is the longest I’ve been out of work since we graduated?”

“That makes you luckier than about 90% of our contemporaries.”

I sighed. “You know what I mean. I don’t do boredom. And I never liked ramen.”

I fell silent, taking another long drink of beer, as the bartender brought the check and Alicia pulled out her credit card. It was generous to say Alicia had made it work. It was easy to be cavalier about unemployment when her credit card statement went to a split-level house in White Plains with two Volvos in the driveway and two bankers asleep upstairs, instead of her concrete-floored studio in Gowanus, Brooklyn, that cost twice as much as my little Staten Island nest. I’d never been able to take Alicia to the bar during her lean times, and the realization made me feel as bitter as it did guilty.

Alicia blew a hollow glass note across the top of her bottle, then drained it. “Well, it’s not like you have a rich boyfriend or anything.” I was sure it was meant to sound cheerfully sarcastic, but it came across a tad spiteful.

I studied my glass again. “Well…that’s the other side of it.”

“Other…” Alicia set down her bottle with a louder thunk this time. Her voice was firm. “You are NOT thinking of leaving New York on his account.”

“We’ve had some…” I paused, searching for the right word to sugarcoat the increasingly frequent sniping remarks and frosty silences. “Spirited discussions.”

A shitty grin stretched across Alicia’s face. “And here I thought all you did was have phone sex.” I jabbed an elbow into her ribs, and she snickered. “Fine. Go on.”

I sighed and swigged my beer again. “I’d really rather not. Suffice it to say paying for me to remain his long-distance girlfriend is not his ideal.”

“You probably wouldn’t have to worry about a job hunt with him around.” Alicia winked. “You’d finally have that sugar daddy you always dreamed of.”

I glared at her. “I don’t recall saying that was ever my dream.”

“You’re right. I dreamed that for you.” Alicia played another note on the rim of her bottle. “So you could have a big house I could come and visit you in. Free vacation. I could almost be convinced not to care that it’s in Kentucky.”

We both stared absently at the TV as the Yankees pitcher narrowed his eyes at home plate, then wound up with an elaborate kick of one leg.

“You’d still be alone a good chunk of the time,” she said quietly.

I nodded. “He’s not changing jobs anytime soon. He leaves for London Friday. For the new album.”

“And he’s coming here first?” Alicia said.

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

She tapped her bottle on the bar. “And he wants you in Kentucky. And I want you in New York.”

“And my mother would just as soon I move back to Illinois.” I chugged the rest of my beer and snorted. “She said I could just live at home, work at the Daily Dem. I think I’d rather chew glass.”

Alicia was silent again, twirling her bottle on the bar. On TV, I watched the pitcher curl his body up nervously again. The Yankees were down by a run. Whatever move he made next was probably the ballgame. I didn’t know baseball well, but I knew he had options, knew he had to make the best call he could on the spur of the moment, with only so much time for deliberation.

“Maybe it’s the shitty beer talking, but I think you guys have some things to talk about,” she finally said, and I could tell she was trying hard not to sound sad.

We walked out when the game ended. Alicia pointed down the street, toward her 20-year-old Toyota. “You sure you don’t need a ride home?”

I waved a dismissive hand. “I’m fine. The fresh air will do me good.”

“OK.” Alicia hugged me hard. Her voice was thick with maternal concern. “You take care of yourself, Peggy Jo.”

She walked away, but I lingered where I stood. Even on my now-daily runs, I’d been trying to avoid the ferry terminal for just this reason. Lower Manhattan stared back at me from across the bay, sparkling with promise in the late-night cool. The Big Apple. The naked city of eight million stories. My city. My New Jerusalem. “Let the River Run” popped into my head, unbidden, and my eyes protested, shedding what must have been the millionth tear since my firing.

How could I love anything more than this view, than being a cell in that beating urban heart? How could I leave this?

I ran a hand through my hair. “What the hell am I gonna do?” I asked the city, but it just blinked back at me.



“I saw LEO’s hiring an arts editor.” Brian didn’t look at me, but focused on tangling his last few noodles around his chopsticks, his voice carefully casual.

I stifled a sigh. We’d made it almost the entire meal, dammit. I’d begun to hope that we could make it through his whole brief visit.

I finished chewing an especially spicy piece of General Tso’s chicken and gave equal focus to picking up another, one of the last pieces of meat in the bowl, the vegetables already gone. I kept my voice just as casual. “Yeah, I saw your emails. Both of them.”

“Couldn’t remember if I sent it the first time,” he mumbled. I didn’t need to look at him to know his ears were red. He was a comically bad liar. He wiped his mouth, still not looking at me. “What do you think?”

The timing was unbeatable. The job at the Louisville Eccentric Observer was admittedly perfect for me and my qualifications, though I hadn’t done any fine arts writing since the first year of my first job in St. Louis. I hadn’t worked at a regular alt-weekly since that job, either, and I couldn’t deny they had a lot of charms.

But.

“I’m working on the cover letter,” I lied. The chicken in my mouth couldn’t quite take the edge off my voice.

Brian set down his chopsticks, and now an edge crept into his voice as well. “I’m just trying to help, Meg.”

The spot between my eyes started to ache, and I rubbed it. “I know. You’re doing plenty. I still have a lot to think about.”

“Like?” Brian prompted.

I sighed loudly enough that a guy a couple tables over glanced at me. “Are we really doing this here?”

We were sitting in the Chinese restaurant near my place where we’d had our first official date, the day he’d shown up here in New York and we’d agreed to give this a shot. I had known then our relationship wouldn’t be easy. There had been no sugarcoating that. But there had been no imagining that a year after we’d first laid eyes on each other in person, he’d be recording a huge new album and I’d be in sink-or-swim mode.

“I’m sorry if I’d like some resolution before I leave the country for, you know, months.” Brian tapped his chopsticks on the table irritably.

I pointed my fork at him. “But that’s exactly my point, Brian. Is now really the right time for me to move out there? I’d be as alone there as I am here.”

Brian was shaking his head. “Except there, it’d be temporary.”

A little scoff escaped me. “How temporary, exactly? How many times have you told me what a big year next year’s going to be? Do you think you can just do that remotely?”

He chewed his lip in thought for a moment, then shrugged. There was a wounded sort of look in his eyes as he gazed out at the street. “You know, I think it was you who said, the very first time you came out there, ‘It’s not always gonna be weekends, is it?’”

It was my turn to shake my head. “Sweetie, us calling the same city home isn’t going to make us any less long-distance anytime soon. Not with the album, and not with the tour.”

Brian picked up his chopsticks again, tapped them against his plate a few times. “OK. Fine. You have a point there. I guess I just want to come home to you.” He looked at me, still hurt.

Damn it all to hell. My heart turned over in my chest. I rubbed my forehead again, rested my chin in that hand and met his gaze as I reached over to pat his hand. “Oh, Brian. Don’t you think I want that someday, too?”

He sighed and turned his hand over, rubbing his thumb over my palm. “I know you do, girl. I see it in your eyes every time we’re together. I don’t know why you don’t think someday can be now.”

I pressed my lips together as I tried to marshal my thoughts. I’d been on my own most of my adult life, living for myself and my career and little else. As much as I loved Brian, loved being with him, missed him when he was gone, our long-distance relationship made it a lot easier to keep living my somewhat selfish little life.

We’d been together for close to a year, occupied each other’s thoughts for almost exactly a year. I wasn’t getting any younger. And yet, I’d never imagined these would be the circumstances under which I’d take the next step.

“Is it so bad that I wanted to make it happen on my terms?” I finally said.

Brian shook his head. “No. I don’t blame you.” He looked down at our hands. “But there are two of us here.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

He plunged on. “What’s here, Meg? I mean, I know how much you love it here, but I know how your job hunt here is going, too. That job at LEO, God’s literally dropping that in your lap.”

The next words were out before I could stop them. “Did God take my job at Rolling Stone, too?”

Brian clenched his jaw, screwed up his mouth. He looked out the window and slowly pulled his hand away. I stared down at my plate, no longer hungry, and didn’t object when a young man in a white T-shirt cleared it away with Brian’s.

“We’ll take the check, too,” Brian muttered.



We didn’t go to bed angry. For the record, make-up sex is everything it’s cracked up to be.

Still, I didn’t sleep that night. Brian was asleep minutes after he finished, with one arm curled around my waist, but I lay awake, studying the way the orange light slanted through the window, listening to his breathing and the occasional siren outside. My mind was racing, and I had no hope it would rest. Finally, I crawled out of bed, putting on my panties and his T-shirt as quietly as I could. It hardly mattered. He wouldn’t have noticed Godzilla stepping on the building.

The A/C was working overtime, and my legs broke out in goosebumps as I walked to the kitchen. In the moonlight and streetlight, I filled my teakettle in the little sink and set it on the stove, on one of the two burners that worked. The microwave clock glowed softly green on the counter: 2:26. My kitchen took up exactly one wall of the apartment and left a lot to be desired; the counter space was about the size of a college textbook, and there was a stain on the bottom of the refrigerator that would never come out, not even with so much undiluted bleach that I’d coughed all day. But it was mine. This crappy little place, which didn’t feel any nicer after all these weekends with Brian in Louisville and L.A., was still my toehold on New York at the end of the day.

I bent a blind and stared out the window. A solitary light was on in the beauty school across the street. A bro stood down on the sidewalk, one hand jammed into his pocket and the other holding his phone to his face as he glanced back and forth. He suddenly nodded down the street, said something in a melodious Middle Eastern tongue, and started walking away. I let go of the blind, wiping my grimy finger on Brian’s shirt. He’d survive. It already wasn’t the worst thing I’d done to him this visit.

I stretched out on the couch, pulling a throw off the back of the couch and over my legs. I stared at a crack in the ceiling. Brian’s suitcases sat in the corner, next to my little TV. I knew if I unzipped one, I’d smell fabric softener and his cologne, clean and spicy and wonderful enough to bury my face in. Sometimes, I still smelled those things on my clothes at the end of a visit. It was an especially beautiful kind of pain I felt whenever I realized I bore that imprint of him on my person, not just in my heart.

I knew I was hurting him every day I pushed back against moving closer to him. Hadn’t I been so sure, though, that we’d hurt each other? Wasn’t I just fulfilling my own prophecy? Except this was the first time either of us had hurt the other, really. Loving him had proven so easy so far. It was the only easy part.

I hadn’t been lying to Alicia. He’d always vowed to support me no matter what, but the degree of his support was pretty evident: He wasn’t exactly volunteering to be my long-distance sugar daddy. He didn’t mind being that, he had said once, but only if he could actually enjoy my company.

I had considered, more than once, his subtle suggestion that I didn’t actually need to work if I was with him. It wasn’t 100% clear to me whether any of the guys’ wives did, although Howie and Kevin both had kids and A.J. would have one by Christmas. What, exactly, though, would I do if I stayed home? Write on my own terms, sure, an idea that appealed to me. But I hated the idea of sitting alone in that beautiful house for weeks or months at a time. I needed a job. I wouldn’t go without one.

I could probably handle a pay cut. Louisville had to be cheaper than New York. On the other hand, I’d probably have a car payment. Ugh. I drove once a year at best. Fuck that. Editors probably made OK money, though. I didn’t know how big LEO was. I’d flipped through it once or twice. It seemed like a nice little paper.

I sat bolt upright as I realized where my train of thought had gone. Wait, what?

On the stove, the teakettle whistled, louder than I’d expected. I hopped up from the couch and shut off the burner. I opened a cabinet and pulled out a stained white mug, opened another and rummaged through until I found a box of Bedtime Tea. There was one bag left. Score. I plunked it into the mug and poured hot water over the top.

As I waited for the tea to steep, I glanced at the microwave clock again. Christ, it was late. I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned a hip against the counter, playing with the string on the teabag. I hadn’t exactly been keeping schoolgirl hours since I’d been out of work, but I hated this time of night. It was lonely and too silent, and everything felt too close to the surface, so close that sometimes I wondered if I was losing my mind. If I woke up in the morning and Louisville seemed like a dumb idea again, I could always blame that.

The floor creaked. I opened my eyes to see Brian standing in front of me in his boxers, rubbing his eyes.

“Where’d you go?” he half-said, half-yawned.

“I couldn’t sleep. I’m just making some tea.” I smiled up at him. “Don’t worry about me.”

“’Course I worry about you.” He played with my hair, twirling a curl around his finger. I straightened up and wrapped my arms around his waist, and he pulled me close, still stroking my hair. “Of course I do,” he repeated softly.

I closed my eyes and laid my head on his shoulder. There was so much I wanted to say, so many words bubbling to the surface with my disorganized thoughts. But nothing felt as important or said as much as holding each other, and so we stood in silence while my tea and plans brewed.

End Notes:

Nerdy journalism references:
Romenesko is a long-running media blog.
“J-Jobs” is Journalism Jobs, a media job board.

If you’re curious, I listened to “Try” on repeat while I was writing the restaurant scene and “Love Will Keep You Up All Night” while writing the late-night apartment scene.

If you’ve never seen Working Girl, which is an awesome movie, the opening credits are worth a watch at this particular point. I imagine that Working Girl was secretly one of Meg’s favorite movies anyway, and that she developed a new appreciation for it after moving to Staten Island and commuting like that, every single day, to her dream job. Now that she’s lost that dream job, and her whole New York dream is in jeopardy, wouldn’t it feel a bit like salt in the wound every time she sees that Working Girl view? (If that doesn’t make you ugly-cry, here’s the full movie version of “Let the River Run.”)

Part II: Chapter 5 by Ellebeth
Author's Notes:
Re-posting after the site rollback -- if you reviewed, please review again! Thank you!

7/15/12

Queens

“Let the River Run” was on the radio in the cab. Of course it was. It was a hazy day, and I could just barely see the Empire State Building from the curlicued exit ramp as the cab inched toward LaGuardia. There was no escaping New York, mentally or physically.

Brian made a face as he craned his neck to see past traffic. “We totally should’ve left sooner.” His voice slid up and down in a passable autotune impression. “I reeeeeally hate this aiiiiirport.”

I smirked in spite of myself. “OK…B-Pain.”

“B-Pain. I’ll have to try that one on for size. B-Rok’s kinda showing its age.” He grinned and pinched my leg. “Good call, Miz Michaels.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

On the radio, Carly Simon was imploring us: Come run with me now, the sky is the color of blue you’ve never even seen in the eyes of your lover… I stole a glance at Brian, at his sky-blue eyes lit up by the mid-afternoon sunlight that streamed into the cab. He was so, so handsome, and I still had to pinch myself more often than not, that he was mine and I, of all people, was his. I found myself memorizing his chiseled profile, his dimples, every hair on his head, as I did every time one of us put the other on a plane back to reality.

It was a much bigger question mark today when I’d next see him. When the guys had first decided on this open-ended recording trip, he’d talked casually of flying me over to see London and him. If I was out of work much longer, it still wasn’t out of the question. But nothing felt certain now. A lump swelled in my throat, and I reached over and squeezed his knee, harder than I’d intended, so that he looked quizzically at me.

“I’ll miss you, goofball.” The words came out shakier than I’d expected.

He reached over to pull me close, an arm around my waist, and kissed my forehead. “I know. I’ll miss you, too.”

I closed my burning eyes. “Kick the guys out of the room for some of those Skype dates.”

His voice dropped. “Oh, well, if they’re those kinds of Skype dates, I’ll have to bust out some of the old moves.” He started gyrating against me, which turned into gyrating against the door when I laughed and pushed him away, as he sang: “If you want it to be good, girl, get yourself a…

The cabbie threw the cab violently into park and glowered at us in the rearview mirror from under a flat, weathered brown cap. “Get out.”

Brian looked out the window. “This…this isn’t the international terminal.” The cabbie continued to stare him down in the mirror until he sighed and pulled out his wallet.

“Way to go, Littrell,” I said, sliding across the worn leather seat and letting myself out.

“You started it.” He opened the trunk and started pulling out his suitcases. “Talkin’ about Skype sex in front of the cabbie. Have you even seen Taxi Driver?”

“Would you prefer I talk about it in front of the other guys?” I grabbed one suitcase, ignoring his protests, and wrestled it onto the sidewalk.

Brian shuddered as he grabbed the other suitcase. “You wanna talk about Skype sex, talk to A.J. That sick bastard. I think we decided we’re sending him to a hotel when he wants to call the wife.”

It wasn’t a horrible walk to the international terminal, but striding through the sleek white airport was a distraction in itself. I started whistling “I Want It That Way” under my breath, and he just shook his head at me.

“Kind of weird with no screaming fans, isn’t it?” I said lightly.

He didn’t say anything for so long that I assumed he hadn’t heard me. Finally, as we got in line for the baggage check, he looked at me hard for a long moment. “Maybe next year, Meg,” he muttered. “Maybe next year.”

I looked down at the suitcase handle, pushing the suitcase with my toe as the line moved. It was how I’d first fallen in love with him, back when I hardly knew what that meant and couldn’t imagine what it would truly mean one day. I could have been one of those screaming girls on the tarmac.

Now I hated the thought of sharing him with the world. And I hated myself a little for thinking that. I wanted him to be happy and successful, but I knew how desperately he wanted a life, too. And I knew how much likelier he was to get that than he was to get an airport full of screaming girls ever again.

“You want me to stand in the front row? I’ll get a sign that says, ‘Marry Me, B-Rok,’” I finally said, grinning at him. I made a show of digging around in my purse. “Here, let me find something to write on.”

It was meant to be a joke, but he greeted it with his private little smile for me. “Don’t say that until you mean it, girl. You don’t even wanna live with me.”

I knew that, too, was a joke, but he had no idea what was going on in my head today, how bloody was the mental battle that had started last night. I just elbowed him gently and dragged the suitcase another few feet.

We took our time walking to the international security line from baggage check, fingers tangled together, my heart in my throat. It was no use ripping off this Band-Aid. People were rushing past us in both directions, but in the distance, I could see that security wasn’t horrendously busy, a Friday afternoon miracle. We had a few more precious minutes together.

“You’re absolutely sure you don’t want cab money?” Brian asked me. “You came a long way with me.”

“It’s no trouble. I’m meeting Alicia for dinner in Alphabet City. I’ll just get on the subway.”

Brian stopped walking abruptly, dropped his carry-on bag and wrapped his arms around me tightly without another word. I couldn’t breathe for the lump in my throat. I buried my face in his shoulder, savoring how his body felt against mine, how we fit together, even as innocently as this. We were the only people in the airport. We were the only people in New York. My eyes filled with tears that spilled readily onto his blanket-soft green T-shirt.

“I love you so much,” he said after a long moment, pressing his lips to my forehead.

“I love you, too.” I cleared my throat and pulled back to look up into his eyes. “Um, good luck, break a leg, whatever applies here. Give the guys…give them my love. I’m really proud of you.” My voice broke on the last words.

He smiled down at me, wiping my tears with his thumbs. “That means more than you know.”

I laid my head on his shoulder again and stared out the window of the terminal as he stroked my hair. The Empire State Building was staring me down again, a little clearer than it had been half an hour ago, but still a fuzzy gray in the mid-afternoon sun. Silver cities rise, the morning lights, the streets that meet them... The skyline seemed to be singing to me itself. Come run with me now, the sky is the color of blue you’ve never even seen in the eyes of your lover.

The problem was, that sky was nowhere as good as the eyes of my lover.

I’d always have these images in my head, the countless photographs I’d taken, the memories. New York would always be my town. But I was just one of millions and millions of people who’d fallen in love with it. It would never love a single one of us back. It was already chewing me up and spitting me out where I stood.

And Jesus Christ, I couldn’t keep doing this with Brian, stealing nights and crying in airports when they ended. Maybe I’d always have to, but there had to be a better way than this.

Without really stopping to consider my words and what they meant, I looked up at him again and blurted out in a rush, “I can totally get that LEO job. I’ll move. I’ll…move to Louisville.”

He stared down at me dumbly, his eyes not comprehending my sudden reversal. I wasn’t sure I totally did, either.

I shrugged. “I want you to come home to me, too. I guess I should probably be where you call home, huh?”

He hugged me again, so tightly that I thought my ribs flexed. “OK. Um. You need to keep me posted. I’ll fly back for a few days to meet you there. I don’t care where we are with recording.”

“Is that all it takes to get you to come see me?” I teased him, even as my voice broke again.

“Shut up and let me kiss you.” He pulled back swiftly, cupped my face in his hands and gave me a long, searing kiss, definitely a “shut up and let me kiss you” kind of kiss, one that curled my toes and made me grab onto his upper arms to keep my balance.

When we finally came up for air, his eyes were very bright, but he was grinning from ear to ear.

“You are where I call home, sweet girl.” He kissed my forehead, my lips, my cheeks, my hands as I pressed them to his cheeks.

Then he was picking up his bag and walking away, glancing over his shoulder every few yards. I wrapped my arms around myself and watched him until he disappeared through security.

It would be a long few months with him overseas, but they had a purpose now. I was already writing the cover letter in my head, already formulating my words for the call to my mother and the dinner with Alicia, already planning the unbelievable next step.



8/10/12: 8:03 a.m.

Staten Island

I turned to Alicia as she flipped on the blinker mid-turn. “Aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I promise we’re not.” She navigated expertly up the side streets, away from the apartment that was no longer mine.

When the back of the borough hall came into view, I realized where she was going. “Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. So much nope.” I reached for the wheel. “Come on, Lee. That’s not cool.”

She drove slowly past the ferry terminal. It was early Friday morning, and commuters were walking up the sidewalk, streaming out of buses. I pressed a hand to the window. I wanted to touch their shoulders, to stop them and shake them and tell them not to take that boat for granted, that view, that golden opportunity.

Just past the minor-league baseball stadium, Alicia swerved into a parking space. I stared out at the city, close enough to touch. Only God knew when I would see this view again, the view I had called home for the last four years, almost to the day. It was already blurring before my eyes.

Really not cool,” I said, my voice already unsteady.

Alicia was thumbing through her iPod, connected to the ancient dash by an aux cable that felt miraculous. “C’mon. Get it all out.”

She set the iPod back on the dash, and a lonely piano filled the car, followed by Alicia Keys’ voice: Oooooh, New York…

“That’s a bitch move.” The words came out on a sob.

Grew up in a town that was famous as a place for movie scenes… I stared out at the window, tears streaming down my face. It didn’t matter where I was going. A piece of my heart would always be here, and now, finally, it was being ripped from me today. I leaned my forehead against the glass and memorized every ripple of the water, every brick, every window of lower Manhattan. I wouldn’t be here to see the new One World Trade Center finished. I still hadn’t been to the museum.

I could have spent my entire life here and learned something new about its mean, beautiful streets every single day. I’d thought for sure I would. Dammit. I ripped the pink bandana out of my hair and dabbed my eyes.

If I can make it here, I can make it anywhere, that’s what they say…

Another sniffle came not from me, but from the other side of the cab. I looked over at Alicia, whom I’d never seen cry in more than a decade of friendship, but who was wiping her eyes under her well-worn Yankees cap.

“I’m only gonna say this one more time.” Her voice was watery. “This is a bunch of bullshit. I know you have to do it, but I hate it.”

The chorus swelled, a slowed-down version of “Empire State of Mind.” Of course. I nodded. “I’ll miss you, Lee.”

She pressed her hand to the back of her mouth, wiping her eyes again. “I’ll miss you, too, Peggy Jo.” She waved a hand out at the harbor. “But that? That’s not gonna miss you. It’ll always be here, but it’s not gonna miss you. It’s not gonna love you back. He’s gonna love you back. He already does. I don’t think he’s ever gonna stop. He’s…” Her face crumpled.

Fresh tears filled my eyes. I nodded again. “I know.” I stared out at the city again. “But I’m gonna miss this so much.”

The drums came in, and it was hard to be sad. We looked at each other and giggled nervously, the other extreme on the emotional spectrum. Alicia reached over and squeezed my hand, and then she threw the truck into drive and rejoined the traffic flowing past us.

The song ended, and “Movin’ Right Along” from The Muppet Movie filled the cab as we inched along Richmond. I giggled again as I re-tied my bandana. “This is your famous road trip playlist?”

“With a few special additions, obviously.” Alicia grinned over at me. There was a bravery in her smile that, I noticed, didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re gonna have fun. We should have done this 10 years ago.”

“Liar.” I shook my head at her.

Alicia sighed. “You know me too well. I feel like I’m driving my kid to college.”

I jerked a thumb over my shoulder at the truck. “Who brings a whole U-Haul to college?”

“My roommate in Pershing did.” Alicia leaned over and craned her neck, trying to see past traffic. “A legit trailer on the back of her dad’s Blazer. I don’t know where she thought she was gonna put all those clothes. Maybe she thought our room was the TARDIS.”

“From everything you’ve said about your freshman-year roommate, I seriously doubt she knew what a TARDIS was.” I reached into my purse and pulled out two Clif bars, tearing the wrapper on both and passing one to Alicia. “Whatever happened to that ol’ bitch?”

“She lives somewhere around Kansas City. She probably married a rich guy. Last time I hate-read her Facebook page, she couldn’t wait for her kid to start kindergarten so she’d have that big ol’ house to herself.” Alicia smirked. “We’re old, you know that?”

“Definitely not getting any younger.”

I took a huge bite of my Clif bar and tried not to look out at the city again. It was in the past. The future was on the other end of this drive.



9:10 p.m.

Louisville

Snow Patrol on the stereo was the only sound in the car. The insistent, repetitive guitar chord of “Open Your Eyes” was a good match for my pounding heart.

“Turn right on Aberdeen Drive,” Siri chirped. I flipped on the blinker and twirled the loose wheel, turning onto a street that already felt as familiar as old jeans even in the dark. Especially in the dark.

The future was not 300 or 600 miles from now. The future was now.

“Lee, wake up.” I reached over and swatted Alicia’s foot as she dozed on the other side of the cab. “We’re here.”

She blinked and sat up, stretching her arms. “Nice,” she said as Brian’s neighbors’ houses rolled by. “Remind me why you’re getting an apartment?”

I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Real original.”

I put the truck in park in front of Brian’s house. The front window glowed softly. My heart turned over in my chest. She had a point. This was home now, on some level. It always would be now.

Every minute from this minute now, we can do what we like anywhere…

Alicia reached over and honked the horn, as if for good measure. “Really?” I said. She just shot me a mischievous grin.

I pulled the keys out of the ignition and collected my phone and purse, then opened the door and slowly climbed down out of the cab. The night was humid and still, a few stars visible beyond the greenish streetlamps, a frog croaking in the distance.

As I rounded the front of the truck, the front door opened, and Brian walked out. My mouth stretched into a smile that I couldn’t control. He was wearing a ratty old T-shirt and athletic shorts, and he’d swapped out his contacts for glasses, but he had never looked better to me. His eyes met mine, and he broke into a grin that lit up the night. He jogged the rest of the way across the front lawn and wrapped his arms tight around my waist. My feet left the ground.

“Hi.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “See, we came home to each other.” My voice was barely above a whisper. I didn’t dare risk it breaking under the weight of this joy, so pure, so bright that I thought my heart might explode. All the tears, the angst, the second-guessing, the arguing – it all floated away. Nothing, nothing, could beat this moment.

“We did.” He kissed my forehead, then my lips, as he set me down. “Is that OK? Can I say, ‘Welcome home’?” I nodded wordlessly, laying my head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent, and he pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Welcome home, sweet girl.”

The other cab door slammed, and Alicia’s voice came from behind me, a bit rough. “OK, you guys, break it up.”

Brian let go of me, slowly, and hugged Alicia hello. “Good to see you. You keep this one out of trouble?”

Alicia winked at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, she’s only gotten three speeding tickets in the last hour.”

We opened up the back door of the U-Haul just enough to retrieve our suitcases. The rest of it was, I supposed, going to sit here until I could get into an apartment. I shuddered at the late fees, but it didn’t seem worth getting a storage unit for what could be less than a week.

Inside the house, Alicia set down her suitcase and looked around, her eyes wide and appreciative. “Nice, Brian. Very nice.”

Brian had one hand on the small of my back, his thumb tracing circles through my T-shirt. “I do my best.”

Alicia pulled out her phone and looked at the time. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude, or an old lady, but I’m exhausted. You won’t be offended if I just go to bed, will you?”

“I spent a whole day with you.” I jerked a thumb at Brian. “Worry about him.”

Brian shrugged. “I mean, if you don’t want to stay up all night and play poker…” Alicia glared at him, even though I could see the corners of her mouth twitching, and he snickered. “OK. We’ll show you to the guest room.”

I faked a yawn and stretched my arms into the air as I followed them down the hall. “Come to think of it, I should probably hit the hay, too. Those last three hours in the dark were a doozy.” I cleared my throat meaningfully. “You must be pretty tired, too, Brian.”

“It has been kinda hard staying awake all evening,” he said as he opened the guest room door. “Jet lag and all that.”

Our eyes met, and the look in his curled my toes. My heart sped up.

Alicia looked between us and scoffed out loud. “You two ain’t gonna win any Oscars.” She held up a hand to stop the fight we weren’t really putting up. “Don’t worry. I brought earplugs.”

I hugged Alicia. “Thanks for today. You’re right. We should have done that years ago.”

“Yep. Good game.” She patted my back. “Make good choices.”

As soon as the door closed behind Alicia, I looked up at Brian. He leered down at me.

“I’m gonna take you to bed and love on you till you can’t move,” he said out loud, frankly.

Alicia shouted through the door, “God, at least give me a minute to find my earplugs!”

I ignored her. I smelled like sweat and rented truck, and my muscles were cramped, but dammit, he knew just what to say. This time, I knew, it wasn’t just the time apart. It was the commitment I’d made, we’d made. I bit my lip and lowered my head to look up at him through my eyelashes, warmth already spreading through my body.

“Is that right?” I whispered.

He didn’t answer, but cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, slowly at first, softly, then with an unexpected passion that made me stumble backward. I didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, hands creeping up his back to hold on for dear life. When we broke apart, he grabbed me around the legs, just under my ass, and hoisted me over his shoulder. I grinned at the floor as we made our way to his bedroom.

This time, I was home.



8/13/12

Louisville

“I have a confession to make.”

LEO’s managing editor leaned back in his chair, his fingers twirling a pen in a routine that would have made a professional baton twirler blush in shame. He was probably in his early 40s, though his short-sleeved plaid shirt and horn-rimmed glasses suggested a hipster half that age. His thick black hair was sprinkled generously with gray, his face pallid under an almost totally silver beard. The ancient fake-wood nameplate on his desk read: David L. House.

“I didn’t actually get in touch with your references yet,” Dave went on. “They seem to be hard guys to get to return a phone call.” He straightened up. “So lemme ask you, what do you think they’d say about you?”

I blinked. Not that I’d been on a whole mess of job interviews, but that was one question that had never been in any interview prep article I’d ever read. They’d told me how to get the wrinkles out of my gray pantsuit, which seemed bigger than when I’d started at Rolling Stone. They’d told me to sit up straight, to speak slowly, to bring an extra resume, to spit out my gum before I walked in. They’d never told me to put words in the mouths of the bosses who’d come before.

“I think my Riverfront Times editor,” I said, naming my first job in St. Louis, “would tell you that I excelled at covering a variety of beats, and that I hit the ground running and never really stopped.” I thought of Thomas, his gruffness, his demands, his trust. “I think my Rolling Stone editor would tell you,” I went on, slowly, “that there was no story I was too good for. That I was a storyteller and a talented writer. That I was good at building relationships in the newsroom and on the beat.”

Dave was nodding slowly, like a bobblehead, scribbling something on the yellow legal pad in front of me. He clicked his pen and smiled up at me. “That’s really good information. Thanks. Do you have any questions right now?”

I shook my head. I’d had a handful after our phone interview last week, but I’d gotten those out of the way when I’d shown up.

“All right.” He stood up from his chair, and I did, too. “Do you want to talk to the arts writer?”

I nodded, straightened my back. “Yes, please.”

I followed him back out to the newsroom. It was a gloriously, maybe intentionally shabby throwback, wood-paneled walls that contrasted with the building’s sleek white façade, the air redolent with that unmistakable newsroom smell of ink and BO. Late-morning sunlight streamed through the plate glass windows, illuminating the heads that turned to follow us. I made eye contact with a guy with a red ponytail who nodded in greeting and flashed a quick smile, with a black woman with short-cropped blonde hair who gave me an encouraging wink.

Dave stopped next to a young woman with a black pixie cut and an earbud dangling across her angular shoulder. A press release and an iTunes window – Girl Talk – shared her laptop screen. She popped halfway out of her seat like a startled jack-in-the-box when Dave tapped her shoulder, but flashed a wide, easy grin up at us, yanking out her earbud and jumping to her feet. She was model-tall, wearing a red pencil skirt that might have reached a shorter woman’s knees, and her loose limbs suggested a teenager. I felt like I should be chugging an Ensure.

Dave gestured between us. “Kate King, Meg Michaels. Kate’s been with us a little while now,” he said to me. “She can tell you everything you need to know about the beat.”

Kate rolled her eyes, modestly. ”Well.” She gestured to her chair, perching on the edge of her desk, as Dave walked away. I sat, and the cheap foam gave easily beneath me.

“What can I tell you?” Kate shrugged. “I came here as an intern last January. Went full-time after graduation.”

I nodded. “And where’d you go to school?”

“U of L. I didn’t know I wanted to be a journalist when I grew up until I was already here.” She grinned. “Dave said you went to Mizzou. Lucky dog.” She pointed at the red-ponytailed guy. “Scott went to Mizzou. I think Mikey did, too, but he’s not here this morning.”

“Do a lot of people come here right out of school?” I asked.

“Um…I don’t know. There’s not really any kind of average person here. We’re a motley crew.” Kate rocked back and forth a bit, hands framing the edge of the desk on either side of her. She seemed like a ball of pent-up energy. Before I could stop myself, I wondered what managing her would be like, how I could make the best use of all that energy.

I changed the subject quickly. “What do you find yourself covering most?”

She laughed in disbelief. “God, everything. The art museum, random theater productions. That press release” – she jerked a thumb at her laptop – “is about the Hunter S. Thompson mural they’re trying to put downtown. Some book reviews… I don’t know. Everything that doesn’t fit anywhere else and isn’t ‘real news.’” She made air quotes with her fingers. “But art is news, man. People want to read about what moves their soul, not about water main breaks and sh…stuff.” She seemed to catch herself just in time.

“I got my fill of ‘real news’ at my last gig,” I said, echoing her finger quotes, “so I understand.”

Kate rocked back and forth again. Her silver nose stud caught the tacky fluorescent light, and the grin she flashed down at me seemed to burst with a juicy secret. “Can I tell you something lame? I totally read you at Rolling Stone. I really want Dave to hire you. It would be a coup if you came to work here.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “Kate,” I said, “I don’t want to say, ‘if I’m your boss,’ but if I’m your boss, will you promise not to fangirl over me?”

At that moment, Dave strolled back toward Kate’s desk, trailed by two women. One had shoulder-length gray hair and a weathered face; she wore a bright red statement necklace over a well-cut gray blouse. The other was probably about my age, with blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. I jumped up to join them, murmuring my thanks to Kate in passing.

Dave gestured to the gray-haired woman. “This is our executive editor, Mrs. Pynchon, I mean, Laura Moser.” He gave Laura a nervous sort of smile as she arched an eyebrow at him.

“Dave, stop trying to make the Lou Grant references happen. They’re not gonna happen.” Laura had a smoker’s voice, a low, gravelly drawl. She gave me a handshake so firm that I was momentarily afraid of her. “Meg, it’s a pleasure to meet you. We appreciate you coming out.” She didn’t let go of my hand. “What do you think?”

I smiled politely at Laura. “You’ve got a great paper here. A great crew. They sure seem to care about the news,” I said, shooting Kate a sidelong glance.

Laura patted my hand and finally released it. “I’m glad you like it. I wish I had more time to chat with you, but I’m just running off to chat with an advertiser.” She winked at me. “We wear a lot of hats these days, you know. It’s a pleasure to meet you, though.”

As she strode away, trailing a cloud of White Diamonds in her wake, Dave nodded toward the blonde woman. “And this is Sarah Mitchell. She’s in HR with us. I thought she could join us for a minute.”

Sarah shifted a manila folder to her other arm to shake my hand. “It’s great to meet you, Meg.”

Dave inclined his head toward a conference room. “Let’s chat.”

As we walked away, I caught Kate’s eye. She flashed me a thumbs-up and a smile that seemed to engage every muscle in her face and neck.

In the conference room, Dave gestured to the head of the table, and I sat. There were plaques on the wall, a photo of a balding guy with huge wire-rimmed glasses holding up what must have been the first print edition.

A conference room, an editor, an HR lady, a stack of papers. My heart kicked into high gear. Was this the universe’s idea of bookends?

Dave steepled his fingers on the table. “So, you like us?”

I smiled. “Yes. You guys seem pretty great.”

He grinned. “Wanna work here?”

My breath rushed out of me. “Yes,” I blurted out. I started laughing nervously, a sound dangerously close to a sob. I was a journalist again. I had taken the leap of faith, and my feet had hit the ground.

“I was hopin’ you’d say that.” Dave rose from his seat and offered a hand, which I shook.

Sarah slid a piece of paper across the table at me. “We…kinda thought you would, actually. So here’s your offer letter.”

I glanced down at the offer, printed on LEO letterhead. The salary number leapt off the page at me. It was at least $3,000 more than I’d asked for. I couldn’t stifle a small gasp.

I heard the smile in Sarah’s voice. “Not to shade your last employer, but we really believe in recruiting, rewarding and retaining around here.”

Dave snickered. He leaned across the table again, peeking at the paper. “That work for you?”

I found my voice. “Yes. All of it.”

“Good.” Dave smiled. “So can you start Monday? Before Kate explodes?”

I nodded, matched his smile. “I’ll be here with bells on.”

When Dave shook my hand at the front door 10 minutes later, offer letter in hand, Brian was idling the Jeep half a block away. He was reading something on his phone when I walked up to the car, so engrossed that when I slapped the offer letter up to the window, he jumped in his seat and dropped his phone. It took him a couple seconds to register what he was looking at, but when he did, he grinned and pumped his fist, and I thought I saw his mouth form a “YES!” I scrambled into the passenger seat, into the awkward across-the-car hug he offered.

“Awesome,” he said into my ear, kissing my cheek. “I knew you had this in the bag.”

I smiled. “I knew I was in good shape when the kid I’m gonna be supervising started fangirling over me.”

“So, do you start Monday?” He let go of me to fish his sunglasses out of the cup holder, put the car back into drive and pulled away from the curb.

I rolled my eyes as I wrestled out of my suit jacket. “No, Brian, I start this afternoon. I only got in the car so you’d know I wasn’t dead. Yes, I start Monday.”

He grinned, turning down the old soul music on the stereo. “Good. We have a few days.” The grin morphed into a leer as he flipped on the blinker and turned left. “For…stuff.”

“For finding me an apartment,” I corrected. “And hopefully getting rid of that U-Haul before I go broke. I thought we could go look at the schoolhouse one this afternoon.”

He grunted, annoyed. “That could not be any further from what I had in mind.”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve been over this.” Something about figuring out what it was like not to be in a long-distance relationship with him, not wanting to be alone in that big house, not wanting Baylee to think I was Dad’s Floozy Girlfriend – it all spelled out only one possible resolution.

“All right, fine.” He looked over at me as he hit the gas on a yellow light. I couldn’t tell, with his sunglasses, if his smile reached his eyes. “If that’s what you want, I can’t really argue.”

“You’re good to me.” I reached over and squeezed his knee. “Are we gonna grab lunch?”

“Yeah, but I figured you’d want to change clothes first.”

I rolled my eyes again. “You just want me to take my clothes off.”

“Am I that transparent?” This time, I heard the smile in his voice.

When we pulled up to the house, I frowned at the unfamiliar SUV in the driveway, a red Ford Edge.

“Is somebody else here?” I asked Brian.

He shook his head as he pulled into the driveway next to it. “I don’t think so.”

“Well, then, whose car is that?” I pressed. He didn’t answer, just turned off the engine and got out of the Jeep. I scowled at him and got out as well, walking around the front of the Jeep.

He was standing in front of the red car, digging in his shorts pocket. “Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Realization washed over me. I stared at him in slack-jawed shock. “Brian. Fucking. Littrell.”

He grinned. “No, see, my middle name’s Thomas.”

My hands flew to the bottom half of my face. I stared at the car for a solid minute. I didn’t dare so much as breathe on it. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Finally, I reached out and halfheartedly swiped at Brian. It was meant to be a smack, but he caught my hand and pressed his lips to my open palm before wrapping an arm around me.

“Uh…congratulations? Happy birthday? Welcome home?” He kissed the top of my head. “You needed a car and you’re my girl and I’ll buy it for you if I damn well please?”

My train of thought was still boarding at the “happy birthday” station. “Brian, I gave you, like, chocolate-covered bacon for your birthday.”

“And every single piece of it was better than a car.” He picked up my dangling hand and dropped the keys into it. “Didn’t I tell you I was gonna make it up to you for shitting the bed on your last birthday?”

“You’re setting the bar awfully high.” I unlocked the car with shaking hands and peered inside. Tan leather seats. And were my eyes deceiving me, or did the radio say Sirius?

“You said you wanted a Ford,” I heard Brian say as I continued to ogle the car’s interior. “See, I listen.”

I ran a hand over the smooth leather. “How did you even get it here?”

He laughed. “Carefully.”

When I turned back to him, he was waggling his eyebrows at me. “Wanna christen it?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Littrell.” This time, I succeeded in smacking him lightly in the chest. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

He slipped his arms around my waist. “I think in most cultures, it’s ‘Thank you.’”

I squeezed his upper arms and kissed him. “Thank you, Brian. You are the best, and I love you, and I don’t deserve you.”

He rested his forehead against mine. “You’re very welcome, Meg.” He gave me that funny little just-for-me smile. “You deserve the best, but I love you, so you’re stuck with me.”

End Notes:
Once again: “Let the River Run”

Also: Alicia Keys - “Empire State of Mind (Pt. II)”

And: Snow Patrol - “Open Your Eyes” (Totally listened to this on repeat as I wrote the scene where they arrive in Louisville.)

Part II: Chapter 6 by Ellebeth
Author's Notes:
Sorry! The writer's block got me! I think I'm back, though. I hope?

10/5/12

Louisville

“I’m just sayin’ if she would have spent as much money on her studio time as she did on her album release party, maybe she’d have a fuckin’ listenable record.” Dori, the music editor with the beautiful dark skin and close-cropped blonde hair, took a long swig from her half-price pint of Bud Light. “And that’s on her for fucking that up, not on me for writing that.”

“Preach.” Scott, her red-ponytailed writer, hoisted his pint in approval. “How come you get all the really great or really shitty records, and I’m left to figure out how to polish all the turds in between?”

Dori grinned at him. “Because you need the challenge, and I need the entertainment.”

“OK, OK, but listen.” Mikey, the 30-something restaurant critic, whose waistline reflected his line of work, leaned halfway over the table and into the conversation, snatching a nacho off the plate in front of me. “Who’s gonna listen to her shitty record if she doesn’t have a decent album release party? She has to tell people about it, doesn’t she?”

“Of course she does, but Jesus, that record sounds like it was recorded in a bathroom stall.” Dori grimaced as she flagged the server for another beer.

“Hey, but that’s a sound,” I pointed out. “Probably not the sound she’s looking for, but it’s a sound. That could be the next big thing, and that kid’ll be on the cutting edge, like a fuckin’…bathroom rock hipster. You don’t know!

“Ah, don’t be nice, Meg.” Scott waved a dismissive hand. “Then every-fuckin’-one and their mother will be opening a recording studio, instead of just everyone.”

A loud buzz came from the center of the table, shaking the stack of phones whence it came.

Kate held up a hand to pause the conversation. “Wait for it...”

Another buzz, and the stack of phones fell like a late-stage Jenga tower. “Just Want You to Know” filled the silence, followed by a mock-accusing chorus of “Ahhhh…”

“I’m not answering it, you guys!” I protested, even as my face grew warm and a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. I stacked all of the phones on top of mine. “See? Not answering.”

“Look at that shitty-ass grin.” Mikey cackled. “You better take it, or he’s just gonna call a groupie next.”

I rolled my eyes. “I wish Google had never been invented, you sons of bitches.”

Kate grabbed a nacho, waving it at the stack of phones. “You’re signing your own death sentence with that ringtone, boss lady.”

I tried to glare at Kate, but the smile on my face made it hard. “I also wish there was an actual rule about drinking with your boss.”

Kate batted her eyelashes at me. “You love it.”

The ringing stopped -- then resumed five seconds later, collapsing the stack of phones again. One call was easy enough to ignore. Two was probably urgent.

“Damn it!” I fished my phone out of the pile. A silly selfie of Brian, taken while I’d been in the shower one day, mugged at me from the screen.

“Drinks on Meg!” Dori crowed.

I swiped my thumb across the screen as I hopped up from the table. “Hi,” I said to Brian, the word coming out on a smile, as I headed for the pub’s front door. “You on the ground?”

“Um, not the ground you’d think I’d be on.” He sounded as if he was on his way to a funeral.

“Oh.” I felt myself deflating a little as I pushed the door open.

“Yeeeeeeeah. My flight got delayed again. Mechanical problems. I’m about ready to rent a car.”

Damn it. I watched the sinking sun reach through the clouds at the end of the street, glinting gold off the downtown windows. It was the first time we’d seen the sun at more or less the same time of day since I’d moved here. He even had Baylee this weekend, and I had no idea how long it had been since they’d seen each other.

I stood bolt upright. Baylee. Shit. “When do you think you’ll get in?”

“I don’t know.” He blew out a breath. “They’re saying we’re gonna take off at 7 now, but that doesn’t put me there before 9. And that’s if I get out of here on time.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And when are you supposed to be picking up the kiddo?”

“Weeeeeeeellllllll…” He stretched out the word to a full two seconds. “That’s the other reason I’m calling.”

It didn’t take rocket science to put those pieces together. I rubbed my forehead. “Really?”

“7. She’s supposed to meet me halfway. It’s probably about an hour from downtown. Maybe a little longer with traffic.”

I pulled my phone away from my ear. It was already 5:45. My car was still at the office, three blocks away. “Damn it, Brian, seriously?” I said.

His voice had turned desperate. “Please, girl, I’m dead meat otherwise.”

I had very little interest in driving halfway to Ohio, but I could probably lead-foot it out there. But what was I going to do with a kid I barely knew for two hours?

And how in the world was I, said kid’s father’s girlfriend, going to look his mother in the eye? I suppose I had been half-praying I could make it through our entire relationship without ever crossing paths with her. That was a pretty stupid wish, considering there was a kid in the mix.

Damn it. I sighed. “All right, text me the details.”

“Thank you so much, sweet girl. I know you don’t really want to meet Leighanne. She…she’s really not that bad. Once you get to know her.”

I rolled my eyes, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “You called her Voldemort to my face, Brian.”

“I did not. I called her She Who Must Not Be Named. Baylee’s not into Harry Potter.” He paused. “Thanks, Meg. Really. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Let me know when you’re about to take off.” I ended the call and banged my head backward against the window.

I strode back into the pub, back to the LEO gang’s table, and grabbed my purse from beneath my empty chair. “Sorry, nerds, gotta run.” I picked up my half-empty Mich Ultra from the table and drained it in two gulps.

“What? Why?” Dori protested.

I sighed heavily, probably a little melodramatically, as I pulled a $10 from my wallet and tossed it onto the table. “I gotta go pick up Brian’s son.”

The chorus of “Ahhhh…” greeted me again.

Mikey sniggered. “Welcome to the stepparent club. We’ll fit you for a jacket next week.”

“So I guess you get to meet the ex, huh?” Kate cackled again. “Let us know what a life-size Barbie actually looks like.”

I pointed my wallet at her. “I’m revoking your Google privileges.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Scott cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb and fingers together. “You broke the phone rule. Fair’s fair.”

Double damn it. I dropped another $10 onto the table. “Just buy yourselves another round. I think this qualifies as a happy hour emergency.”

A little over an hour later, I was pulling into a Love’s Travel Center at an exit that pointed to Indiana, the Sirius Classic Vinyl station blasting on the stereo. The sun was just peeking over the overpass, and I had exactly one bar of phone signal. I glanced around the parking lot, fingers tightening around the wheel. A lot of 18-wheelers, a Toyota Camry with Virginia plates and a screaming child standing outside, an ancient Datsun whose back bumper was blanketed with punk rock stickers…

My eyes landed on a champagne-colored Mercedes SUV. It stuck out like a sore thumb – like a rose among the thorns, I was sure its driver thought. Behind its wheel was a blonde woman wearing enormous sunglasses. Before I could look away, she waved in my general direction and swerved into a parking space.

Damn it all. The things I did for this man. I muttered a curse and pulled into the space next to the Mercedes.

I climbed out and walked around the front of the Edge, which suddenly felt like a cheap imitation of the Mercedes, just as Leighanne unfolded herself from the front seat. She had long, wavy blonde hair and was wearing a pink sweater that had almost certainly cost more than my car insurance. She was at least as tall as Brian, and I wanted to hide as she stood in front of me.

“Hiiiiii,” she trilled, taking off her sunglasses to reveal what, without makeup, was probably a fresh, natural sort of beauty, like a Neutrogena commercial or something. She was several years older than me, I knew, but it was hard to remember. She was willowy and sophisticated, and God help me, a tiny piece of me wanted to be her.

This was my boyfriend’s ex-wife, the mother of his child, and my frizzy hair and schlubby journalist’s togs – sweater and chunky scarf and not-that-casual Friday jeans – had never felt less adequate. It didn’t so much matter right now that Brian had chosen me. He’d had the chance because she had rejected him. I couldn’t imagine needing anything more than I needed him, at this moment, to kiss my forehead and reassure me that she was Voldemort and I was winning.

“You must be Meg. I’m Leighanne,” she said, stating the obvious as she extended a well-manicured hand that I shook with a confidence I didn’t feel. She still had a touch of a Southern drawl.

“It’s nice to meet you finally,” I lied. “Did you have a good drive down?”

“Oh, I think so.” She glanced back into the car. Baylee sat in the leather front seat, engrossed in a Nintendo DS. He raised his eyes only momentarily, to glower at us. “I think this guy needs to use the bathroom, and I could use a trip to the powder room. Come on inside. We’ll chat.”

Baylee climbed out of the car, eyes still on his game, and Leighanne shouldered a purple leather handbag. I grabbed my purse from the car – there was no leather in sight – and followed them into the truck stop.

The walls were one big cooler, boasting every drink imaginable, and a Brad Paisley song was playing overhead. The music was a little louder in the ladies’ room, and the floor was grimy, but they did have one of those nice hand dryers that rippled the skin on the back of your hand. I was already admiring the waves on my hand, like a little kid, when Leighanne came out of her stall.

“I meant to ask you,” I said, ripping my hands away from the dryer, “has Baylee had dinner?”

She turned on the faucet and started washing her hands. “Yep.”

Silence fell as Leighanne scrubbed her hands. I rubbed an imaginary makeup smudge from beneath my eye. My stomach growled out loud; those nachos hadn’t done the trick by half.

“So Brian’s flight got delayed,” she said as she turned off the faucet and shook the water from her hands.

“Yep. I guess we’ll go pick him up together.” I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I fished Chapstick out of my purse and reapplied it. “He felt so bad. He’s so excited to see Baylee.”

“Well, I’m excited for him to see Baylee finally.” The exasperation in her voice wasn’t hard to miss, and I wanted to stick my hand under the faucet and splash her.

“He’s glad you moved here,” Leighanne added, without preamble. She seemed to look past me in the mirror. “Brian, I mean. So I guess I am, too.”

I nearly dropped my purse. She shook the water briskly off her hands and reached past me to the hand dryer. “I know what you must think of me,” she went on, still not meeting my eyes, “but I do still care about him. I do still love him. He’s the father of my son, and he always will be. He’s spoken real highly of you. And good for him. He still deserves to be happy.”

She straightened up, and now she finally looked me in the eye. It wasn’t the lightning strike I’d expected, but it made me shrink against the wall, for entirely different reasons. “I hope we can get to know each other. I don’t think you’re going anywhere.”

What a bizarre fucking conversation. My brain seemed to have frozen solid. I was still holding the Chapstick in my hand, and I shoved it back into my purse and gave her the biggest smile I could muster. It wasn’t much more than a show of my teeth, I knew.

“I’m not planning on it.” The words came out in a nervous rush. “I…I love him, too. Obviously. And your son is awesome.”

She smiled, a bit brittle, but in a way that seemed unconscious. “I hope you two get some quality time here.”

As abruptly as she’d engaged me, she brushed past me and walked out. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and laid a hand on my forehead, just to make sure I wasn’t delirious with fever.

Out in the parking lot, Leighanne handed Baylee his backpack and hugged him fiercely tight. “Mama loves you, honey. Give me a call when you get there.”

“I love you too, Mom,” I heard Baylee mutter as he opened my car door and climbed into the front seat. Well, if it was OK at home, I supposed it was OK here.

Leighanne extended a hand to me again and smiled. “Take care, Meg. I’ll talk to you later.” I could not tell whether there was an ounce of warmth in it, but I could swear she was trying. A bigger part of me than I was willing to admit wanted to believe she was.

Music and video game beeps were the only sounds in the car for the first 10 miles. I stole a sidelong glance at Baylee, still engrossed in the game.

I forced a cheerful tone. “Your mom’s a nice lady.”

Flatline. George Harrison was singing obliviously on the stereo: “Tell me, whooooo am IIIIIIII, without youuuuuuuuu by my siiiiiiiide?

“That doesn’t make you carsick?” I finally said.

“Hold on…” he muttered. A mournful chord issued from the DS, and I assumed he’d lost. He shoved the game into his backpack in the footwell.

He eyed the stereo. “Can we listen to something else?”

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to school him. “Something besides the greatest Beatle?” His eyes bored into me, and I sighed and nodded to the radio. I was sure he knew how it worked. “Take your pick.”

He started poking at the buttons on the radio, the snippets of music and talk forming a distorted mosaic. Finally, he landed on a classic country station, where the bumper was just finishing. Johnny Cash introduced himself, to wild applause, and started strumming the opening notes of “Folsom Prison Blues.”

I turned my head to stare at him incredulously, but he only said sweetly, “You should watch the road.”

Little smart-ass. He was so his father’s son.

The song was infectious, always had been to me, and I couldn’t help but sing along. “And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when. I’m stuck in Folsom Prison—”

To my shock, Baylee chimed in, his voice bouncing off the window as he watched the road roll by in the near-darkness. “And time keeps draggin’ on. But the train keeps a-movin’ on down to San Anton’.

Our voices made a strange mix, a woman who would never cut the mustard at open mic night and a little boy who’d clearly inherited the beginnings of his father’s gift, but we sang along to old country music all the way to the suburbs. You couldn’t make it up.

It was only 8:15 when we hit the airport exit. At a stoplight, I grabbed my phone out of the cupholder and checked my texts. Brian had texted at 6:55, saying the plane had just left the gate. That still gave us an hour to kill.

Baylee was staring at me as I checked my phone. I dropped it into the cupholder again and faced forward.

“Do as I say, not as I do,” I muttered. “Texting and driving is very bad.”

Baylee made a dismissive sound. “John does it all the time.”

I shot him a sidelong glance. “John’s your stepdad?” Baylee nodded. I thought I remembered Brian mentioning him. An investment banker or something equally snooty that let Leighanne maintain the lifestyle she’d grown accustomed to, he’d grumbled once after taking a call from her when I was there. I kept it all to myself.

“Um…” I tried to think of something to say, something to do. “Your mom said you’d had dinner?”

“Yeah. Before we left.”

An idea suddenly came to me. I was awesome. Oh, I was the best. I picked up the phone again and pressed the home button. “Siri, where can we get ice cream around here?”

Siri ended up sending us to a Steak n’ Shake across from the airport. The smell of steakburgers made me dizzy, sharpening my hunger, but I had fully committed to ice cream, and Baylee was looking around like I’d just walked him into a GameStop.

“I haven’t been to one of these since I was, like, 6,” he said as we slid into opposite sides of a booth.

“They don’t have these in Ohio?” I grabbed a menu and looked at it, resisting the urge to take a bite out of the corner.

“They do, but Mom doesn’t like to go here.” Disdain crept into Baylee’s voice. “Mom doesn’t like fun.”

“You shouldn’t say that about your mother,” I said reflexively, but not quite with a straight face.

A very young waitress with a long blonde ponytail and an angry red pimple on her cheek walked up to us, clicking her pen. “What can I get you folks?”

Literally everything on the menu, I wanted to say, but instead I ordered a strawberry milkshake.

Baylee was still studying the menu. The backs of his feet made little thunks against the bottom of the booth. “Can I get a root beer float?”

“You get whatever you want,” I said.

The waitress was already writing down Baylee’s order. She produced a paper hat from a pocket of her apron, fluffed the top and laid it ceremoniously in front of him.

“Coooooool. I haven’t had one of these since I was way littler than 6.” Baylee looked up at her. “Can she have one, too?”

The waitress winked at me as she pulled out another hat, fluffed the top and handed it to me. “And one for Mom.”

“I’m…I’m not…” I began as she walked away.

Baylee was already putting his hat on, tugging it down over his unruly curls. I followed suit, though it was a little harder to get the hat onto my larger head, over my bigger hair. We both folded our hands on the table and regarded each other mock-solemnly for a long moment. He had Brian’s eyes, that was beyond dispute, and maybe even his curly hair, but the round shape of his face suggested someone else. Maybe he’d gotten the best of both his parents. He was a very handsome kid, and I knew he’d be breaking hearts before long. That probably came from his dad, too.

“I don’t think the waitress meant to call me your mom,” I said, putting our menus back in their rack.

“I know.” Baylee picked up his placemat and started folding it. His voice was nonchalant; he’d probably already forgotten.

“You remember what I said about that on Thanksgiving?” I stopped as the waitress returned with glasses of water for both of us.

Baylee gave me a baleful look. “I remember stuff that happened when I was 6.” He went back to folding his placemat, and I could see a paper airplane coming together. “You said you weren’t gonna try to be my mom.”

“And I meant it.” I took a long sip of water and watched as Baylee took aim with the airplane. Would it be counterintuitive to ask him not to throw that?

Baylee set the airplane back down on the table. “You should probably take that up with my dad.”

I almost choked on my water. “What’s that mean?”

“I dunno. I just know he’s really happy you live here now.” He started tearing little notches in the wings, creating flaps. “Where do you live?”

I pasted on a smile, grateful for the distraction. “I live in an old school. Did your dad tell you that?”

He shook his head. “Do you have a chalkboard?”

“No.”

He glanced up from his airplane with one eyebrow cocked. “Then what’s the point?”

The waitress returned with my milkshake and Baylee’s float. He sat up as straight as he could and started digging in, with an enthusiasm I couldn’t remember showing anything in at least a decade. The first taste of my milkshake, though, was a pretty good contender.

“Holy cr…cow, that’s good,” I mumbled, taking another long pull on the straw.

Baylee was shoveling ice cream into his mouth. He stopped to swallow. “Wanna hear a cow joke?”

I smiled. There was his dad again. “OK.”

He tapped his spoon against his glass. “Why did the cow cross the road?”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “I don’t know. Why?”

“To get to the udder side. What do you call a cow you can’t see?”

I sipped my milkshake again. “What?”

“Camooflauged. What do you get when you cross a cow with a duck?”

“What?”

Baylee grinned triumphantly. “Milk and quackers!”

He was so visibly proud of himself that I burst into laughter, which only made him look prouder. “I got lots of these,” he said eagerly.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 8:50. “Maybe when we get to the airport. You better eat your ice cream.”

“Okaaaaaaay,” he said, dragging out the disappointed syllable, as he returned to work on his float.

The arrivals area at Standiford Field was small, deserted. Brian’s flight was running a few minutes late, and we sat on the chilly silver-flecked floor, backs against the wall. Baylee had his nose in his video game again. I thumbed through Twitter, but I barely read the posts.

My heart was starting to flutter with anticipation. I’d be going home alone tonight, the better to keep attempting to fool this decidedly not-stupid kid, but that didn’t make me long any less just to feel Brian’s arms around me, after so long. Somehow, even calling the same place home, this was the longest we’d gone without seeing each other in the year-plus we’d been together. I hadn’t been wrong about that part, and I hated it.

The foot traffic passing the security line picked up. I stowed my phone in my purse and stood up. Baylee got up as well, still engrossed in his game.

“Baylee, help me watch for your dad,” I said. No answer. I exhaled through my nose and counted to five. This not-being-his-mom thing was already harder than I thought, and we were only two hours in.

Baylee,” I said, more firmly than I’d intended. “You can always play later.”

He looked up at me as if a sewer had backed up under his nose, but paused his game and shoved it into his coat pocket. Dead silence for at least a minute. I felt only a little guilty.

“What do you get when you cross an angry sheep and a moody cow?” Baylee finally muttered.

Across the terminal, I saw a man in a weathered UK cap, a nice black peacoat.

“I don’t know. What?” I deadpanned as best I could, my heart now beating so fast that my voice shook a tiny bit.

Baylee seemed to forget what he was saying. His face changed, and he hopped up and down, waving. “Dad!”

The minute Brian reached us, he dropped his carry-on to the floor and pulled both of us into a hug. With little other choice, I put one arm awkwardly around Baylee as I wrapped the other around Brian’s neck.

“Welcome home,” I whispered to Brian, squeezing him tight. I simply could not get close enough to him right now.

Brian kissed my forehead, then bent his head and kissed the top of Baylee’s head. There was no mistaking the emotion in his voice. “Good grief, I missed you two.”

“I missed you, too, Dad,” I heard Baylee say, muffled by Brian’s shoulder.

A lump solidified in my throat. Was this what being a family would feel like? What being Brian’s family would feel like? The idea of not being Baylee’s mom floated away, and I rubbed his shoulder while I waited for my throat to stop burning.

Finally, Brian let go of both of us, clearing his throat. He shouldered his bag again, grinning at both of us. “I thought we were never gonna get here. You don’t know how much I just wanna sleep in my bed.”

That made two of us, but I wasn’t about to say so. Instead, I took his hand and squeezed it. “Let’s get you home, chief.”

As we started toward the door, Brian wrapped one arm around my shoulders and the other around Baylee’s. “I’m a lucky man. My lady and my son.”

I could almost hear Baylee rolling his eyes. “Da-ad.”

In the car, I flipped the station back to Sirius Classic Vinyl. Baylee was strapped into the backseat. I expected to hear his game again, but all I heard was music.

“Did you guys have a nice evening together?” Brian addressed both of us, reaching over to squeeze my knee.

I waited for Baylee to respond, but only a muffled snore came from the backseat. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Baylee had dozed off, head at an angle that made me wince.

Brian chuckled, dropping his voice. “That kid can sleep anywhere. No idea where he gets it, of course.”

I pulled onto the interstate, feigning nonchalance, matching his lowered voice. “Oh, good, the old sleeping-pill-in-the-ice-cream trick still works.” Brian emitted sort of a strangled half-chuckle, and I rolled my eyes. “I’m kidding. We had a nice evening. Johnny Cash singalong in the car and ice cream before we came to get you.”

“Good. I guess you wore him out.” Brian glanced in the mirror again, then back at me. “Thanks again for picking him up.”

“He’s a good kid.” I allowed myself a smile. “He’s a tough little nut, but he’s fun.”

“I’m happy to hear you say that.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the smile on Brian’s face. He cleared his throat, fiddled with his phone. Finally, he prompted, “And, uh…?”

I glanced in the rearview mirror to be sure Baylee was in fact asleep, then gave a studied focus to the road, watching for our exit. “She’s…not the worst person I’ve ever met.” Brian exhaled, and I added, “But I’ve also met Nickelback.”

Brian chuckled again. He pulled one of my hands away from the wheel, laced his fingers through mine and kissed the back of my hand. “I sure missed you, sweet girl.”

I glanced over at him just long enough to smile as the exit crept up. “I missed you, too, Brian. Can I have my hand back to drive?”

“Nope.” He tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “You’re never getting this hand back. I might take it back to England with me.”

I huffed. “What am I supposed to do without my hand?”

His voice shook with barely suppressed laughter. “We’ll get you a hook.”

Baylee didn’t stir until we pulled into Brian’s driveway, and then, it was only to grab his backpack and climb slowly out of the backseat, eyes at half-mast. I looked at the clock right before I turned off the car. It was past 10. I had no idea what his bedtime was at home; I hadn’t asked.

“You tired, buddy?” Brian was saying to Baylee as I walked around the car. Baylee just nodded, and Brian ruffled his son’s hair. “All right, we’ll get you to bed.”

Inside the house, Brian set down his bag, shrugged out of his coat and kissed Baylee’s forehead. “Love you, buddy. We’ll catch up tomorrow.”

“I love you, too, Dad.” Baylee hugged him around the waist, sleepily, halfheartedly. He turned to me. “Thanks for the ice cream, Meg.”

“You’re welcome. I had fun.” I didn’t know what to do, so I just reached out and hugged his shoulders, swiftly, awkwardly, patting his back. He half-responded, one hand on my back. The moment stretched out for years. I caught Brian’s eye over Baylee’s head; his knuckles were pressed to his lips, but couldn’t hide a sentimental smile.

Baylee plodded down the hall. I heard a door open and close. As soon as it closed, Brian turned to me and wrapped his arms around my waist, slowly, hands sliding along my back.

His eyes made his intentions clear. “You should stay.”

His voice, barely above a whisper, extended all sorts of invitations I couldn’t accept, and I sighed inwardly as I wrapped my arms around his neck. “No, babe, I really shouldn’t.”

“I know.” He brushed his lips against mine. “But don’t go home just yet.”

The light, teasing touch set my nerves humming. I tightened my arms around him and kissed him back, a kiss that deepened, remembered, explored, took its sweet time.

Thoughts fought through the haze of arousal that settled around us. He was here until Tuesday. That gave us Sunday night and Monday to, um, catch up. Even with work, we’d get some time together, without a child across the hall.

Oh, but this kiss, this kiss that I’d been longing for the entire time I’d been in Kentucky, this didn’t have to wait until Sunday. I ran my fingers through his hair, drinking in the taste of him. He settled his hands around my waist, squeezing me.

When at last we came up for air, Brian kissed the tip of my nose. “OK, maybe you should go home before I have my way with you on that couch.”

Wouldn’t be the first time. I grinned up at him, then slipped my arms around his waist and laid my head on his shoulder, breathing him in. “I do miss you, though.”

“Don’t.” He kissed my forehead. “Miss me on Wednesday.”

We stood wrapped in each other’s arms for a long moment. It was his turn to run his fingers through my hair, playing with the crazy curls. “What do you have going tomorrow?”

“I gotta do some work in the morning. And probably clean some.” I traced little circles on his back through his flannel shirt. “Should I come by in the afternoon?”

“Yeah, I’d like that. Maybe we can all make dinner.” I felt his smile against my forehead. “Or, you know, go for pizza.”

“Yeah, that sounds more like it.” I lifted my head and winked at him.

He unwrapped his arms from my waist, slowly. “All right,” he muttered, dragging the words out. “If you’re sure I can’t convince you to come to bed with me…”

“Tease, tease, tease.” I pinched his stomach, and he shrugged down at me, blue eyes twinkling, unrepentant. They stole my heart again, and I reached for his hand. “Welcome home, Brian.”

“You don’t know what that means coming from you.” He tilted my chin up and kissed me one more time, lightly.

I barely heard the Moody Blues song on the stereo, barely saw the houses and streetlights pass by outside the car. The smell of Brian’s cologne still hung in the air, and I could not wipe the smile from my face. He was home. For how long, it hardly mattered right now.

I parked the car next to an old school building. Rusty metal letters above the door still mostly spelled out St. Theresa School – one of the Es in Theresa was missing – but we had a locked front door, a nice bank of mailboxes and doorbells, and only the high ceilings in my apartment suggested that it had ever been more than a place to sleep. The kitchen was still small, but there was nice carpet on the floor, and the closets were enormous. I breezed past the kitchen counter, plucking my phone from my purse, setting my messenger bag on the sofa where I knew I wouldn’t miss it in the morning.

It was only in bed, when I swiped my phone to life to make sure I’d set my alarm, that I noticed the text from Brian.

U r where I call home. :) Sweet dreams

A grin spread across my face again. I lowered my phone to my chest, holding his words close, my face warm with pleasure. I stole another glance at the screen, and my fading smile renewed. I locked my phone and set it on the nightstand, but the sweet words lingered.

“This can’t last,” I whispered to the ceiling, closing my eyes.

Being right really sucks sometimes.

Part III by Ellebeth
Author's Notes:
OH MY GOD SHE'S BACK AGAIN. I'm sorry for my long absence. I could chalk it up partly to life events, but really, these next few chapters were hard to write. The good news is, I have enough chapters banked to get us through for a while. Thanks for your patience!

Part III

9/7/13: 3:15 p.m.

Louisville

It was another marching band moment as A.J. followed Lindie into my dining room/kitchen, wearing a crying baby on his chest and carrying a small orange Ulta bag, upsetting the delicate balance of acetone-scented nature we had managed to establish.

“Monkees!” Rochelle looked up from one end of the dining room table with a huge grin on her face. She abandoned her piles of makeup and jumped to her feet, planting a kiss on A.J. and setting to work on the baby carrier.

“Did you get the right one?” Lindie took the shopping bag from A.J. and peered inside. “Is this the right stuff, Ro? Photo Finish?”

“That’s the one. Put it over there with the others.” Rochelle was already holding Ava on one hip, smooching the top of her head and cooing at her as if she hadn’t seen her in months. “Thank you so much, sweetie,” she said to A.J.

“You’re probably the only one in the band who can actually navigate an Ulta,” I added.

I wanted to get up and hug him in thanks for helping avert a crisis that had sent Rochelle into hand-fluttering OCD panic mode, but I was tethered to the wheeled pedicure chair, with a kind-faced, platinum blonde woman busily scrubbing a layer of skin from my heels. My nails, which I had taken such care not to bite lately, were freshly French-manicured, and my hands looked like another person’s, nothing like the ink-stained wretch to whom they were connected.

“Ha, ha.” A.J. looked around the kitchen. “So this is ground zero, huh? The estrogen is a little overwhelming in here.”

The mani-pedi team had finally showed up at 1:30 with a brand-new tire and a thousand apologies. Besides the pedicure chair, which had been wedged in next to the kitchen island, a manicure tech had set up shop at the other end of the table, complete with a dropcloth to protect the weathered pine. We were all rotating through, an assembly line of beautification, at the end of which Rochelle and Lindie were sorting through the former’s huge train case of makeup. The ‘80s Sing-Along Classics station on Pandora was blasting from someone’s phone. Fruit and crackers were out on the counter, largely ignored.

“This place has never been girlier,” I said. “Don’t tell Brian.”

A.J. snorted. “He’ll be fine. This was one of the biggest fuckin’ bachelor pads on Earth before you moved in. It almost made Nick’s house look habitable. So, are you ladies all getting along and playing nice together?”

Mom looked up from her cross-stitch and smiled at A.J., that starstruck glint in her eye again. If she’d been offended by the profanity, it had passed. “Oh, we’re getting along famously. Getting to know one another quite well.”

“Oh, yeah?” A.J. stroked his beard. “Lindie, what does Connie do for a living?”

“Neuro nurse.” Lindie was back to studying eyeshadow palettes, squinting between me and her.

A.J. turned to Alicia. “Alicia, what does Lindie do for a living?”

“Personal trainer.” Alicia grinned at Lindie and added, “And makeup artist Padawan.”

“Damn skippy,” Lindie agreed. She selected an eyeshadow palette and held it up for Rochelle’s approval. The darker-haired woman squinted at me, then nodded approvingly, and Lindie started packing the others away.

“Connie, how’d Lindie and Rochelle meet?”

“Lindie used to be Rochelle’s Pilates instructor.” Mom consulted her cross-stitch pattern.

“Rochelle, how did Meg and Alicia meet?”

Rochelle’s lips squeaked on the top of Ava’s hair as the little dark-haired girl nestled into her shoulder. “They worked for the same magazine in college.”

“Meg, what’s Lindie short for?”

I prodded at a water jet with my big toe as the pedicurist dug through her supplies for toe separators. “Lindsay. Her brother had a speech impediment.”

A.J. beamed. “This is beautiful female bonding. I’m so impressed. Want to know what we’re doing back at the hotel?”

“No,” everyone, including Mom and the nail techs, said almost in unison.

“Well, fine.” A.J. sniffed in disdain. He walked over and squeezed me around the shoulders. “How you doin’, bride-to-be?”

The pedicurist jammed the separators between my toes, and I looked at the clock. A little over three hours now. I took a deep breath as anticipation made my heart speed up. The day was ticking away, and the big night was approaching fast, almost faster than I was ready for. I didn’t have to say anything. A.J. knew. His wedding seemed like yesterday.

“Don’t I know it, Miss Journalist.” He patted my hands, which were now twisted together anxiously in my lap.

“I’m allowed to be nervous, right? I’ve been waiting my entire life for today.” I watched the pedicurist paint my toenails pomegranate-red, then looked at my hands. They’d been bare for a week. My wedding set had been sent off and welded together. Brian had it now. I had worn just my engagement ring for the last time; the next time my hands felt as complete as they had these last couple months, I would be a married woman, with more hardware, more meaning.

“The Rok’s been waiting a long time for this, too.” I looked up at A.J. He shrugged. “I know, he’s been married before, but…I think he wishes you two would have just run off long ago. You’re something special. You have something special.”

He cleared his throat. “I mean, you’re pretty much of a bad-ass,” he added, more lightly.

“They’re damn lucky they didn’t elope,” Mom said without looking up. “You only get to see your daughter married so many times.”

“Um, or once.” Alicia smirked at Mom.

Now Mom rolled her eyes at Alicia. “I’ve had two husbands, and I’m about to have a step-grandson. I can’t say a darn word.”

“So, got any super-awesome wedding advice for me?” I said to A.J.

He was holding Ava now, Rochelle standing behind him, still stroking the baby’s back. “Wedding or marriage?” he parried.

I shrugged. “Both.”

“Don’t panic if you can’t remember anything about this day,” Rochelle assured me. “That’s what the photographer is for. Just relax and try to enjoy it. Let the rest of us handle the panicking for you.”

“And marriage?” A.J. studied me for a long moment, mouth screwed up in thought. His face was bare, no guyliner, beard neatly trimmed, eyes tired, more an adult than the rocker I had met two years ago. He looked almost wise as he said, “You two have been through some shit.”

I nodded wordlessly.

“Don’t ever lose sight of how much you love each other and what a couple of dorks you are.” He shifted Ava on his hip as Rochelle kissed his cheek and walked away, back to the table. “Marriage is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, even with a great wife. You two are awesome, but don’t expect it to be perfect. Just don’t stop working at it. Don’t ever stop making time for it, even if our time is super-short.”

He leaned down and pecked me on the cheek, and I caught a whiff of Ava’s powdery baby scent. She cooed contentedly as I brushed my lips against her hair.

“We’ll see you in a few, Miz Michaels.” A.J. held up Ava’s pudgy little hand in a wave, and then he was walking out, leaving me with my heart fluttering in the middle of my kitchen, with three hours until I married Brian Littrell.

Part III: Chapter 7 by Ellebeth
Author's Notes:
Before reading this chapter, you might want to read my short story Some Days You're the Bug, which takes place four days earlier.

Part III: Chapter 7

12/25/12

Louisville

It could have been the spirit of the season in my veins, or maybe just the spirits I’d imbibed, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so content. I leaned against the counter, draining the last of my wine, and surveyed my domain. No, not yours, a little voice in the back of my head reminded me, not yet.

But I’d had a hand in all this, hadn’t I? In the ham whose remains still sat on the kitchen island, the potatoes I’d probably eaten too much of, the birthday cake for Jesus that sat in the fridge, candles waiting to be lit. Christmas with my mother was always a small affair, a quiet meal for two, a bottle of wine and a sappy old movie. This year, we were caught up in chaos, in cooking and children and church and so much love! I could picture Mom and Jackie sitting on the couch, talking about painting or sewing or childrearing or God knew what. I could hear someone plinking out Christmas carols on the piano, the kids singing along in a hilarious variety of keys. In this solitary moment away from it all, I could almost taste the joy in the air.

I fairly danced over to the kitchen island, bopping from one foot to the other as I refilled my glass of merlot. “You will get a sentimental feeling when you hear,” I half-sang, half-whispered along, “voices singin’ let’s be jolly, deck the halls with boughs of holly…” I took another deep swig of wine, shaking my booty and whistling along with the music.

Behind me, I heard a barely stifled snicker. I looked over my shoulder to see Brian leaning against the doorframe, smirking, not unkindly. Seeing him on Christmas flooded me with warmth all over again. I didn’t miss a beat, pointing at him as I sang, “Everyone dancing merrily, don’t hate, ‘cause I’ve had some wine.”

Brian laughed. And then, in the midst of his laughter, he blurted out, “Marry me.”

The glass of wine slipped out of my hand and hit the floor, shattering and splattering merlot everywhere. I ran to the pantry and searched for a broom, but I knew I was too late to hide the shock on my burning face. My mind was empty. I could hear Brian ripping paper towels off the roll.

“Uh-oh!” Mom chose that moment to walk into the room, Jackie’s arm looped through hers, both carrying empty wine glasses. “Is it time to cut you off, Maggie May?” she crowed.

I didn’t know which was more shocking, her obvious camaraderie with Brian’s mom or that she was obviously hammered. If either of them noticed the disbelief I couldn’t keep off my face, they didn’t bat an eye. They looked at each other and giggled like teenagers. Jackie grabbed a half-empty bottle of chardonnay off the counter, and they walked out again.

“What did I just see?” I murmured, half to Brian and half to myself.

Brian was down on the floor, wiping up the spilled wine. I bent down next to him, picking the larger pieces out of the puddle. “Here, don’t cut yourself. I might as well add to my Christmas injury tally.”

“Don’t say that.” Brian was quiet for a moment, blotting up dark red liquid. The elephant in the room loomed over us. “Guess I said that out loud, huh?”

“You sure did.” I focused on the glass, sweeping up the sparkling little pieces into the dustpan.

“Well…” He paused, and I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to say something.

My heart was in my throat, and I could barely speak for the lump it created. Yes. A thousand times yes. But not like this. Not wine-drunk on Christmas night. Not when he had to be back in England in a week. Not like this.

Before I could answer, Baylee swept into the room. He’d gotten Heelys for Christmas from his mother, and Brian had been mad at her since making that discovery, I suspected at least a little because Brian didn’t have his own.

“Dad!” he greeted Brian. “Hank and Hunter want me to go home with them tonight. Can I go?”

“Tonight?” Brian echoed, his voice dripping with disbelief. He grabbed the edge of the island and hoisted himself up. “C’mon, you can stay with your old man on Christmas night, can’t you? You have a whole ‘nother week to go out to see your cousins.”

Baylee slouched in misery, curling his lip, rolling one foot back and forth. “Daaaaaad,” he whined, his voice sliding up and down. “They got all this super-cool archery stuff for Christmas. Weren’t you listening?”

“You’re not gonna be out shooting at targets when it’s 25 degrees out tomorrow,” Brian pointed out.

Baylee grinned and winked at me, a specter of his dad. “Nope. Raccoons.”

“Sorry, raccoons?” Brian sighed and gently shoved his son out of the room, watching him glide away on his new set of wheels. “You tell your cousins I’m being a mean old dad. Go ahead and throw me under the bus.”

“Raccoons?” I repeated, straightening up, as Baylee disappeared toward the bathroom.

“He’s a mess.” Brian walked over to me and slipped his arms around my waist, grinning ruefully down at me. “A mess like his old man.”

“At least you own it.” I ran my hands up and down his arms, over his ridiculously soft green sweater, which came close to matching mine, making me wonder if we should have consulted on our outfits this morning. I kissed his chin.

He looked down at me, and I saw expectation lingering in those blue, blue eyes. A nervous twinge had started in my stomach. Still stalling him, I kissed his lips this time, briefly. I didn’t quite know what to say, but eventually, I opened my mouth, and out came “Ask me again sometime.”

He sighed, a long breath escaping through his nose. A bit of the light went out of his eyes, a bit of the air out of my holiday joy. I couldn’t believe what I’d just said, but now I was fully committed to, well, it would seem, not committing.

I rubbed his arms again. “Brian, this is the third time I’ve seen you since I moved here.” We had, miraculously, been able to meet up for about a day at Thanksgiving. It took all my energy to keep a dirty smirk off my face at the memory of that particular day and night. “This week is the most time I’ve spent with you in, like, a year. And you have to get on a plane again next week.”

Brian pressed his lips to my forehead, and another sigh escaped into my hair. “I know. My timing sucks.”

“With all your family around and my klutzy drunk ass? Yeah, kind of.” I smiled up at him. His eyes, where disappointment and love still fought, still never failed to make me smile. “I love you, though.”

“I love you, too.” He reached into his back pocket and, with a flourish, pulled out a crumpled sprig of plastic mistletoe.

“You’ve just been waiting to do that, haven’t you?” I teased him.

He winked down at me, tweaking my nose with the mistletoe before he held it over our heads. “Maybe.”

I pinched his stomach. “You were gonna do that no matter what I said, weren’t you?”

He smiled, again a bit wistful. “Probably.” He bent his head and brushed his lips against mine, teasing. My toes curled in my shoes as he pulled me tighter against him, his mouth a breath away, suddenly ready to devour mine. I could feel a buzzing low in my belly.

No, wait, that wasn’t me.

“Damn it.” Brian broke the kiss and reached into his pocket with his other hand. We both looked down at his vibrating phone’s screen to see a picture of a lion under Kevin’s name.

I let go of Brian as he answered the phone. “What up, cuz?”

“Hey, Brian, what’s going on?” Kevin drawled on the other end.

“Oh, life, family, Christmas.” He held out the phone to me.

“Hi, Kevin,” I said as brightly as I could, considering he’d interrupted a heck of a kiss.

“Oh, hey, Meg. Merry Christmas,” came the easy response from the other end.

Brian returned the phone to his ear, holding up a finger as he walked away. “So what’s happening?” His voice faded into the hallway.

In the silence, I could still hear caroling from the other room, this time a cheery rendition of “White Christmas.” There was still a bit of wine on the floor, and I ran a paper towel under cold water and wiped up the rest of it. I poured myself a glass of water, suddenly sober, and leaned against the island.

What had been a break from the action now felt like I’d broken off from the group. Before I could stop myself, I wondered if, in my drunken shock, I’d irretrievably broken something besides a glass. My stomach twisted again in nervousness.

Mom walked back into the kitchen, this time alone and sans wine. She stopped in front of me, shorter even than I was, and patted my hand. “You OK, sugar?”

I snapped back to reality. “Sure. Just taking a little break. You and Jackie are sure hitting it off.” Not to mention hitting the bottle, I almost added.

Mom smiled. “She’s nice. It’s nice to be included.” She reached out and hugged me. I patted Mom’s back, trying not to spill water on her. “Thanks for getting involved with such a neat family. It’s been a long time since we had a Christmas like this.”

“And you,” Mom went on in my ear, suddenly loud. I turned to see Brian walking back into the room. Mom left me and walked over to Brian, enveloping him in the same hug. “Your family’s so sweet. Thanks for including us.”

“Please.” Brian smiled down at Mom. “The pleasure’s all mine, all ours, Miz Fuller.”

Mom pinched Brian’s arm, but she was still smiling. “Stop calling me that, kiddo.”

She walked out of the room, leaving us. The smile dropped off Brian’s face as her footsteps faded.

“What’d Kevin want?” I asked.

Brian blew out a long sigh and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Couple of the guys want to go back early.”

“Back? Back to London?” He nodded. “How early?” I went on.

“Fly out Thursday morning,” Brian mumbled.

It was already Tuesday night. My stomach hurt like the dickens. “What’d you say?”

Brian just looked at the floor, and I looked at the ceiling as anger flashed through me. “There’s this guy we want to get in there on the piano,” he said quietly. “He’s available Friday.”

I didn’t say anything. Our sweet kiss before his phone call, his fake-or-maybe-not-fake proposal, felt forgotten.

“This album’s a big deal, Meg.” Brian’s voice was heavy, careful. “We need to get it right. We need to get all of this right.”

I dug my nails into the palm of my hand, struggling to keep my voice even. “Brian, you just told your son he can’t go to his cousins’ house an hour away because you want to spend time with him. Now you’re flying to another continent?”

Brian sighed again. “Look, I—”

“And what are you going to do with him?” I plowed on. “Did you forget you have Baylee until Friday?”

“He’ll go to my parents’ for a day or two. Leighanne will be pissed no matter what I do. Meg, don’t you think I feel bad enough?” Exasperation had crept into Brian’s voice.

“I’m not sure.” I set down my glass of water, with a louder thunk than I’d intended, and crossed my arms. “Wasn’t the whole point of this album that y’all were going to be your own bosses?”

“Nobody’s ever their own boss.” Brian mirrored my stance. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I need to do this, and I need you to not fight with me about it on Christmas.”

The tone of his voice made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I’d never heard him talk like that before. My loving jokester was nowhere in sight.

I stared him down. I tried to focus on his eyes, not to be angry at him. He had a point. He had a lot of points. But all I saw was my boyfriend disappearing in the middle of a hard-won, longed-for week together. The joyful singing in the background felt at odds with the thick tension in the air between us.

“I love you, sweet girl, but I need to do this.” Brian’s soft voice, a little gentler now, was barely audible over the caroling.

“Don’t ‘sweet girl’ me right now, Brian,” I mumbled, shifting my gaze to the wall behind him.

“I had to try.” A smile crept into his voice.

“You’re a pain in the ass.” It came out with a lot less mirth than usual. But I crossed the kitchen and kissed him on the cheek anyway.

As I walked out of the room, I couldn’t help but wonder if he would have agreed to go back to London early if I had agreed to marry him.



12/31/12

Louisville

“Michaels?”

I snapped back to reality. Dave was staring at me as I stood next to the conference table, my train of thought lost. We were the only people left in the room.

“Sorry, what?” I shook my head as I closed my notebook and walked toward the door.

“I said you’re looking a little green in the gills there.” Dave stepped back to let me walk out first. “And you were awfully quiet in there.”

The short walk out of our meeting had riled up my tender belly, and I paused and took a deep breath to try to settle it down. It hadn’t stopped hurting since Christmas night. I’d thought it was a byproduct of the evening’s weird tension and argument with Brian, but as that night had faded, the pain had only intensified. My period had arrived with a vengeance the day before yesterday, but I didn’t think it was just that. I’d thrown up four or five times in the last 24 hours, once in the public restroom downstairs on my way into the office a few hours ago. It would be charitable to say I’d been anything more than a warm body at today’s weekly powwow.

“I’ve been better,” I said finally, pressing a hand to my stomach.

“Still not feeling great?” Kate said from her desk. She was wearing a hot pink cardigan over an orange dress, a middle finger to the colorless winter day, and the color combination made what was left of my breakfast threaten to return. I shook my head, and she went on, “You know, my boyfriend works…”

“…in the ER at University,” the entire newsroom finished, almost in unison.

“Yes. We know. Jesus,” Scott scoffed.

Kate made a disgusted noise. “Well, if you’d just let me finish.” She stood up and dramatically threw her earbuds down on her desk. “I was going to say that he just had a patient over the weekend with a ruptured appendix. Her stomach hurt, and she waited too long to go in, and…” Her hands shaped a tiny, invisible mushroom cloud. “Boom.”

I winced at the notion. Pain knifed through my stomach again, as if to say, Hey, that’s an idea. “Has your new boyfriend ever heard of HIPAA?”

“Kid does have a point this time,” Dave said. “What I’m about to suggest may be shocking, but have you thought about stopping by” – his voice dropped to a loud, ominous stage whisper – “the urgent care?”

“Forget urgent care,” Mikey chimed in. “I went in there when I had appendicitis, and they sent me straight to the ER as soon as they heard my symptoms. She might as well just go to University after all. ”

Across the room, Dori was already gathering up her purse and her coat. “I’ll drive you.”

“What makes you more qualified than anyone else?” Scott protested. “I literally just filed my Keep It Weird Fest story.”

Dori paused by Scott’s desk to glare down at him. “She pukes in your car, she hears about it for the next five years. You know I’m right.”

I sighed. “Well, if you’re all kicking me out of here…” I walked over to my desk and closed up my laptop, shoving it into my old red messenger bag.

Dave got to my desk at the same time as Dori. “Take care of yourself, Michaels. You have sick days for a reason. Keep me posted.”

“They use lasers to get your appendix out now,” Mikey said. “She’ll be working from home by tomorrow.”

“Not if it explodes.” Kate was back in her seat, typing without looking up. “If it explodes, they still cut you open and keep you.”

“Glad we don’t run a medical journal here.” I grimaced as I shrugged into my coat, the slight twist tugging at the most painful spot in my belly, and followed Dori out of the newsroom.



“Margaret Michaels?”

I stood up slowly. “That’s my ride.”

Dori stood up with me. “Do you need me to stick around?” I shook my head. “Is there someone you can call?”

I shrugged. “Brian’s in England. My mother’s in Illinois. I guess if worse comes to absolute worst, his brother can be here in an hour.” I didn’t say that in the definitive ranking of awkward things, calling his brother would rank only slightly behind walking into the ER in a purple chicken suit.

Dori screwed up her mouth in thought, and it didn’t take rocket science to know she pitied me, all alone in this mean city. “Take care, sister.” She patted my shoulder, and I could feel her eyes on me as I walked across the empty ER, slowly, to meet the nurse.

The nurse was stocky, pallid-skinned and all business, her mouth a straight line unaccustomed to smiling. I remembered Mom’s stories of her ER rotations in nursing school. This night, I knew, must be a true gallery of rogues, a tribute to human idiocy and an after-school special on the perils of binge drinking.

“Any chance you could be pregnant?” she muttered in a monotone. I shook my head, guzzling the water she’d given me for the urine test. She made a mark on her chart. “Do you remember the date of your last period?”

“Uh, I think I’m on it now?” It was the worst period I’d had since I’d gone on birth control a million years ago, and it was two weeks late, but better late than never. Even as these thoughts occurred to me, a sickening, cold nail turned in my stomach, adding nerves to the pain.

“OK, before that,” the nurse said impatiently.

I did hasty math in my head. Shit.

“The middle of November?” I said tentatively.

“Uh huh.” The nurse’s expression screamed “bullshit.” She handed me a plastic cup. “Bathroom’s down the hall on your right.”

I eased my way off the bed, perhaps too suddenly for my stomach’s taste. The rest of my breakfast suddenly rose in my throat. The nurse grabbed a pink bucket, a hair too small, and shoved it violently into my arms, a hair too late. I vomited most of my breakfast into the bucket, but didn’t entirely miss my shoes.

I looked down at my befouled feet. “Can I just walk to the bathroom barefoot?”

The nurse’s withering glare made me decide against it, and I shuffled off to the toilet, hoping I wasn’t creating a biohazard in motion. That old movie Outbreak kept replaying in my head as I peed. I was patient zero. I was one sick old bitch. A bitch, for sure.

Christmas night had faded, but not the tension between me and Brian. Something had changed. Something was missing. He and I had had one 10-minute conversation since he’d gone back. I couldn’t stop thinking about all we could have enjoyed together if he’d been able to stay behind. But I also couldn’t stop wondering if I was being too hard on him. This was what I’d signed up for, wasn’t it? This had been part of the package when I’d agreed to move here, this idea that big things were happening and we weren’t really going to be any less long-distance. I was selfish if I didn’t want him to have his best life.

Well, so be it. Maybe I was selfish. But I was beginning to suspect that he agreed.

He’d been right, though. His timing had sucked. And he didn’t seem any less convinced than me that he couldn’t have it both ways.

My reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Everything all right in there?” It was Nurse Ratchet.

I held up the smelly vial to inspect it. Good enough. “Yep. We’re good.”

Back in the room, I changed into one of those glamorous, backless, chilly gowns with the dated, faded print. A few stabs at my arm later, I was settled into a bed with a morphine drip. The rush of salt and drugs made my head feel as though I’d splashed the inside of my skull with boiling water, but it was a welcome distraction from my belly, which still throbbed.

Judge Judy was showing on the TV. I flipped through the channels. Football. Soap operas. A Burn Notice rerun. I gave up and tried to play Candy Crush on my phone. The minutes stretched interminably before me, my year slipping away in a hospital room.

No answers. But at least I had painkillers. They settled around me like a blanket, blotting out all my thoughts. I lowered my phone and closed my eyes.

I jerked awake to the sound of an ultrasound cart rolling into my room. Cold gel, a wand pressing into my belly for several minutes, then into my… Yeah, that part wasn’t fun.

The ultrasound tech probed deeper with the wand, swirling it around as if stirring soup. I didn’t see how my day could get any worse. I focused on the speckles in the drop ceiling and tried to breathe. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her press her lips together and push a button on her machine.

“What do you see?” I craned my neck around in an attempt to see the screen. She looked down at me and calmly turned the screen away from me. I made a face at her and went back to studying the ceiling.

Alone again, I stared down at my phone. It was after 3 now. The night was still young in London. I had no idea what the guys were up to tonight. I wanted so badly to text Brian, but the chasm between us felt wider even than the ocean.

Where had we gone wrong? I pressed the morphine button to avoid thinking about it.

I woke again to footsteps. A doctor walked into the room. He was tall and lanky, with a salt-and-pepper beard and faded blue scrubs under his lab coat. He said his name, but his Southern accent was so thick that, still not totally accustomed to Kentucky-speak, I didn’t quite catch it.

“We got your labs back,” he drawled, “and your ultrasound results.”

I took a deep breath. “So is it my appendix? It’s my appendix, isn’t it?” I flexed my fingers. “Let’s get this overwith.”

The doctor didn’t say anything. He looked down at me from the end of the bed. Maybe it was the morphine, but he looked very small and very far away as my world narrowed to him. His eyes were sad, tired, like a hound’s.

Then he took a deep breath and, in a careful, even voice, spoke the loneliest and most shocking four sentences I thought I would ever hear.

“It’s not your appendix. You’re pregnant. The baby’s not going to make it. We need to operate now.”

Part III: Chapter 8 by Ellebeth

Part III: Chapter 8

1/1/13

Louisville

A sharp rap came at the doorframe. “Knock, knock.”

I looked up from my phone. Mikey filled the doorway of my hospital room, collar of his immense black parka turned up, tired eyes shaded by a straight-billed Chiefs cap. He looked slightly better than me; I was wearing yesterday’s sweater and slacks, yesterday’s underwear, yesterday’s puked-on shoes. Sending someone over to the apartment for something besides a hospital gown had been the last thing on my mind.

They’d asked me if there was anyone they could call. I’d called a damn coworker.

“Uh…happy new year?” he said with a shrug.

I had yet to figure out what was happy about it. I hadn’t even left the room, and I already understood how people came to abuse the Vicodin I’d been prescribed. The tiny incision was throbbing, and I hadn’t eaten anything, still a little woozy from the anesthesia. And those were just my physical ailments.

I forced a smile that felt foreign to my face. “Something like that, I guess. Are you my chariot?”

Mikey nodded. “Dave texted me. We’re nothing if not one big, happy, fucked-up newsroom family, right?” He grinned down at me, and I felt myself thaw a little. “Got your car keys?”

“Yep.” I hauled myself just far enough out of the ridiculously comfortable armchair to grab my purse and rifle through it. My fingers closed around my key ring, and I fished it out and tossed it to Mikey.

“Cool. The wife and bambino are downstairs. We’ll go get your car and come back for you.” Mikey pocketed my keys. He winked at me. “I’m not gonna lie, we might keep that whip.”

I rolled my eyes. “You know, they’ve already been in here with the discharge paperwork. I have a prescription that needs filling. I’m sure you have a hangover that needs nursing.”

Mikey waved a dismissive hand. “Please. We couldn’t get a sitter. I fell asleep in front of the DVR at 10:45. Anyway…” He reached into the depths of his other pocket and produced a can of Diet Coke, setting it on the counter just inside the room. “This should help.”

I eyed the soda, the elixir of gods at this moment. “You’re really going to make my invalid ass walk over there?”

“If you’re being sent home, you can walk.” Mikey rolled his eyes as he backed out of the room. “See you soon.”

I pushed myself out of the armchair and walked slowly, carefully, across the room. It was a small incision, barely a hiccup of a surgery on paper, the doctor had said, but something about being hospitalized made me feel physically fragile. I hoped I’d be able to get over that shit when I got home.

Emotionally fragile, that was another story.

I popped open the Diet Coke and took a sip. It tasted terrible, so terrible that I recoiled. I held the can out and checked the expiration date. No, that wasn’t it. I took another sip. It tasted like I imagined pure gasoline might.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I muttered, chucking the nearly full can into the wastebasket.

A nurse, very young, wearing purple scrubs and an auburn ponytail, appeared in the doorway with a wheelchair. “Ready to head downstairs?” she asked brightly.

I grabbed my purse and the thick folder the doctor had given me, plopping into the wheelchair without a word. The nurse shouldered my messenger bag, which I wasn’t allowed to carry for a few days, and we headed for the hospital pharmacy in stony silence.

In my car, with Mikey behind the wheel and his wife behind us in their Camry, I said, “Hey, when you had your appendix out, did…uh, random stuff not taste right afterward?”

Mikey nodded. “Oh yeah. The anesthetic did weird shit to me. Fast food and soda sounded like the worst thing in the world for, like, a month.” He threw me a sheepish sidelong glance. “I take it that Diet Coke was the wrong call?”

I looked out the window. “Hmm. You could say that.” I could hardly imagine what I would do without Diet Coke for a month. Talk about adding insult to injury.

“It’ll come back to you.” I heard the grin in his voice, as if he’d read my mind. “You can’t stay on that wagon forever.”

We rode to my apartment in near-silence, the ‘90s station playing softly on the radio. My thoughts were too suffocating for me to speak.

It occurred to me that Mikey and our colleagues might very well think that I’d had my appendix out. I didn’t correct him. It was pretty much the same incision, the doctor had said, pretty much the same physical recovery time. I could go back to work tomorrow if I wanted, though I had no idea why I would. I’d texted Dave that morning that I’d be out the rest of the week. “Lady problems,” I’d typed vaguely. “Appreciate you not saying anything to the gang. All is fine now.”

The doctor had said it was an ectopic pregnancy, a fetus growing in my fallopian tube. Five weeks. I’d known right away it had happened at Thanksgiving. It had never made it to my uterus. It would never draw breath. They’d taken it out with a laparascopy, an incision shorter than my thumb.

Just one of those things. No way to save the… I couldn’t think of it as a baby. It had been doomed from the start. I’d been allowed to believe I was having a baby for exactly half a second. It was best, I figured, to assume I’d never been having one at all. It would make me feel better about all the drinking I’d done in those five weeks, my usual poor journalist habits, my solitary little life with my absentee boyfriend.

An ectopic pregnancy. Did it even count as a miscarriage? Especially if I hadn’t known I was pregnant? It wasn’t a dead idea for me to grieve. It was an idea that had never existed at all. It had to be.

I wondered how I would tell Brian. I wondered what the point would be. Why worry him all the way over there? I’d called my mom this morning, and it had taken every ounce of my rhetorical skill to convince her not to take off work and drive back down to Louisville. What would it accomplish to tell Brian? He’d be stuck in England, or he’d leave the work he so prized and had thought it so important to fly back early for. Neither seemed to make sense. By the time I saw him next, it would be as if nothing had ever happened. As far as he would be concerned, it never had.

We pulled up in the parking lot of my apartment building. Someone had hammered a black plastic E, stolen from a restaurant marquee or something, into the missing letter space in ST. THER SA SCHOOL. What a strange idea of vandalism. What a strange town I lived in.

Mikey parked in my space and handed me the keys. “So this is where the magic happens, huh?”

I rolled my eyes and climbed out of the car. “Oh, cram it. And get my bag. I’m not supposed to lift it.”

Mikey smirked. “I know those feels.”

His wife was surprisingly small and pretty, solicitous, holding doors and flipping on lights, a dark-haired toddler on her hip. They lingered beside Mikey in the doorway after I walked in, and I could feel all of their eyes on me, uncertain.

I forced another smile. “Thanks for everything, guys. Sorry your 2013 had to start this way.”

Mikey shrugged. “Shit happens. We’re a big, happy, fucked-up newsroom family. None of us were gonna leave you hanging.”

“If you need anything…” Mikey’s wife jerked a thumb at him.

I nodded, and the trio ducked out, leaving my messenger bag next to the door as they closed it.

The apartment felt both very large and very small. The silence was deafening. The hours stretched out before me, endless. It was 11 hours and 13 minutes into 2013, the first new year in my boyfriend’s city. I’d never felt so alone.

I walked to the bedroom, crawled fully clothed into bed, and was asleep in seconds.



Bzzzz. Bzzzz. “I just want you to know that I’ve been fighting to let you go…

The ringing phone startled me out of my slumber. It was in my purse in the living room. I sighed and rolled over. I had no idea what time it was; I’d never unpacked my alarm clock. The sun slanted through the windows at a different angle from when I’d fallen asleep.

The ringing fell silent – then resumed five seconds later.

“Ugggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” I mumbled, dragging myself out of bed. My stomach growled angrily, my incision sore again. I needed food. I needed a couple of Vicodin. I needed Brian to stop calling me. The sound of his ringtone, the stupid grin on my phone’s brand-new screen, made my heart constrict so that I could hardly breathe.

I swiped my thumb across the screen and sank onto the couch. “H’lo?”

Brian’s voice filled my ear. “Hey, sweet girl. Happy New Year.”

In spite of myself and my pounding heart, I couldn’t help but smile. “Hi.”

“I miss you. I’m sorry we didn’t talk last night,” he went on. His voice was warm, and yet... “When it was midnight here, I figured you were still at work.”

“Yeah, and I figured when it was midnight here, that was a little early to call you,” I lied through my teeth. I hadn’t made it anywhere near midnight last night. My surgery had been a little before 7, and I’d been so groggy from the anesthesia that I’d drifted in and out of sleep for hours.

He was silent for a long moment. When at last he spoke, his voice was strained, a bit rueful. “But you weren’t at work, were you?”

I didn’t answer. My heart clenched, then sped up. Heat flashed through my face and ears.

“Your mom left me a voicemail about an hour ago,” he said. “I didn’t even know she had my number. She…she wanted to make sure you’d gotten home from the hospital OK and you were feeling OK, and then she remembered I wasn’t there. I think she was a little pissed about that part.”

“Probably,” I mumbled. Mom had taken Brian flying back early perhaps even more personally than I had. She was the classic mother bear. I looked down at my phone. I’d been asleep for four and a half hours. Mom had left me a voicemail two hours ago.

“Meg…” Brian took a deep breath. “What were you doing in the hospital?”

A ragged sigh escaped me. I could barely hear my own voice when I spoke. My heart was pounding so hard that it shook my voice. “I, um, I had emergency surgery last night.”

“Surgery? What kind of surgery?” Concern filled his voice, but now a sharp edge crept in with it. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What good would that have done?” I snapped. “Anyway, it wasn’t that big of a procedure. They just did a laparascopy. A little, tiny incision. They only kept me overnight. I’m home now. I feel fine,” I lied.

“Meg, what kind of surgery was it?” Brian persisted.

I could barely speak to answer him. The words I couldn’t quite bring myself to contemplate had solidified into a lump into my throat, held together by my tears.

“Ihadanectopicpregnancy,” I mumbled.

Dead silence filled the air again for a solid minute. I couldn’t even hear him breathing. Finally, he broke the silence, in the tiniest, saddest voice I’d ever heard from him. “You were pregnant?”

I sighed. My chest was tight, my throat burning. “It was news to me, too.”

“How far along were you?”

“The doctor said five weeks. I guess it happened at Thanksgiving.” My eyes were suddenly brimming in spite of myself. “I had no idea.”

A sniffle came from the other end, not quite muffled. Brian’s voice was shaking. “And…and you lost it?”

I swiped at my eyes, irritated with myself for crying. “I never had it to begin with,” I said, a bit more sharply than I’d intended. “As soon as he told me I was pregnant, he told me it was an ectopic pregnancy.”

“Didn’t you know?” He sniffled again. “That you were pregnant, I mean?”

“I’m a little busy to sit around waiting to bleed,” I snapped, instantly sorry I’d done it – but not sorry enough to say so.

Brian cleared his throat. His voice was steadier now. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“What the hell good would it have done, Brian? You’re on the other side of the world. Were you just going to fly back?”

“Well, I—”

“No, you weren’t,” I plowed on. “You need to be where you are. Isn’t that what you said? You couldn’t have gotten here in time. I was always going to be alone for this.”

“You’re not alone,” Brian interjected. “That was my baby, too.”

It wasn’t a baby!” I shouted, my voice breaking on the last word. I drew in a sharp breath on a sob. “It wasn’t a baby,” I repeated, more quietly. “Don’t say it was. Don’t make this worse. You’ve made it bad enough.” Another sob escaped me. “You would have been here. You shouldn’t have gone back early.”

“Jeez.” A sharp sigh on the other end. “Well, what did you want me to do? I’m doing this for my sanity. I’m doing this for us.”

“And by doing that for us, you did this to us.” I had no idea what that even meant as I said it. I was starting to get woozy, dizzy from the emotions spiraling through me.

Brian fell silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was in that deadly tone he’d used with me on Christmas night, where every word seemed very, very careful and very, very dangerous. “Let’s think about something for a minute,” he said slowly. “Five minutes before I decided to come back here, you told me you didn’t want to marry me.” I mumbled that I hadn’t exactly said that, but he didn’t seem to hear me. “You know, you didn’t want to move in. It was like pulling teeth to get you to move there at all. I don’t know what you want, Meg.”

“Well, what can I say? I guess I suck. And you knew that.” My heart was racing with fear now. “Where are you going with this?”

He paused again. His voice was shaking again, but it was deadlier than ever. “Did you even want to be pregnant?”

The force of my instant, incoherent anger propelled me to my feet. Fire roared through me. My incision pulled and protested, the incision that came from losing, yes, for God’s sake, I’d say it if he insisted, my baby.

“Fuck you, Brian!” I shouted. “Do you know how fucking insane you sound right now? I didn’t go to the hospital for funsies yesterday! I had fucking surgery! I could have fucking died! And you – you —“

I couldn’t finish. Before I could stop myself, I ended the call and hurled the phone into the floor. It bounced hard off the carpet and landed face down, the new purple case a bold splash against the gray.

I screamed in anger and frustration, grabbing a pillow off the couch and drop-kicking it. I punched the back of the couch. I didn’t care what the neighbors heard. I wanted to pick up my kitchen chair and smash it into the wall, but I thought the doctor might frown on that.

Finally, I sank into the sofa. I was exhausted suddenly, as if I’d run a marathon. Tears surged up through my chest, and a sob escaped me. I collapsed into the remaining pillow and let them drain out of me.

What in God’s name had just happened? Who were these people? What had they done with us?

The floor buzzed. “I just want you to know that I’ve been fighting to let you go…” Damn it all. Now I had to answer. I slid off the couch, a bag of bones on the floor, and pulled the phone closer to me with my foot.

“What?” I said when I picked it up, more angrily than I’d expected. Clearly I was less prepared for this call than I’d thought.

“I’m coming home.” Brian sounded exhausted, too.

“The fuck you are,” I snapped.

“What do you want me to do?” His tone matched mine.

I drew in a deep breath. I wasn’t sure what would come out the next time I opened my mouth, but when I did, a surprising calm filled me.

“I want you to stay in London,” I said, the words forming only as I spoke them. “As long as you need to. As long as it takes for you to get your head out of your ass.”

In the silence that followed, I knew there was no taking back the unbelievable words that had just come out of my mouth.

“W…what are you trying to say?” Brian sounded shocked.

“I want you to fuck off,” I blurted out, and ended the call before I could change my mind.

Part III: Chapter 9 by Ellebeth

Part III: Chapter 9

1/2/13

Louisville

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. “I just want you to know that I’ve been fighting to let you go…

“Go away,” I mumbled into the couch cushion.

The phone persisted: “Some days I make it through, and then there’s nights that never end…

I dragged my swollen eyes open. The phone was still face-down on the carpet. I had no idea what time it was, but it was pitch-black outside. I lifted my head and managed to focus on the oven clock. 4:13. I’d been drifting in and out of tears and sleep, alternately, for the better part of 12 hours, apparently.

I wish that I could believe that there’s a day you’ll come back to me…

My eyes welled up again. I pressed the backs of my hands to my eyelids, willing back the tears.

The phone fell silent. My incision was sore again. I hoisted myself off the couch and stumbled to the refrigerator. I found a cup of yogurt, tore off the lid, and held it over my open mouth, patting the bottom to force the yogurt out. I was still wearing the same clothes in which I’d ended 2012; my hair was unwashed and chaotic. Why not live in even greater filth? I stuck my finger into the yogurt cup to collect the leftovers, then picked up the bottle of Vicodin from the kitchen table, where I’d left it when I’d finally eaten an unknown number of hours ago. I swallowed two of them dry and went back to the couch.

I turned over my phone. No texts. Another voicemail from Mom, left around 9. How did I keep missing her calls? I swiped the screen to listen to it. “Hi, it’s only me,” she chirped. “Please pick up. I’d feel so much better knowing you aren’t dead before I go in. I’d really like to talk to you. I love you, honey.”

I tossed the phone to the floor again, where it landed face-up. My raw eyes were full again. No, I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to say any of this out loud. I didn’t want any of it to have happened. I wanted to go back to sleep. Maybe forever. The weight of what I’d done – no, what we’d both done – sat on my chest, so that I could barely breathe when I was awake.

The phone started buzzing again, this time with my regular ringtone, these days the cheerfully grungy guitar riff from Beck’s “E-Pro.” I frowned down at the screen. Why was Nick calling me?

I snatched the phone off the floor. “Hello?” I answered, alarmed at the scratchiness of my own voice.

“Screen your calls much?” Nick said.

“Bite me,” I mumbled.

He chuckled. “That wasn’t Brian, by the way. That was me.”

“Well, no shit, Captain Obvious. You’re more calculating than I give you credit for.” I glanced back at the oven. “Look, it’s 4 in the morning here. What do you want?”

“Is it that early?” Nick was doing a poor job of feigning confusion. “You sound horrible. Well, hey, it’s after 10 here.”

“Thanks for the lesson on time zones.”

“Listen, though.” Nick grew serious. “Something’s up with Brian. He’s drank a shitload of whiskey, and he won’t talk to anyone. You know anything about it? Since you don’t wanna talk to him, apparently.”

I sat up, frowning again. “Wait, he’s actually drunk? Like, drunk-drunk?”

“Totally sauced,” Nick confirmed. “I can’t remember ever seeing him like this.”

I couldn’t resist. “Well, you probably have, but you were probably twice as drunk and half as old.”

“Oh, you’re soooooo funny, Miz Michaels.” Sarcastic, fake laughter. Then, more soberly: “Seriously, though. Everything OK with you two?”

The pressure inside my chest was crushing. I couldn’t breathe. My throat burned with unshed tears and terrible realizations.

“I…” I swallowed, then went on, slowly, my voice unsteady. “Nick, I don’t think there is an ‘us two’ anymore.”

“Jesus.” Nick paused. Then, again, heavily: “Jeeeeesus.”

I sighed, irritated now. I didn’t want anyone’s pity, least of all Brian’s best friend’s. “What’s it to you?”

He snorted. “Besides having to live and work and try to record with drunk, pissed-off B? Thanks for that.”

I pulled a pillow into my lap. “Don’t put this all on me. He said stuff he’ll never be able to take back.”

“Then he’s a dumb-ass, and I’ll make sure he knows it,” Nick said, almost dismissively.

“Don’t do that. You’ll only make it worse.” I hugged the pillow tighter. “If you’re going to take a side, you might as well take his.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. Brian’s been my bro for 20 years. You – you’re like my little sister. Everyone in this group’s sister. I have sisters, and I still like you better.”

Nick’s tone was sincere and made my chest tighten even more, squeezing tears out of my eyes. I couldn’t speak to respond. “So?” finally came out in a watery mumble.

“So I’m thinking none of us wants to lose you. Brian might be having, like, an out-of-body experience, but I know he doesn’t.” Nick was quiet for a long moment. “You know, people like you guys give me hope. If someone as fucked-up as B was and a hard-ass like you can be happy together, maybe someone like me can do OK.”

“Don’t say that, Nick. Come on, you don’t really think I’m a hard-ass, do you?” I sniffled as more fresh tears filled my eyes. “All you’ve ever known me as is the chick who showed up to do a job and…and fell in love with your friend instead.” My voice broke on the last few words. Just as I had predicted, he’d broken my heart, and it had been as much my fault as anyone’s. It had just taken longer, made things worse.

“Nah, you’re bigger than that. Both of you are. I don’t know what the hell happened, and I’m not gonna ask—”

I sniffled again. “Good. You have a big mouth.”

Nick ignored me. “—but it’s nothing you two can’t make it through.”

My heart sank with every vain word. I wiped my eyes on my filthy sleeve. “I don’t know about that this time, Nick.”

We were both quiet again for a long time. A distant siren faded in and out.

“What are you gonna do now?” Nick finally said.

“What do you mean?” I lifted my sleeve again, this time to my runny nose. “I’m gonna do what I always did. Go on with my sad little life.” I couldn’t imagine how this time, but what choice did I have?

“You gonna stay in Kentucky?”

Impatient all of a sudden, I shrugged, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. “I guess for a while. I like it here. I like my job. I don’t really want to go back home.”

“Would you go back to New York?”

“What, and pretend none of this ever happened?” I snorted. “That ship has sailed. Why are you even asking me this right now? We broke up, like, 12 hours ago.”

The enormity of those words – we broke up – suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. We broke up. The last person I’d ever wanted to fall in love with. The last person I wanted to see before I fell asleep. The last person I wanted to kiss. The last person I wanted to love like I had for the last year and a half. Oh, good God, who was this woman and what had she done with the woman who’d just wanted to love Brian?

It was 4 in the morning, and everything was too close to the surface. I burst into tears again. This time, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to stop. It took me a full five minutes to notice that Nick had hung up, leaving me alone, like part of me had always known I would be.



1/7/13

Brooklyn

I pressed the buzzer again, huddling deeper into my coat and leaning back to look up at the stern old warehouse. It seemed like much longer than a handful of months since I’d stood here. I’d forgotten how cold the wind off the canal could be, the way it whipped through the streets, the long shadows, even in the mid-morning, between the bleak buildings, the carefully cultivated bleakness of the neighborhood. I’d forgotten how much I hated Gowanus.

A burst of static issued forth from the intercom, followed by Alicia’s sleepy, surprised voice. “Hello?”

It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard her voice through a speaker countless times since I’d left our city, but hearing it now brought a lump to my throat. I barely managed to get out, “Yes, I have a delivery of eight large Hawaiian pizzas and a gallon of iced tea.”

No response. Thirty seconds later, through the plate glass door, I saw feet in ratty red sneakers come pounding down the steps. Then Alicia flung open the door. She was wearing penguin-print PJ pants, a bright red Yankees hoodie, and a look of absolute shock on her face. She tilted her head to one side, mouth hanging open. “Meg?”

I pasted a smile on my face. “Did I wake you up? Slacker.”

“Oh. My. God.” Her hands flew to her face, then shot out to pull me into a hug. “Oh my God,” she repeated, half-laughing, a sound very close to a sob. “What are you doing here?”

“I just needed a little change of scenery. Did I miss the ball drop?” The words sounded unconvincing as they came out in an unsteady, foolhardy voice.

Alicia pulled back, holding me at arm’s length to appraise me. She frowned. “Well, you’ve looked better.”

There was no fooling her. I felt all the air go out of me. “I’ve been better,” I mumbled.

She dropped her hands to mine and squeezed them, hard. “I guess I might have guessed that.” She tugged at my hands. “Come in out of the cold.”

I trudged upstairs after her. My backpack suddenly felt very heavy, and I knew my doctor would be angry. I was pretty sure this was more than I was still supposed to lift. It was feathers compared to the weight on my heart.

I’d confided in Dave a few days ago, and he’d given me another week off work. It was coming out of my vacation time, but fuck it, I’d rolled enough over and I needed to get out of Kentucky right now more than I could ever remember needing anything. I needed Alicia’s hugs and sympathy. I needed tall buildings and long shadows, and so I had pulled up Kayak yesterday, booked the first flight out today, thrown some things in a bag and caught a cab to the airport before sunrise without looking back. Damn the credit card bill. I needed to be loved for a while.

The concrete floor was cold under my feet as I toed off my old Chucks, but Alicia fixed us hot toddies – why not? coming in on the first flight of the day meant I’d already been awake long enough to drink – and passed me a seemingly endless supply of tissues, then toilet paper when it finally did end, as I spilled the whole story to her.

When I was finished talking, my eyes nearly swollen shut from crying, Alicia sat quiet for a long moment, hands wrapped around her mug. She nudged the whiskey toward me with her elbow, and I shook my head.

“I guess it’s probably counterproductive for me to call him a louse,” she said. I nodded. “Can we agree he was louse-like?” I nodded again. “And can we agree that he doesn’t really get all the blame?” I didn’t meet her eyes this time, but nodded once more.

Alicia took a long drink from her mug, which looked like a camera lens. “So what are you gonna do?” she went on, very quietly.

I shrugged. “Nick asked me that the day after...” I swallowed. “Well, you know.” Alicia nodded. “I guess I’ll stay in Louisville for a while,” I continued. “It’s not like I’ll run into him much.”

“Do you think you’d ever come back to New York?”

There was no mistaking the selfish hope in her voice, and I hated to disappoint her. I stared down into my drink. My mug had a picture of a green apple, like the Beatles’ record label. It only served me as a reminder of the city I’d left and could never again call home.

“This city chewed me up and spit me out,” I mumbled. “I can’t come back here. I only came here because of Rolling Stone. God…” Realizations washed over me, one after the other. “I never would have gotten laid off if I hadn’t left the music beat. I never would have changed beats if it hadn’t been for Brian. Maybe I…”

My eyes welled up again, and before I could stop it, a fat, salty tear dripped right into my boozy tea. “Maybe this was all a mistake,” I choked out. “All of it.” The last few words dissolved into a sob. I pushed my tea away and laid my forehead on the table. “I fucked up.”

I heard Alicia take another long sip of her drink. She didn’t say anything for a while. Finally: “Wasn’t being loved worth it?” I lifted my head to see her staring at me in…no, not quite pity. Confusion, maybe.

She stood up from the table. “Come on. I won’t get shit done today anyway, so let’s watch a movie.”

While Alicia folded up her pullout couch and hooked up her laptop to her TV, I stared at the giant black-and-white photo on her wall, a dramatic depiction of a desert arch. In the picture’s shadows, I saw my reflection in the glass: hair a messy ponytail, eyes red and swollen, face dull. As though the life had been sucked out of me. I’d certainly looked better, all right. I couldn’t remember feeling worse. Thinking Brian and I would never have a chance to love each other had been child’s play compared to this.

Notting Hill was on Netflix, and we sat at opposite ends of the couch, splitting a fleece blanket, legs tucked up under us. It was college all over again, and during a quiet moment in the movie, Alicia glanced my way. I thought I heard her mutter that she could get used to this again.

At the end of the movie, I pulled my legs up to my chest, my world narrowed to the screen. I dared not blink, I dared not breathe.

“My relatively inexperienced heart would, I fear, not recover,” Hugh Grant stammered, “if I was, once again, cast aside, as I would absolutely expect to be. There are just too many pictures of you, too many films. You’d go, and I’d be, well, buggered, basically.”

Tears stung my eyes again. I pressed the backs of my hands to them.

Julia Roberts pasted on a brave smile in the face of Hugh Grant’s obvious hurt. “I’m also just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”

Alicia was watching me watch the movie. I could feel her eyes on me. I sniffled, too loudly, and focused on the screen. The sound suddenly cut out.

“Meg, I’m going to ask you a question,” Alicia said. “And you’re going to give me an honest answer, because if you don’t, you know I’ll know it.”

“That’s probably right,” I mumbled.

She jerked her head at my backpack, next to the door. “Your passport’s in there, isn’t it?”

To be honest, I hadn’t even been paying attention when I’d packed. I got up from the couch, my feet instantly cold again, and walked slowly over to my bag. I opened the front pocket. And there it was: my passport.

Alicia’s voice came from behind me. “I don’t know why you even left the airport.”

I shook my head, realizations dawning on me again. “I needed a friend,” I mumbled.

“And I’m glad you came.” There was rustling from the couch, footsteps, and then Alicia’s voice was much closer. “It’s not an accident that we’re watching this movie, you know.”

I turned around. She blurred before my eyes again. But this time, they were tears of purpose.

“Don’t cry,” she said gently. “You’re gonna go after that boy, Peggy Jo.” It wasn’t a question. “The way he came here after you.”

I nodded. She reached out and enveloped me in a hug again. “Don’t worry. I couldn’t get used to this anyway. You were always a blanket hog.” Her voice hitched a little. “You need this more. This city won’t love you back.”

“I don’t know if he will anymore, either.” I sniffled into her shoulder.

She didn’t respond, but held me out at arm’s length. “I’m gonna go pull up Kayak,” she finally said. Her voice was full of secondhand hope. “You’re gonna go after that boy.”

End Notes:
Another short one this time, I know, but some of y'all DID ask to see their friends again... :)
Part III: Chapter 10 by Ellebeth

Part III: Chapter 9

1/8/13

London

All those promises of wining me and dining me and flying me around the world, and this was how I was finally getting a stamp in my passport. The glass and steel, damp under a silver sky, could have been anywhere. Only the PA announcements carried a British accent, so strong and distinctive that so that as I left customs, I half-expected to hear the queen’s fanfare, or to round the corner and see Alan Rickman lounging against a wall.

I ducked into a bathroom and pulled out my phone. It was a bit after noon local time. I’d tried to sleep most of the flight, but I felt like I’d been awake for days. I connected to the airport’s wi-fi, tapping my foot impatiently. Not all of us had world phones. A woman in a pink velour sweatsuit eyed me as I leaned against the sink. When my phone was finally online, I slipped into a stall and sent a FaceTime request to Nick.

He answered within seconds. “Well, Miz Michaels, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Go in the other room.” My voice came out low and hard.

Nick frowned down at me, but his voice dropped as well. “I’m alone. What is it?”

“I need to know exactly where the London house is,” I whispered slowly. “I need to know how to get there on the tube. And I need you not to tell anyone I’m coming.”

He looked confused. “Where the hell are you?”

I took a deep breath. “In the ladies’ room at Heathrow.”

“Awwww, shit.” Nick rubbed one hand over the lower half of his face, but couldn’t quite stifle a grin. “Well, good. This is good.” He dropped his hand and smirked up at me. “Maybe if we work together, we’ll be able to actually, physically pull B’s head out of his ass. It’s stuck up there pretty good. We’re ‘bout to vote his ass off the island.”

I sighed, my heart squeezing painfully. “Could we, Carter?”

“OK.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. “OK. Are you on wi-fi?” I nodded. “I’m gonna send you a thing from Google Maps. If you share it with anyone,” he growled, “you are dead to me.” I nodded my assent. “OK. I need to hang up.”

“OK. And Nick?”

“Yeah?” He paused.

I smiled, though it felt foreign to me. “Thank you.”

Nick half-smiled. “You guys are gonna be OK.” His thumb loomed large on the screen, and then he was gone.

The tube ride to the guys’ house, which looked from the map to be near Kensington Palace, seemed to take four hours. I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the glass. What were a few more hours to think about this day?

I’d had to get to the airport at 4:30 yesterday afternoon, and even though the sky was light, my body felt like it was the middle of the night. Everything was too close to the surface again. Too many memories. Too much at stake.

I couldn’t change that Brian was here. I didn’t even quite know what my being here would accomplish. My flight back, in theory, wasn’t until Saturday; it was Tuesday morning now. I wondered if I could check into a hotel and just wander around the city, feeling sorry for myself. What was a little more money? I wondered if the guys would let me in, if they’d bother ever speaking to me again, how much they knew and how skewed it was, what they thought of me.

It occurred to me that the same things could have been running through his head a year and a half ago, when he’d shown up at my apartment in New York to convince me to give him a shot. Look how that had turned out. A ragged sigh escaped me. I waited for the tears, but they didn’t come. Perhaps I’d cried my lifetime allotment of tears. It seemed plausible.

When at last I stepped off the train, minding the gap, and climbed the stairs to the street, my mouth formed an involuntary O. The buildings didn’t look so strange, and yet everything felt a little off, the cars on the wrong side of the road, the double-decker buses, the car brands I didn’t recognize. I almost dared to think the air tasted different. It wasn’t just that I was finally in the city to which I’d tracked my man, the city I’d spent so much time imagining, though that part set my heart pounding, pulling the blood out of my fingertips.

Only then did I notice that the silver skies had opened into a steady, frigid rain. It made sense, I supposed. I pulled up the hood on my coat and started the long trudge.

It was only a few blocks to the guys’ house on a quiet, narrow street, though every step felt like a marathon. I could spot the place a mile away. There was a small clump of women, buzzing with conversation, their faces shaded by umbrellas. A security car was parked outside, and a brawny guy stood on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth. Nick’s threats, it seemed, had been misdirected; someone had already figured out where the guys were holed up.

The brawny guy held up a hand as I finally approached. “I can’t let you in here,” he said in a brusque, rough British accent, blocking the front gate with his body. Water glistened on the hood of his blue rain jacket.

I lowered my hood, taking a vain leap of faith that he’d recognize my face or my hair or something. “Please. It’s urgent.”

He pointed to the girls across the street. “That’s as close as I can let you get.”

“Pete, it’s OK,” came a voice from behind him. “She can come up.” I peered around the guard to see the door cracked open. Howie had poked his head out.

The guard grunted and stepped aside. I scurried past him to the foot of the steps. Howie had opened the door. He leaned against the dry doorframe with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.

“Hey, Meg,” he said, his tone cautious but a little surprised. Nick must have tipped the guys off after all. I made a mental note to kick him in the shins.

I tried to smile, but it seemed my very face was shaking, and not from the cold. “Hey, Howie. Can I come in?”

Howie looked nervously over his shoulder. He lowered his voice. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to.” He offered me a small smile. “It’s nice to see you. You came a long way.”

I crossed my arms against the cold. Fat snowflakes had begun to intermingle with the rain. My sneakers and the bottoms of my jeans were soaked, and I was losing feeling in my fingers. I hated Howie just then. It was his fault I was here, wasn’t it? His fault for daring me to pursue his buddy, who had broken my heart, whom I now wanted so desperately to walk out here and love me. I wondered if I was looking upon Howie for the last time. The idea made me want to be less angry at him.

A Southern-fried voice, barely audible, came from behind Howie. “Jesus, D, are we heating the sidewalk?”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the sound of Brian’s voice. My heart physically hurt. It had been pounding for so much of this endless day that I was sure that it would just give out right here, that I would just drop dead. I’d been turning this moment over in my mind for a week, and it was here, and I couldn’t speak.

“Gotta go,” I heard Howie say quickly. I opened my eyes in time to see him bolt out of sight.

Behind him, Brian was walking toward the front door, fumbling with the zipper on a cozy-looking blue hoodie. Without looking up, he closed his hand around the doorknob, pushing the door closed.

This was my chance, but my feet felt rooted to the spot. My mouth felt so dry that I could not speak. I wouldn’t have known what to say. The million options I’d rehearsed in my head floated away. He was just going to shut the door on me and walk away.

“Brian.” It was almost involuntary. My voice came out in a hoarse squeak.

The door stilled. There was no movement for a few long seconds. Then, in what felt like slow motion, it opened again, and Brian reappeared. He stepped onto the top step, so slowly, and closed the door behind him. I saw him exhale sharply, and he leaned back against the door. A million emotions ran across his face at once – shock, hurt, longing, love, apprehension – but his beautiful face just as quickly went blank. I could have been a stranger.

Of course, it was pretty hard to pay attention to the expression on his face in light of the serious shiner under his left eye.

“What the hell happened to your eye?” I blurted out.

He blinked suddenly, as if a trance was broken. “I…” His voice was scratchy, and he cleared his throat. “Nick jacked me in the face the other day,” he said, a bit sheepishly.

“Why?” It was probably a stupid question. I was pretty sure I knew exactly why.

A wry shadow of a smile crossed Brian’s face. “He said I was a dumb-ass.”

If I got out of this with all my friendships intact, I was going to have to have a conversation with Nick about anger and appropriate responses to his friends’ fuckery.

I could barely breathe. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Brian. The girls across from the house had quieted down. The guard had backed away. We were the only people on the street. We were the only people in London.

Brian shrugged one shoulder. “He’s right,” he said quietly. “But I’m not the only one.”

My throat was burning. “Fair enough,” I whispered.

He pushed back from the door and sat down on the top step, half in the rain and snow, half out. He looked exhausted and, yes, hurt. “What are you doin’ here, Meg?”

“I…” He swam before my eyes. My heart was in my throat, and I could barely speak, but I plunged on. “I need to say something, and then I’ll leave.”

Brian made a vague, prompting gesture with one hand.

The tears and the tightness of my chest threatened to choke me. “Come home, Brian,” I said, as loudly as I dared. He looked down at the sidewalk, shaking his head with a humorless chuckle, and I plunged on. “I…I don’t mean back to Louisville. I mean…” I swallowed hard. “You always say I’m where you call home. So come home.”

He looked up now, and I could see him chewing the inside of his cheek. I blinked, and tears spilled over, mixing with the cold rain and snowflakes on my face. “Come home to me, and we’ll fix this. I know we can. I know we both fucked up, but we can fix this.” The pressure finally escaped me in a sob. “I love you. I’ve loved you since…since before I could even say it to myself. And I need you. This is me fighting for us. Like you did. Please, sweetie.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth before I could dissolve completely, but I couldn’t stop my shoulders from shaking, and it definitely wasn’t the cold. I couldn’t remember ever being so scared – of my own feelings, of his reaction, of losing everything in the blink of an eye.

A long sigh escaped Brian, and his shoulders seemed to sag, as if he were deflating. “That’s just words, Meg.” His voice was barely audible, and yet it felt to me like he was shouting.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. I’m not good for much besides words.” I squeezed my eyes shut, and more tears dripped down my cheeks. My voice broke. “I’m not good at loving you. You’re so easy to love, and I’m so bad at it. But I can’t stop.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. Neither did I. We stood frozen in time. The rain was almost all wet snowflakes now, but there was still cold water dripping from my hair into my eyes, and I tried to blink it away.

Finally, Brian stood up and walked down to the last step. He held out his hand. “Come here.” His voice was very quiet and tentative. I stared at his hand for a moment. His fingers were shaking a bit. I reached out and wrapped mine around them.

He turned to lead me up the stairs, but suddenly, he froze. His head dropped, his shoulders sagging again. He squeezed my hand so fiercely hard that I gasped in spite of myself.

Brian turned back to me, and I saw for the first time that his eyes were glassy and a little red. I had only a moment to contemplate it before he closed the space between us, wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me.

I was so shocked that I almost lost my footing. I grabbed on to his upper arms, digging my fingers in as I returned the kiss. I felt his fingers tangle in my hair, cradling my head as his other arm tightened around my waist, his strength surrounding me. He kissed me hard, desperately, his mouth urgent and demanding, his tongue probing my mouth as if searching for an antidote. A small moan escaped one of us. I slid my arms around his neck and held on for dear life. I couldn’t get close enough to him. I couldn’t get enough of him.

He broke the kiss and drew in a ragged breath, resting his forehead against mine. Our lips met again, gentler this time, soothing. I held his face in my hands, stroking his bruised cheek, and felt a tear on my fingers.

When at last we came back up for air, Brian whispered unsteadily, “That’s not gonna fix everything.” I shook my head. “But it’s a start.”

He let go of me, slowly, and took my hand again, lacing his fingers through mine and tugging me up the steps. “I wanna show you something.”

The house was full of old woodwork and great floors. There were jackets and shoes and dishes everywhere, the smell of deodorant and cologne and coffee. It was deserted. I wondered if everyone had escaped out the back, like cockroaches. I unzipped my sodden coat and hung it on the coat rack, which promptly tipped over. Brian chuckled quietly, and my heart soared at the sound. If he could smile, there was hope.

We walked into a room that was totally empty, except for a piano and a system of microphones suspended from the ceiling. Eggcrate was stapled to the walls in strategic places. Through a window, I could see a sound booth. It had been a long time since I’d been in one of these.

Brian sat down at the piano bench and patted the spot next to him. I sat, gingerly, sure my wet jeans would warp the wood.

He lifted the lid on the keys. “I, um, I’ve been messing around with this for a while.” He looked at me, and his eyes were full of apprehension. “I’ve been messing with it a lot more the last few days.”

With one finger, he tapped out a few melancholy notes. He started playing a rough, sad melody, humming, then singing very softly.

Your coat on the chair and the scent of your hair I miss

The clock on the wall, it reminds me of all the better times

When we walked in the park

And we whispered in the dark

And we laughed and cried

And I never knew alone

At the next words, I closed my eyes against a fresh wave of tears.

Wherever you are is home

His voice grew louder now, but started to shake. I felt him scoot a little closer to me.

Without your lips on mine

No, the sun doesn’t shine

And no, I can’t breathe

I can’t…

His voice dropped out entirely. The music stopped. My eyes were still closed, tears trickling through my lashes.

“Hey, look at me,” Brian whispered tenderly. I opened my eyes to find his watching me. They were still a little red. He kissed my cheeks, where the tears had fallen, and wiped them with his thumbs.

“I don’t think I could ever stop loving you, sweet girl,” he said softly.

My heart, what was left of it, melted. A sob escaped me. “That’s what I needed to hear.” I sniffled hard. “This doesn’t fix everything,” I echoed. “But it’s a start.”

He dropped his hands to mine, in my lap, looking down at our entwined fingers. “I’m sorry.” He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers over my stomach. “I… There’s no excuse for what I said. None.”

I shook my head. “No, not really,” I admitted.

He looked up at me. “Will you show me?”

I knew exactly what he meant. I stood up and unzipped my jeans with shaking hands. I slowly pushed them and my panties down on my hips, low, exposing the still-angry scar a few inches from my right hipbone. It was a symbol not just of sickness, but of loss.

He stared at it for a long moment, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to the incision. I closed my eyes, and my chest tightened. It was so very close to a place he’d visited in passion so many times, but there was only pure tenderness here, atonement.

I pulled my pants back up and sat down, not trusting my knees. When at last I regained my breath, I said, “I’m sorry, too. We need to do better.”

“I know.”

“No, we both do.” I took his hands in mine again. “I know it’s words, but wasn’t us breaking up, too?”

Brian bit his lip, pulling half of it into his mouth in an unconscious but grotesque-looking face I’d seen him make when he was thinking. His eyes were in a far-off place. “I need to be there better,” he said finally. “I…I know there wasn’t much I could have done for you, but I could have been better.” He looked down. “I kind of dragged you to my city, and I’ve kind of abandoned you there. It’s all bad timing.”

I tilted my head, struggling to process the disconnect between what he was saying and the reality that kept him here. “What are you saying?”

He met my eyes again. “We probably have another month on the album, and then I’m gonna come home. And I’m gonna see to it we all stay home for a while. I guess we’re gonna have to talk about touring sometime, but…” He laced his fingers through mine. “That’s later. A lot later.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against overwhelming hope. Real time with him. A real chance to fix things. It seemed too good to be true.

“But I need something from you, too.” His blue eyes searched mine when I opened them. “I need you to believe in us. I need you to believe you aren’t alone. I need you to trust me. Trust our future.”

He squeezed my hands, and I dared not look away. “I need you to take me back. I need you, Meg. It’s not just that I don’t wanna stop loving you. It’s that I can’t. Hand to God. I can’t live without you.” His eyes were red again, and his voice was rough, but it was more or less steady. “You can ask the other guys. I don’t think I was much fun to be around this last week. I don’t think they want me to live without you, either.”

Something between a laugh and a sob bubbled up inside me. My shattered heart started to congeal again. The tears in his eyes drew tears to my own. “Yes. Of course. Come back to me.”

The words seemed unbelievable as I said them. How was this my life? This felt like enough drama to last a lifetime. I suddenly felt like I was watching from above as Brian slipped an arm around the wet-haired, wet-eyed, bedraggled girl beside him and kissed her tenderly, sealing their apologies and promises.

When he drew back, he started, “So let me ask you…”

I couldn’t help but laugh again, though I was far from amused. “Isn’t that sort of where our problems started?”

“Lemme finish.” He wasn’t kidding, I realized, and my laughter died away as he went on. “I’m asking… Will you move in with me when I come home? And we’ll work on things, and we’ll…” He reached up with his free hand and stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Maybe then we’ll really be better.”

I wouldn’t have dreamed of turning him down now, but the hope in his eyes made it truly impossible. I cupped his face in my hands and let my kiss be my answer.

We weren’t over. Not by a long shot.

Part IV / Brian by Ellebeth
Author's Notes:
Look who's getting a word in edgewise! ;)

Part IV / Brian

9/7/13: 4 p.m.

The hotel stationery stared up at me, blank, taunting. I could not fill it to save my life. It wasn’t for lack of inspiration, nor words bouncing around in my head. But this felt like one of the most important things I ever wrote, and nothing seemed right.

Of course, it’s not like I had any peace and quiet to consider these things.

Among the video game noises from the other room, there came a loud thunk, followed by Nick shouting, “Son of a bitch!” and the song of Baylee’s cackling laughter. I hauled myself up from the bed and picked my way through the disaster of bedclothes, dude clothes, beer cans and food wrappers that littered the suite.

“Would it kill you not to cuss in front of my son?” I said as I walked into the sitting area, where Baylee and Nick, a mismatched pair of groomsmen if two ever walked the earth, were sitting on the couch, playing Epic Mickey. Halo was sitting discarded on the floor, next to a couple of abandoned headsets and a half-full pizza box. The coffee table sat at an odd, abused angle, and I knew Nick had kicked it.

Nick looked up at me, his face very pink. “It might, dude. It might.”

Baylee was grinning from ear to ear. “Uncle Nick’s getting his butt handed to him,” he informed me.

I winked at him. Like father, like son. “Uncle Nick’s a sore, sore loser. He wasn’t that much older than you when I was beating him at Super Mario 3.”

The door opened as I spoke, and A.J. walked in, babyless once more, holding a Red Bull. “You lettin’ the kid beat you, Nick?”

Nick was beet-red by now. “It’s not my fault he’s a fu—friggin’…video game savant.”

I snickered. “All right, Carter, take five.”

As Nick got up, A.J. plopped down in his spot and picked up the controller. “Come on, short man,” he said. “I’ll give you a real challenge.”

Nick and I picked our way back through the labyrinth of filth. We were going to have to pick up all this crap before we left for the ceremony. Housekeeping was going to tan our hides. Not booking a separate room for tonight was one of the dumbest things I’d done this year, and that’s saying a lot, as you no doubt know if you’ve read this far. I thought about calling downstairs to book another room. I didn’t care if it was a suite. Hell, all we needed was a bed.

Shut up.

The suite had a tiny balcony that faced into the hotel’s courtyard, seven stories down, and Nick and I both leaned over the railing. It was quiet, cool, shaded from the late afternoon sun. An older couple ambled across the red bricks, each dragging a suitcase. A young woman sat on the edge of one of the planters, phone to her ear.

“You know, Brian,” Nick said with sudden earnestness, “from this height, you could really hock a loogie on someone.”

I snorted with laughter, but it was all I could manage. Any other day of the year, I could do Wayne’s World quotes with Nick until we were blue in the face. But not today. My mind was a million miles away.

Well, to be more accurate, about five miles away, at my house. I wished I’d asked A.J. how things were going over there. I was itching to text Meg and tell her just one of the stupid jokes from last night, or one of the memories spinning through my head today, or how much I couldn’t wait to see her walking down the aisle. I wanted to hear her voice, her laugh. But noooooo. My phone was down the hall in Kevin’s pocket, and no one else would give me theirs for even a minute. What was so bad about helping a groom out? Why even have phones in the first place?

I studied Nick. My best man. He was a whole different person from last time, visibly and invisibly. Last time, he’d avoided me like the plague all day. Last time, I would have avoided me like the plague, too. Strangely, I couldn’t remember how I’d felt then. Surely I’d been a ball of nerves then, too. But I couldn’t remember what kind of nerves. Had they been anticipation? Had they been cold feet?

Nick glanced over at me. He raised an eyebrow. “Take a picture, dude. That’s how rumors start.”

“I’m glad you’re here, man,” I said.

Nick sort of laughed. “Well, yeah. Where else would I be?”

“No, I mean…being my best man and all that.” I reached up and clapped Nick on the shoulder. “It really means a lot. It wasn’t…” I cleared my throat, which suddenly tickled. “Wasn’t like this last time, y’know?”

Nick shrugged. “I was a dumb fucking kid. And I didn’t like your last wife. But mostly, I was a dumb fucking kid.”

”We both had a lot of crap to work through. I’m glad we did.” I cracked my knuckles, studied the red bricks below. We were both a lot better off than we had been three or four years ago. I’d reached out after my divorce, which, in a million different ways, had been a blunt pipe to the back of the head if there ever was one. We hadn’t been Frick and Frack in a long time, and getting back there hadn’t been easy. But it had been worth it.

Getting back to being me hadn’t been easy. But it had been worth it. Getting back to being able to love someone hadn’t been easy. But that had been worth it, too, and the payoff was beautiful.

“Man, I’m just glad you’re actually happy,” Nick said. “Glad to be a part of it.”

I couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across my face. “She’s, uh, she’s pretty great.”

“She’s good for you, dude. Dorks of a feather flock together.” Nick was silent for a long moment. He kicked the railing lightly, and I felt the vibration in my elbows. “Can I ask you a lame question?”

“Is there any other kind with you?’

Nick ignored my crack. “When’d you know?”

“Know?” I echoed.

“You know. That this shit was happening.”

I blew out a breath. It depended on what his definition of “this shit” was.

When had I known I was attracted to her? The minute I saw her, standing in front of the stage in Miami, with her curves and her smile and her crazy, gorgeous hair. She was like no woman I’d ever given the time of day, and it had actually hurt to look at her, knowing she was everything I hated, obviously mean and ruthless behind that easy smile. I’d called that one all wrong. She’d been honest and fun and sarcastic and so good at breaking down my defenses, so hard to resist liking.

When had I known I was in love with her? The first time I’d kissed her, in that hotel hallway in Nashville, with those sexy curves pressed against me. Right up until that moment, that night had felt like leaving it all on the field, like there was nothing left to lose after a week of flirting with her and fighting with myself. But the second her lips had touched mine, I’d known exactly what I had to lose, that I’d never get enough of her sweetness, that, damn it, love had hunted me down after all. I still felt that way every time I kissed her.

But when had I known for absolute sure I was going to marry her? Not just talking out of my ass?

“You remember when we were, I guess, sorta broken up?” I said. Nick nodded. “One of y’all asked me what I’d do without her. I couldn’t even make myself think about it.” I chewed my lip, looking back down at the courtyard. Talking about it now felt like a betrayal of my own feelings, like flipping on the light to watch the roaches scatter. “You don’t really know who you can’t live without until it actually seems possible.”

“Couldn’t’ve been me.” Nick grinned. “I was too busy punching you in the face for being a dumb-ass.”

I snickered. “Yeah, thanks for that. My face was still, like, green when she showed up.”

“’Swhat I’m here for.”

I studied the bricks in the courtyard, my eyes finding imaginary patterns. There were a million things I could say about her. There were no words to truly describe how I felt about her. She’d pulled me out of darkness, and she made every day feel like a win, without even trying.

“She really is the best thing that’ll ever happen to me,” I said at last, just as the silence was getting awkward. “I love the hell out of her.”

It was Nick’s turn to clap me on the shoulder. “And she loves you, dude.”

I turned my back on the courtyard. I could see that stationery sitting on the bed. I had to write something sometime. I could feel the words crystallizing. I had to get them out before they disappeared. On a more practical note, I had to get them into her wedding present, which Howie’s wife had agreed to wrap, because come on, who ever heard of a guy who could wrap a present?

And we had to clean up this shitshow of a hotel room before I brought my wife back here. My wife. Meg was going to be my wife, my partner for life. It was the best news I could think of.

“Come on, broseph. We got stuff to do.” I pushed back from the railing and opened the door.

“What ‘we,’ kemosabe?” Nick said as he followed me inside.

“We really oughta get this room cleaned up.” I smiled. “And I gotta write a letter to my girl.”

The minutes were slipping away, and I wanted nothing but to urge them on, with less than two and a half hours until I married Meg Michaels.

Part IV: Chapter 11 / Brian by Ellebeth

Part IV: Chapter 11 / Brian

5/4/13

Louisville

The first person I told was Nick. Just ask him.

We were standing by the railing in one of the Millionaire Row boxes at Churchill Downs. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d gone to the Kentucky Derby, but to the rich people in this box, my name had been associated with it for years. This box and the two next to it had belonged forever to one of the muckety-mucks at Kosair Children’s Hospital, a guy who’d been there the whole 30-plus years since I’d been treated there, and every year, he threw a small but, as I understood it, absurdly lucrative fundraiser for my heart foundation. This was the first year in forever that I’d actually been able to attend.

Naturally, because apparently I’m secretly a teenage girl, I’d had to call in some social backup. So Nick was standing next to me, wistfully contemplating the infield, where, I had to assume, a bunch of drunk 25-year-old douchebags in Vineyard Vines and Derby hats were busy puking up mint juleps.

“Don’t act like you miss it,” I teased him, taking a long drink from my frosty silver cup. Secretly, I wished I had one of the giant plastic tumblers they could buy down there. The silver cup might have been classier, but I was close to losing the feeling in my fingers.

Lindie walked up to us, wearing a bright orange sundress with a little white blazer over it. It clashed beautifully with Nick’s light blue seersucker jacket – Dumb and Dumber at the Derby, he’d told me with a shitty grin as I’d put on my navy blazer and pink tie this morning. Her straw hat was as big around as a truck tire and overloaded with tiger lilies. She was holding a plastic tumbler, and I eyed it enviously.

“Where’d you get that?” Nick pecked her on the cheek and peered down into her cup, which I had to imagine held about four mint juleps. I thought I saw him glance balefully down at his bottle of water.

Lindie grinned. “I bought it off someone in line for the bathroom. I was tired of my hand being cold.” She looked around. “Where’s my little partner in crime?”

I waved a hand toward the indoor viewing area. “Last I saw her, she was actually doing work. Schmoozing a donor. You could try it.”

Nick grinned. “Nah, we’d rather take advantage of your generosity and chill.”

“Well, I’ll go find her.” Lindie squeezed Nick’s arm, took a long drink of her mint julep and walked away, waggling her fingers at me.

I turned back to the track, watching as they continued to groom it. We still had another 10 or 15 minutes until they sang “My Old Kentucky Home” and brought the horses out. It all made my heart swell a little, God help me. It was a great day to be a Kentuckian.

Nick was still watching Lindie walk away. He was smiling warmly, and I was glad to see him happy.

“You two make a good match,” I said to him. “Not even I could still bring myself to do the Dumb and Dumber thing.”

“She’s awesome.” Nick turned back to the track. He elbowed me. “Being in love ain’t so bad. I should have listened to you a long time ago.”

I couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across my own face. “Being in love is the best.”

A jockey jogged across the track. The UK band was starting to set up on a grassy knoll across from us.

Nick took a long drink from his bottle of water. “And you guys are, y’know, doing OK?”

I shrugged, still smiling. “As good as it gets.” True to my word, we’d wrapped the album in mid-February. I’d flown home the night before Valentine’s Day, and by that weekend, Meg had been more or less moved in. I’d been home pretty much ever since. I had Baylee every couple of weekends, and the three of us had become something like a family. The schoolhouse apartment, the long weeks and months apart, our big fight – these were all just memories, some better than others. She still wasn’t the easiest person to love some days, but hell, neither was I. Somehow, we’d managed to grow back together, stronger than ever.

So strong, in fact, that the future was no longer abstract. Not to me.

“I’m, uh…” My mouth went dry. What I was about to say to Nick, I hadn’t said out loud to anyone yet. Well, other than the guy at Tiffany’s down in Nashville. He didn’t count.

I took a fortifying drink of my mint julep and swallowed hard. The words came out in a rush. “ImgonnaaskMegtomarryme.”

Nick’s eyebrows launched into space. “You’re gonna what?”

I blew out a long sigh. Somehow, even saying it made my heart speed up. “I’m gonna ask Meg to marry me,” I repeated, more slowly. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and pressed my thumb to the home button until my thumbprint lit up the screen. Since buying the ring, I’d had this thing locked down like Fort Knox.

“Well, shit, dude.” Nick clapped me on the shoulder and started laughing. “Can’t say I didn’t see that coming a mile away.”

I found a picture of the ring in its box and stared down at it. Three stones, for the roller coaster of our past, this hard-won peace and joy of our present, and the excitement of our future. The platinum setting was low, so it wouldn’t get caught in her hair or slow down her work, but it was plenty sparkly, with a halo around each big stone. I suspected it was probably a little more ostentatious than what she’d had in mind, not that I had any idea, but she was my girl, and she deserved a ring that sparkled like she did.

Nick craned his head to look down at the screen. “Damn, dude. You did good.”

I grinned down at the picture. I couldn’t wait to see it on her finger. I couldn’t wait to make her mine for always.

“So when you gonna do it?” Nick went on, taking another long drink of water.

I watched a puffy white cloud drift overhead, shading us from the bright sun. “She’s gonna come to Hawaii with me. I think I’ll do it then.”

We were shooting a video for “Make Believe” on Maui at the beginning of July. I didn’t know how I’d make it that long – the three weeks since I’d bought the ring had felt like three years – but she deserved as much romance as I could give her. She deserved the world on a platter.

Nick grinned and bumped his hips against the railing to punctuate his next words. “You’re gonna get so. Much. Pussy.

I grinned. He wasn’t wrong, but… “Is that all you think about?”

Nick made a face. “Come on, you got me all wrong. I think about Halo and bacon, too.”

I clinked my cup against his bottle of water. “I won’t argue on the bacon.”

We were silent for a moment. Finally, Nick said, “Dude, I’m happy for you.” He clapped me on the shoulder again. “You know how I feel about her. She’s a bad-ass.”

He drained his water bottle. “Besides, I’ve never seen you this happy.” He looked over at me. “Really, dude. I don’t remember you ever even looking at She Who Must Not Be Named the way you look at her.” I felt my smile slip a little, but he went on. “Seriously, when you were with her, you were all like—” his voice dropped into an ominous robot’s – “’There is no Brian, there is only Zuul.’” His voice returned to normal. “I always felt like, if that was what being in love was like, then fuck that.”

He twisted the cap on his water bottle around and around. “But you guys are two real people, and you’ve stayed two real people. You just…I dunno, you just fit. Like you mashed all your shit together and made something out of it. It gives me hope.”

So help me God, there was actually a lump in my throat. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t dare look Nick in the eye, so I just reached up and thumped his back awkwardly.

“Aw, am I interrupting bromance time?” came a female voice from behind me.

I turned around to see Meg standing there, arms crossed. Every time I’d seen her today, I’d done a double-take. She gave me shit about going out incognito sometimes, but she was unrecognizable. She was wearing heels, her hair was straight for the first time I could remember, and she was wearing huge sunglasses under her wide-brimmed black and white hat, which had hot pink flowers in the band that matched the hot pink lipstick that had rubbed off on the rim of her silver cup. She was also wearing the little black dress she’d worn to A.J.’s wedding. I remembered it well. I remembered pretty much ripping it off her after the wedding, and I had to stifle a dirty smirk at the memory.

I leaned over and kissed her cheek, trying to avoid getting that pink shit on my mouth. I was sure it wouldn’t look so great on me. “How, uh, how long have you been standing there?” I said, too brightly.

She grinned. “Long enough to hear one of you call your son’s mom Voldemort.”

I pointed at Nick. “That’s on him this time.”

“Don’t get me involved in this.” Nick grinned and walked away.

I placed my hand on Meg’s back, playing with the ruffle at her waist. “How’s it going?”

Meg leaned her elbows on the railing where Nick had been standing. She tipped her mint julep all the way back into her mouth and smiled up at me. It was infectious, and I could see my own smile reflected in her shades.

“I have no idea how many of these I’ve drank, someone talked me into putting 50 bucks on Woody Creek to show, and some other old dude told me he’d donate an extra couple of Gs if I let him touch my butt,” she recounted. Her grin widened, and now it was more than a little bit shitty. “Oh, and Cheryl was looking for you. She wants you to lead the box in singing the Kentucky song in a minute. I might’ve told her you’d be glad to do it.”

I couldn’t stop staring at her. She was crazy, and she was mine.

She waved a hand in front of my eyes. “You in there?”

I slipped my hand around her waist and pulled her closer. “You’re somethin’ else, Meg.” It took all my energy to swallow the rest of my words, saving them for another day.



5/27/13

Cincinnati

“Buy me some peanuts and Craaaaaaaacker Jack, IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII don’t care if I ever get back!”

“Cracker Jack’s gross, Dad,” Baylee informed me as an aside.

I had to agree. Who thought eating Cracker Jack at the ballgame was a good substitute for a hot dog? Or a beer, for that matter?

Let me root, root, root for the Reeeeeeeeeeeeds,” we resumed shouting. “If they don’t win, it’s a shaaaaaaaaaaaaame. For it’s—” I looked down at Baylee, and we threw one, two, three fingers in unison – “one, two, three strikes you’re out at the oooooooold baaaaaaaaaaaall gaaaaaaaaaame!

The stadium erupted in cheers, and a rambling melody began on the organ. I stretched my arms over my head and, through the bright sun, squinted out at the field, where a new pitcher was jogging out of the away bullpen.

I tapped Baylee on the shoulder. “Better write that down. The Braves have a new pitcher.”

“Ooh! Thanks.” Baylee dropped back down into his seat and retrieved his scorecard from the ground.

I didn’t sit back down, but surveyed the field again. We were on the first base line, almost close enough to touch the grass, and Baylee had caught a foul ball a couple of innings ago. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken him down to a Reds game. It felt like forever since it had worked out.

I glanced down at him as he scrawled on his scorecard in his painstaking little kid cursive. I was grateful for the father-son day. Among other reasons, I’d had to butter him up somehow.

His mom had taken it surprisingly well. I’d pulled her aside at the old familiar gas station on Friday, when I’d met her to pick Baylee up for the weekend. He’d been in the bathroom, and we’d huddled in the salty snack aisle.

“I need to tell you something before you hear it from Baylee,” I’d said, dropping my voice.

Leighanne had raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I appreciate that,” she’d said, her voice laced with passive-aggressive sarcasm. “I sure loved it when he came home and told me Meg had moved in.”

I had clenched one fist behind my back, cracking the knuckle at the base of my thumb, struggling to keep my face even. She’d always been really unpleasant when she was the least bit unhappy with me – in that sense, I supposed she had something in common with Meg – but she’d taken enough from me without also getting the privilege of pissing me off.

“Y’know, I’m telling you this as a courtesy,” I had said through my teeth, focusing on the bag of nacho cheese pretzel Combos next to her elbow so I wouldn’t have to see the smugness in her eyes at her own cheap shot.

Leighanne had sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” she’d muttered, in a tone a lot like how a teenager sounds when they’ve been caught. “What is it?”

I’d taken a deep breath and said, more to the bag of Combos than to her, “I’m gonna propose to Meg. Soon. And I’m gonna tell Baylee this weekend. I don’t need you to be OK with it, but I’d like it if you’d put a good face on for him.”

She’d been dead silent for a moment, and I had finally looked at her. It was such a weird mix of emotions whenever I did. She was my son’s mother, and part of me would always love her for giving me him. I didn’t really hate her anymore, either. Hating her had been exhausting. But there was no totally forgetting all the old hurts, and being amicable and doing the co-parenting thing still took every ounce of my mental strength sometimes.

Then Leighanne had surprised me, and maybe herself, by swiftly reaching out and hugging me.

“OK,” she’d said, somewhat warmly. “OK. You go and do that. Be happy.”

So now, here Baylee and I were, in the waning minutes of our weekend together, and I still hadn’t told him.

He seemed to like Meg fine and vice versa. It wasn’t like she wasn’t there all the time now when he was. And it always surprised me what a happy, resilient kid he was. I’d done plenty to screw up his childhood, but he’d just swallowed it and moved on. Maybe he’d make my life hell in a few years, but maybe he was going to do that anyway.

Still, I had no idea how he’d react. To him, maybe I was closing the book on his mom, once and for all.

I finally sat down next to Baylee, who was doodling a rocket ship in the margins of his scorecard. The Braves pitcher was still warming up. I couldn’t remember ever being this nervous around my own son.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, tapping his shoulder again. “Can I tell you something before they start playing again?”

He looked up at me. His eyes were shaded by a Reds cap that had been mine when I was his age. His curly blond hair stuck out from under it, in every direction. It was like looking in a blurry little mirror.

“What is it, Dad?” he said.

A lump suddenly appeared in my throat. I cleared my throat and tried to speak clearly, so there was no mistaking me. He was my son. Why should he make me so nervous?

”I’m going to ask Meg to be my wife,” I said slowly.

Baylee studied me for a long moment, his face unreadable. He looked out at the field again. I took a deep breath. The first Reds hitter was walking up, swinging a couple bats in wide circles to warm up, waiting for the pitch of the inning. He’d had a big, ugly strikeout a few innings ago, and here came the moment that could change his day or his career. I could relate.

“Is that OK?” I finally said.

Baylee didn’t say anything, but I could see a smile starting in his cheeks and spreading across his face. He finally looked back at me, and he was grinning from ear to ear. His eyes under the old baseball cap were wise far beyond his years.

“Yeah, Dad,” he said. His smile seemed to permeate every inch of him. “That’s OK.”

He turned his head back to the field. The Reds’ batter swung at the ball, connecting with a satisfying crack that we could hear from our seats. It soared over the grass. The Braves’ right fielder leapt in the air, his arm straining, but the ball missed him by a mile.

Everyone but me jumped to their feet. Half a second later, the place erupted. I just sat in my seat, grinning. Home run.

“Good talk, kiddo,” I said, barely audible over the cheers.



6/6/13

Quincy, Illinois

The hills turned to strip malls, the strip malls to old houses. I sat in the back of a cab that smelled like every cheap pine tree air freshener at every dollar store on Earth. The gray upholstery was threadbare, and classic rock drifted from the radio.

I was in a town I’d only heard about, in a state I hadn’t visited in years, heading to an address I’d only seen in the corner of a piece of mail. I was a wreck.

We turned down one residential street, then another. The cab parked in front of a brick bungalow with a sloped front, like a little gingerbread house. There was a tattered Cardinals flag waving next to the front door, a neat row of yellow flowers along the front walk. More importantly, there was a blue Impala in the driveway, with an Illinois plate that read FULLER 4. That was good. Its owner was working weekends now, I’d heard, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t run errands or something, and I didn’t know if I could handle sitting here waiting for her to come back.

I fished out a 20 and handed it to the driver before getting out. I was empty-handed. I’d come in on a mid-morning flight through St. Louis, on a plane only slightly bigger than a can of Dr. Pepper, and I was leaving again in four hours. I hoped that was enough time to plead my case. If this went badly, well, I’d seen a couple of places where I could sit and nurse my defeat over a cup of diner coffee, one of God’s little gifts.

I walked slowly up the front path as the cab rumbled away. This old house, Meg had said more than once, had been home for 25 years. I’d never been here. I’d certainly never imagined coming here without her. But this was the only thing that made sense.

I pressed the doorbell, releasing it slowly. Inside, I could hear a deliberate diiiiiiiiing-dong, then footsteps. The moment of reckoning was upon me. I took a deep breath to calm my pounding heart, shifting from one foot to the other.

The front door opened. Connie stood before me, wearing jeans and a pink YMCA T-shirt. She cocked her head, and through the screen door, I could see surprise, pleasure and skepticism at war on her face.

“Brian,” she said in a confused tone. “Hi.” She was still frowning in puzzlement as she opened the door and hugged me in greeting.

“Hi, Miz Fuller.” My voice sounded strangled, even to me. “Can I come in?”

She nodded and walked inside. I followed her through a small living room with an arched doorway, an overstuffed leather couch and a flat-screen TV flanked by two large, framed pictures, one a distinctly ‘80s-looking couple posing for a bridal portrait in a park, the other a big-haired teenage girl with a metal smile and MAGGIE 1998 in script across the bottom right corner. I would have recognized the women in the pictures anywhere. One of them, I hoped, was about to give me her blessing to marry the other.

Connie was standing in the wood-paneled kitchen, busy at the fridge. “Want some iced tea?” she said.

“Sure.” I sat down tentatively at the round table as she poured tea into two brown glasses and sat across from me, pushing one toward me.

Connie looked down into her glass of iced tea. She smiled, but it didn’t seem to reach her eyes. “This isn’t a social call, is it, Brian?”

I shook my head wordlessly.

“I gotta tell you,” she continued, still talking to her glass of tea, “if you’d shown up here five or six months ago, this conversation would be going very differently.”

Connie looked up. Her smile was pleasant enough, but her eyes were as cold and flat as the tundra. “I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, what you did…”

My eyes were bugged halfway out of my head. My future mother-in-law was threatening me with my own lyrics.

“…if you ever again pull shit like you did at New Year’s, I will kill you myself,” she finished cheerfully. Her smile vanished. “Contrary to popular belief, Maggie – Meg,” she corrected herself, “does not get being a nice person from me.”

If Meg was a nice person, I thought, her mother must be absolutely deadly under the cute-little-mom façade.

“Yes, ma’am.” My voice came out in a squeak, as if she’d just stepped on my balls. She sort of had.

Her shoulders deflated a little. She wrapped her hands around her glass. “I’d say you’re lucky my husband isn’t here, but you aren’t, really. He was just a big bear. A good ol’ boy. He’d have taken a bullet to keep my girl from being sad, but he’d have understood you aren’t perfect.” She stared into her tea. “He was probably a better person than me.”

Connie got up and inclined her head toward the hallway, wordlessly asking me to follow her. I got up and did as she asked, sipping my tea as I walked. She opened a door, and I was looking at my girlfriend’s high school bedroom, untouched, shrine-like, with its tie-dyed bedspread and an old softball trophy in the corner – and a big Backstreet Boys poster still hanging on the wall above her desk, faded from the sun. My own face made bedroom eyes at me from 15 years in the past. It was a little bit terrifying. The message was clear.

Connie leaned against the doorframe and took a long drink of her tea, contemplating the room her only child had long ago left. “You are literally the man of her dreams, Brian,” she said. Her voice shook a little. “And you’re a good man. And no one’s ever made her as happy as you do.”

She looked down into her tea again. “Marriage is hard, kiddo. I wasn’t much good at it the first time around. It’s the best kind of work there is, but it’s work.”

Then she looked up at me, and her eyes were cold again. “So don’t fuck it up,” she said sharply.

I wondered if this was being castrated felt like. “Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled.

She straightened up and smiled at me again, her threats a memory. “Now… Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

My heartbeat was crazy and erratic and hamster-fast. I white-knuckled my glass of tea to keep from dropping it. She was right; I needed not to fuck this up. I’d come all this way, and this was the last person I had to convince. Well, the second-to-last person.

I took a deep breath, looked down into her gray eyes, so much like the eyes I loved, and tried to make every word count. “Connie, may I marry your daughter?”

Connie grinned up at me. “Brian, I thought you’d never ask.” She set down her tea on Meg’s old dresser, stretched up on her toes and hugged me for a long moment. When she let go, she held on to my elbows. “And yes. You can marry my daughter.”

The breath rushed out of me in a long sigh. I felt like pumping my fist in victory. I’d cleared the last hurdle. Well, the last hurdle before my own nerves, anyway. But a big hurdle anyway.

She picked up her glass, turned and started walking back down the hall. When I caught up with her in the living room, she was stepping into a pair of black flip-flops.

“There’s something else I need to show you,” she said. She took another long drink of tea before setting her glass down on a table next to the door. I did the same. “We’re going for a ride.”

The day was sunny and clear. We drove down past rows of little postwar houses, past a tiny college campus with a picturesque chapel. The houses grew older and a little shabbier as Connie piloted the Impala down long, tree-lined streets. Country music was playing softly on the stereo, an old Rascal Flatts album I vaguely recognized.

“I know why she didn’t, but I wish Maggie had come with you,” she said. “She’d give you the whole tour. Downtown. The record store. The riverfront. Her old high school. The house where we lived when she was really little. Maybe even take you down to Hannibal to see the Mark Twain stuff.” I heard the smile in Connie’s voice as I watched the houses pass. “She acts like she doesn’t have much use for this place, but there’s still a piece of her heart here.”

I didn’t say anything. As we passed a huge grocery store, Connie flipped on her blinker. A cemetery gate came into view. Her voice quieted. “But she’d bring you here for sure, and so am I.”

I suddenly knew exactly what we were doing. My heart dropped into my stomach. My mind flashed back to the night Meg had told me about her awesome stepfather, about his horrible death. Of course. Of course I’d have to come see him while I was here, under the circumstances.

The car wove through the sunny graveyard. We pulled over maybe halfway back. Connie got out and inclined her head toward a tree, maybe 20 feet from the car. I followed her on rubbery legs.

The gravestone was shaded by a fat, leafy tree. It was simple, copper-colored, etched with FULLER and the words “Love leaves a memory no one can steal.” On one side, CONNIE MARIE, 1959-. On the other side, JEFFREY JAMES, 1952-2007. A bouquet of red silk carnations stuck out of the ground.

Connie bent down and pulled a few weeds from the base of the stone. “Hi, darlin’,” she said. Her voice was steady and pleasant; she was undoubtedly used to these visits. “Boy, these weeds are growing faster than I can come get them.”

I folded my hands in front of me, fidgeted, then thrust them into the pockets of my plaid shorts. I couldn’t speak.

“It’s a nice day for a drive today,” Connie went on. She fluffed the flowers, pulling a dead spider off one fake petal. “You’d have really liked it. You’d be out there in your truck with the windows down, blasting your music, singing some crazy old song and playing air guitar when you were supposed to be watching the road.”

She straightened up and stared down at the stone for a long moment. “I’ve got someone else with me today,” she said finally. “I’ve told you so much about him, and now I brought him here to see you.” Now, only now, did her voice waver a little. “Our girl sure is in love, Jeff.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips, then touched the top of the tombstone. She cleared her throat, patted my shoulder and walked back to the car. I squatted down on my haunches, studying the etching in the stone. I didn’t quite know what to say.

“Hi, Jeff. I’m Brian.” I cleared my throat, and the words came to me, unbidden. “I guess you’ve heard a bit about me. I’ve sure heard a lot about you. I wish I could meet you in person, but this’ll have to do, huh?”

A couple of puffy white clouds began to meander across the sky. “I think you might be the best man Meg’s ever known,” I went on, slowly. “I’m not sure I can do any better. But I want to try every day. She deserves the best. She seems to be OK with being stuck with me, though.”

I took a deep breath. “I love your daughter, Jeff. Your stepdaughter,” I corrected myself, “but I guess she was pretty much your daughter. You were pretty much her dad. The thing is, I love your daughter like I never thought I could love anyone again. She found me at my worst, and she fixed me. She brought me back to life. I know God sent her to me. I don’t think I could live without her now. And all I want to do, every day that I have left here, is make her happy.”

I reached out a tentative hand, running my fingers over the stone. “I want to marry your daughter. I know you aren’t here to answer me, but your wife brought me here to tell you, and I…” I swallowed hard. “I guess we just thought you should know.”

Silence settled over the graveyard, broken only by a sniffle over my shoulder that I could barely hear. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. I patted the tombstone again, awkwardly, and stood up. “Good talk.”

As I got to my feet, the leaves overhead began to rustle. A warm breeze washed over the cemetery. Out on the street, a car passed, and the wind carried a few piano notes, guitar strums and drumbeats of tough old rock over to where we stood. It was the kind of song you sang behind the wheel, playing air guitar instead of watching the road. Jane, Jane, Jaaaane... I turned to Connie, who had a hand over her mouth, though her eyes were smiling behind it.

Peace surrounded me. I had my answer, my blessing.

I looked back down at the tombstone. “Good talk, sir,” I repeated, a smile spreading across my face.

Part IV: Chapter 12 / Brian by Ellebeth

Part IV: Chapter 12 / Brian

7/3/13

Maui

The sky was a deep, velvety blue-gray, lightening in the east, by the time I parked the rented Jeep at the lookout point at Haleakala National Park. There were a couple of other cars in the lot, and people in colorful parkas were climbing the stairs. I opened the door to a downright wintry blast and regretted my hoodie right away.

Meg jerked awake – she’d been sleeping the whole way here from the hotel – and hissed through her teeth. “Oh my Gooooooooood, it’s cold,” she muttered, pulling her sweater tighter around her.

I nodded. “We’re getting back in here and turning the heat on when this is over.”

The last day of shooting on the “Make Believe” video would start on this mountain, at a spot just up the road, in a couple of hours. I knew the sun would warm the vivid, desert-like rocks, but it was still a mountain. We were going to freeze our asses off. Who knew Hawaii could be cold?

From the backseat, I grabbed a thermos of hot chocolate, hastily made in the hotel room’s coffeemaker, and the comforter from the hotel bed. A car door snapped closed, and Meg walked around the car to meet me. She had her camera slung over one shoulder. With her unruly high ponytail and her shoulders hunched against the cold, she reminded me of a little bird fluffed up against the cold. She was ridiculously, breathtakingly adorable, and I put my arms around her, surrounding her with the comforter, and bent my head to kiss her gently.

“Just remember this was your idea,” I whispered against her lips.

She inched closer to me. “Shut up, Littrell.”

The stars overhead had all but faded as we climbed the stairs to the lookout. I wished we’d gotten here in time to stargaze a little bit, but I knew there’d have been no getting this woman out of bed early enough. The earlier wakeup would have made absolutely no difference to me. I had barely slept anyway, and it wasn’t the jet lag. My heart was pounding so hard that I was amazed she hadn’t noticed just now.

I spread out the bottom half of the comforter on the rock wall surrounding the lookout, facing the direction of the sun. We sat on the wall, carefully, and I pulled the blanket up around our shoulders, wrapping an arm around Meg. An older couple stood a few yards away, cameras at the ready, and Meg took the lens cap off hers and started to play with the settings. After a moment, she gave up, stilled her hands, and smiled sheepishly at me.

“I couldn’t do it justice anyway,” she whispered reverently. “It’s like another planet up here.”

I busied myself with unscrewing the top of the thermos. I wasn’t totally convinced I wasn’t having a heart attack. “That’s kind of what we’re going for,” I finally said, handing her the thermos so she could take a long drink. I tried to keep my voice nonchalant. She could always chalk the shaking up to the cold.

She laid her head on my shoulder as I gathered her closer. “Thanks for coming up here early. Really.” She reached over and squeezed my knee. “You’re good to me.”

I turned my head to press my lips soundlessly against her hair. “You’re a good woman,” I said, with as much meaning as my nerves would let me inject into the words. She wasn’t a good woman. She was the best. And God had led us here, after all that.

It was all perfect. The once-in-a-lifetime sunrise, the blanket, the cuddling, the…

Shit.

A jolt ran through me. I patted my pocket, the pocket I’d been so sure the ring was in. It was empty, except for my phone. I couldn’t very well reach for the pocket Meg was leaning on, but I couldn’t feel anything there.

Shit! I cursed soundlessly, through my teeth. After all that, after dragging our sorry carcasses up here in the cold, the damn ring wasn’t even here. And now I could picture it, as clear as day, in its box in a sock in my suitcase on the other side of the damn island.

“What’s wrong?” Meg looked up at me, frowning.

“Nothing! Nothing,” I said, too quickly. My face was already burning, showing my hand. “I, uh, I think I left my phone in the car.”

She raised an eyebrow, then laid her head back on my shoulder. “You’re a shitty liar.” But her voice sounded fond and not really willing to push it.

The sky was turning gold and orange in the east, and then the sun was there, bursting over the horizon in a riot of blinding gold. We both just stared. Meg’s camera sat untouched in her lap. There was no use trying to capture that sun. It was…glory. It was creation itself. It was God at work. No one would ever tell me otherwise.

“Wow,” we both whispered, almost in unison.

Meg wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and I realized my own were stinging with the effort to drink it all in. She half-giggled. “I don’t even wanna blink.”

I turned my head to kiss her forehead. I hadn’t intended to look away from the sunrise, but I couldn’t help but steal a glance at her face. Her eyes were full of wonder, shining brightly, her eyes very gray in the light. I could have watched her watch the sunrise all day. I pressed my lips to her forehead again, at a loss for words.

“I love you,” she whispered, reaching over to squeeze my knee.

Yep, this would have been the perfect moment to whip out that ring. I cursed silently again.

“I love you, too, sweet girl,” I mumbled into her hair.

When the sun was up and the hot chocolate was gone, we folded down the back seats in the Jeep, threw the comforter into the back and crawled in for a well-earned nap. Meg dozed off right away, and I laid my hand along her waist, in that dip that seemed made for my hand, and watched the sky lighten until her breathing lulled me to sleep.

Two hours later, we drove down the road to meet the rest of the gang in the parking lot of the Haleakala visitors’ center. The spot A.J., in his directorial debut, and the producers had scoped out for filming was just over the ridge, a short hike from the visitors’ center. A few hikers eyed us from the other side of the parking lot as we gathered, cars and cameras and hair and makeup and chairs and clothes and all the trappings. It was a pretty low-key shoot, but we were still going to be on camera.

The rest of the guys climbed out of a couple of rental cars as we walked across the parking lot. Nick stretched, arms to the sky. He glanced next to me, and I knew he saw Meg’s bare hand as she waggled her fingers at the guys in a wave. I just shook my head at him, and he mouthed, “Pussy.” Meg was mid-yawn, and I hoped she hadn’t noticed.

“You know what’s really fuckin’ great, guys?” A.J. emphasized each word. “Sleep.”

“We’ll sleep when we’re dead,” Meg said. Her yawn was contagious, and one escaped me before I could stop it. “That sunrise was amazing.”

Sleep is amazing,” Howie replied.

“The hell you have to say about it?” A.J. retorted. “You were probably up as early as those two to do your hair.”

Howie took a long drink of coffee, and I thought I heard him mutter, “Bitch, bitch, bitch…” into his cup.

Just like old times. I couldn’t stifle a grin.

Now, I’m going to let you in on a little secret: Making a video’s really not so bad, I don’t think. Sure, you have to hear the song over and over and over again, and it’s a lot of hurry-up-and-wait, but we have fun.

I had to admit, though, that A.J. as slave driver was a little surreal. Someone had actually gotten him a beret and a megaphone and a tall director’s chair. Nick and Howie fought intermittently over who’d get to wear the beret when A.J. was on camera. Kevin and I exchanged a long-suffering look every time.

Just like old times.

Soon enough, it was my turn to sing my solo lines. I balanced precariously on the loose rocks as we shot take after take. The sun was high above the otherworldly landscape, and it was hard not to squint.

Know what else didn’t help? Meg, who was sitting on the bumper of the wardrobe van and had had her nose buried all morning in a David Sedaris book with a skull on the front – after all, her ride back to the hotel was a little indisposed – had set her book down and was watching with some interest. Focusing on the camera didn’t appeal much to me in that moment.

A.J. signaled for the camera to roll again. The music started up. I leaned forward on one leg, as if appealing to the camera itself, and started to sing.

Catch another breath, I’ve got nothin’ left

This love I have is pulling me to death

My eyes shifted toward Meg. She pressed her lips together against a smile, but her pleasure and pride showed in her eyes. I felt my next words down in the marrow of my bones.

Waiting for the night I can feel alive with you

“Cut.” A.J. sighed heavily as the music stopped. “B, I’m not asking you to cure fuckin’ cancer, I’m just asking you to look at the camera.”

We rolled again. And I did the same damn thing.

A.J. looked back over his shoulder, following my eyes. He harrumphed as, with two fingers, he gestured between his eyes and Meg’s. “You, missy.”

Meg smirked and held up a middle finger in A.J.’s direction. “Just sitting here, McLean.”

Another take. And I fucked it up again.

“Look, I have an idea.” A.J. hopped down from his chair, walked over to Meg, and all but dragged her to the camera by the sleeve of her sweater. Holding her by the shoulders, he positioned her right behind the camera. Then he pointed at me. “Now, Brian, look at the damn camera.”

The music rolled again. I started to sing again. Things seemed to be really good. This could have been the final take. And then…

Waiting for the night I can

Meg popped up from behind the camera, thumbs in her ears, sticking her tongue out at me. I was so startled, I completely lost my crap laughing.

“Cut!” A.J. hurled his megaphone to the ground. He turned to Meg and placed his hands on her shoulders again. “Miz Michaels, you’re a sister to me, and I love you.” He pecked her on the forehead.

I smirked. One of the approximately eight billion things I loved about Meg was her bond with my brothers, but every now and then, I needed to give them shit about it. “Check yourself with my girl there, McLean,” I interjected.

A.J. spun her around and shoved her away from the camera. “But your ass is going back to the hotel, Yoko,” he finished.

Fine.” She stuck her nose in the air, with an indignation I could tell she didn’t mean, and marched toward me. “I like this song and all, but if I have to hear the same three lines another 40 times, I might throw myself into the volcano. Now, where are your keys?” she asked me as she reached me.

“In my other pants.” I pointed back toward the wardrobe van. I couldn’t resist adding, “And don’t jump in the volcano. You’re plenty hot without lava.”

“Booooooo,” said everyone else within earshot.

Meg rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. “You’re a pain in the ass, Littrell.” She squeezed my arm and kissed me quickly.

“You love it.” I smiled down at her. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

As Meg walked away, Nick sidled up to me. We watched her disappear into the wardrobe trailer.

“So, you chicken out?” Nick teased me.

I sighed. “I forgot the ring in the room.”

Nick snickered. “You really are a dumb-ass sometimes, B.”

Meg climbed out of the van, and I watched her disappear over the ridge. I shook my head. “Yeah, I know.”



Later, near the end of the long drive back across the island in Nick’s rented Mustang, he said, “Has it occurred to you that she might say no?”

I glared at him. “Nice positive attitude there, broseph.”

He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

I watched the craggy brown cliffs roll by on my side of the car. “That was different,” I said. “We were both kinda drunk, and we had issues.”

“I’m not saying she’d say it to be serious,” Nick said. “She’d do it just to bust your balls, ‘cause that’s just how she is.” I heard the smile in his voice. “I like that about her.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m never telling you anything again. I’m surprised you haven’t told her yet. Big-mouthed son of a bitch.”

Nick grinned. “Big-nosed nostril-ass motherfucker.”

“Big…” I grasped for words. “Big, creepy, three-nipple freakazoid.”

“That was a wad of gum.” Nick started laughing hysterically. “Like the topless psychic in Mallrats. Speaking of the mid-‘90s with your freakazoid.”

“Dude, I didn’t watch Mallrats.” I smirked. “I was too busy actually getting laid.”

Nick was still laughing. “Man, fuck off.”

We were silent for a long moment. Now, I realized, was probably as good a time as any for the second most important question I had left to ask.

“Dude, you wanna be my best man if she says yes?” I blurted out.

Nick glanced sidelong at me. “You have an actual biological brother and a son, and you’re asking me?”

I waved a hand. “Hal got to do it last time, while you were sitting around navel-gazing. Baylee’s a little young to sign a marriage license. I…” Wow, what was this tightness in my chest? “I need Frack up there with me, man. Come on. What do you say?”

Nick was looking at the road again, but he was grinning from ear to ear. “Yeah. OK. I can sign on to that.”

I grinned out the window at the cliffs. “Thanks, broseph.” I didn’t know what else to say, so I reached across the car and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You know she’ll say yes, dude,” Nick said. “Everything else is just me giving you shit.”

I blew out a long breath. “I sure hope so.”

We were all staying at a sprawling resort in a place called Kaanapali, in the northwest corner of the island. The property seemed to go on forever, to bleed into other hotels along the coast, all sharing the same long, spectacular beach. We still had a few hours, but it would be a hell of a sunset, I reflected as we pulled into the parking lot.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the room and ditched my shoes. As an afterthought, I dug into my suitcase and pulled out the ring, taking it out of its box and shoving it into my pocket. She wasn’t stupid. She’d root me out in a heartbeat if I had the box. I didn’t know if I’d do it now, but I wasn’t about to be caught unprepared again.

Down on the beach, Meg and Lindie, Nick’s girlfriend, were sprawled on adjacent lounge chairs under a palm tree, just beyond where the pavement ended and the sand began. There had probably been some great shade earlier in the day, but now they were directly in the sun. Lindie had an arm flung across her eyes, and I couldn’t wait to see the tan line that created.

As for Meg, she was stretched out with her arms over her head, sunglasses on her face, book discarded next to her. She had earbuds in, as usual. I craned my neck and saw that her eyes were closed under the shades, so I took a moment to ogle her in her old-school pinup-looking polka-dot suit. She had absolutely no idea how sexy she was. I saw my own shitty grin reflected in her sunglasses. I rubbed the sweat from my water bottle and was just about to press a cold, wet hand to her bare stomach when she said, without moving, “Try it, Littrell. I dare you.”

I grinned down at her. “Darn the luck.” I wiped my hand on my shorts and sat down on the end of her lounge chair as she drew her legs up and sat up. I watched as she checked her phone and took out her earbuds.

“I’ve been down here a long time, huh?” She stretched her arms over her head as she glanced down at her phone. She looked up at me and smiled. “Did the rest of the shoot go OK once A.J. kicked me out?”

I returned her smile. “Nope. Complete anarchy. We threw him in the volcano half an hour later. Nick and I have been driving around all afternoon trying to figure out how we’re gonna hide out.” I reached out and half-pinched, half-tickled her. “How do you feel about going to live with the lepers on Molokai?”

“You and I both know there aren’t any lepers there anymore.” She swatted at my hand, but she was grinning. “Maybe Dave’ll let me start LEO’s first Molokai bureau. It’d make a great blog.”

“Worker bee over here.” I took a drink of water. “You wanna get cleaned up and get dinner?”

“Sure.” She threw her book and stuff into a bag I hadn’t noticed before, next to her chair, and pulled out a short, sheer blue thing like a dress and a pair of flip-flops. She stood up, stretching again, and kicked Lindie’s chair. “I’m going upstairs,” she said to Nick’s girlfriend, who acknowledged her in a mumble and shifted on the chair.

I followed Meg to the elevator. It wasn’t a bad view, and I couldn’t hide another shitty grin as she looked at me over her shoulder. She winked at me as she pressed the up button. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

“Are you sure?” I said, keeping my voice down. It came out huskier than I’d intended. “It might end up on the Internet.”

She turned and looped her arms around my neck. In a voice just for me, she said, “I was thinking since I have to take my clothes off anyway…”

The elevator dinged and opened next to us. I couldn’t stop grinning down at her as I pulled her in after me.

Shut up. I have no shame.



That night, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The beach was crowded, everyone taking in the spectacular show of pink and gold and orange. Glory. There was no other word for it. We had welcomed this day in together, and we would see it off together.

Meg and I walked down the beach together, fingers entwined. The breeze ruffled her wild curls and the skirt of her red, ruffled dress. I remembered that dress well. She’d worn it the first time I’d kissed her, in Nashville, a million years ago. It seemed pretty appropriate tonight.

My heart was pounding. I was sure this kind of stress wasn’t good for it. The stress would pay off, of course, but I lived in mortal fear of screwing this up. For as far as we’d come since then, I’d never forgotten when she had turned me down. And damn him, now Nick had me scared that she’d say no just to bust my ass.

The ring was burning a hole in my pocket. I had to do this soon, or I was going to pass out.

I stopped walking and squeezed Meg’s hand. “Hey.”

She turned to me. I caught my breath. The sun had turned her gold, caught the little streaks of silver in her hair that she didn’t think I saw and gilded them. Her eyes were sparkling, very gray and very intrigued. I didn’t know if I could do this. I didn’t know if there was ever going to be a more perfect moment.

“Hey, what?” she said.

“Hey, you’re really beautiful,” I blurted out, when I finally found my voice again. It sounded dumb, but I didn’t know what else to say. I took her other hand in mine, hoping she didn’t notice how badly they were shaking. “Let me ask you something,” I said.

She took a deep breath, and I wondered if she was on to me. The corners of her mouth turned up. I could barely hear her say, “What is it?”

I opened my mouth to speak. I hadn’t exactly rehearsed anything, but my heart was brimming with words. My knee was already starting to bend. I dropped her hand and was just about to reach into my pocket when…

Nick’s voice cut through the moment. “Heeeeeey!”

I closed my eyes. That little SOB. So he had ruined my great proposal after all.

Nick and Lindie walked up to us, arm in arm. “Beautiful night, y’all,” Lindie said. She, surprisingly, did not have a band of bright white across her face, though she did have shades on.

Meg grinned teasingly up at her, the moment seemingly forgotten. “Well, look who’s rejoined the land of the living.”

“No, you’d be amazed what a cold shower will do.” Lindie pushed her shades up into her hair and inhaled deeply. “This is incredible.”

“Cold shower bullshit…” Nick muttered.

I grabbed him by the arm. “Gals, if you’ll excuse us for a second, I need to have a word with Nick,” I grumbled, yanking him 20 paces or so down the beach, away from the girls.

“So, you do it yet?” Nick grinned down at me as we walked.

“You cockblockin’ son of a bitch,” I said to him through my teeth. “You can go straight to hell and fuck the fuck off.”

Nick snorted with laughter. “Temper, temper, temper. I’ll take that as a no.”

I stopped and glared up at him. “It’s sunset. In Hawaii. I was standing there, holding my girlfriend’s hand, about two shakes of a lamb’s ass from taking a knee. What’d you think I was about to do? Tie my shoe?”

Nick looked down at my bare feet. “That wouldn’t work.”

I reached up and popped him in the side of the head with the heel of my hand. “Nick, you’re my brother, but you really are a dumb-ass sometimes.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Nick was grinning unrepentantly. “But you’re so nervous, I had to give you some shit.”

I closed my eyes. The space behind my eyelids was bright yellow-orange with the sun, and it was starting to pulse. “Nick, when you have proposed to the love of your life, especially if you shit all over yourself and have to do it more than once, you come back and tell me if you were nervous.”

With that, I walked back over to the girls. Nick followed me.

“How’s your head there, Carter?” Meg grinned up at him. “I saw my boyfriend ring your chimes.”

Nick rubbed his head theatrically. “Dude’s been working out.” He slung an arm around Meg’s shoulder and gestured out at the ocean, where a few surfers bobbed in the water, hanging onto their boards as they watched the sunset. “So, when we gonna get you out there on a board?”

Meg shook her head. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say never. You have to engage the core for that crap.” She pinched her stomach. “The only core I’m thinking about this week is the core of that pineapple up in our room.”

She had a point. Room service had left us an entire pineapple and nothing to cut it up with. I wondered if jamming it up Nick’s ass at this moment would get him to leave us alone.

Lindie was still looking out at the ocean. “Well, this double date is swell, but, uh, nothing personal.” She popped her sunglasses back down onto her face, and the sunset reflected back at us as she reached for Nick’s hand.

“Later, losers.” Nick waggled his fingers at us. Behind Meg’s head, he mouthed at me, “Close the deal.” I only just resisted the urge to fly both birds at him.

Meg reached out and took my hand. “Now what were you gonna ask me?”

I watched Nick and Lindie leave. Suddenly, what I had to do crystallized in my head.

I looked back at Meg. “You wanna get out of here tomorrow?”



We did a little research and made a few calls that night, and we found a great hotel an hour down the coast, in Wailea. While Meg was in the bathroom, I cupped my hand around the phone and whispered, “Do you guys have anything going on for the 4th?”

“Sure,” the woman at the front desk chirped. “It’s Thursday, so we have our sunset luau, and we do still have tickets available for that. Do you want me to reserve you some?”

“Yeah, do that.”

I heard typing on the other end. “All right, we’ll charge those to your room. Oh, and after that, we’ll have a fireworks display out on the beach for the 4th.”

I grinned. Fireworks. I couldn’t have planned it better myself.

A.J. was standing outside, smoking a cigarette, when I walked away from the front desk the next morning. He eyed my suitcase. “The hell are you going?”

“Somewhere where I won’t keep getting cockblocked.” My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out to see a text from Meg that she’d be around in a minute with the car.

He took a long drag on his cigarette. “Yeah, we probably aren’t making it that easy to close the deal, huh?”

I nodded, then stopped myself. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

A.J. grinned at me. “Let’s just say you told the wrong damn person about popping the question.”

I was going to kill Nick. Literally kill him. I kicked my suitcase, but didn’t say anything.

“Hey, you picked a good place to do it. And a good girl to do it to.” A.J. lowered his shades and waggled his eyebrows at me. “Not that I have any doubt you’re already doin’ it to her.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re all assholes.”

A.J. stubbed out his cigarette on the side of a planter. “She’ll say yes, dude. Don’t be nervous. She’d have jumped in the volcano yesterday if you’d asked her to.”

The rented Jeep pulled up, with Meg behind the wheel. A.J. bumped fists with me, then hugged me. “Catch up soon, dude.”

He walked over to the window and tapped on it, and it rolled down. “You keep my boy out of trouble, Miz Michaels.” He must have blown her a kiss, because she just grinned behind her sunglasses, reached up with one hand and pretended to catch something.

A.J. turned back to me. “Close the deal,” he mouthed, and walked away.

Tonight’s hotel was doing us no favors with the check-in time, so we took our time heading down the coast. We lingered in the next little town down the road, which had a boardwalk overlooking the next island and little shops that sold things like shark’s teeth and goofy sunglasses and soft-serve ice cream, as if we were in a Jersey Shore town and not the exotic South Pacific. We tried to stop for lunch, but the little sandwich place we picked was overflowing with people who kept giving me second and third glances, so we just grabbed our sandwiches to go and hightailed it out of town.

We stopped at a little roadside park, just wide enough for a couple of picnic tables and a few parking spaces. The tree trunks were curved and gnarling, bending low to the ground like benches, and we walked straight past the picnic tables and sat on one of the tree trunks instead. We could sit at a picnic table anywhere.

The sandwiches were ridiculously good, thick slices of ham and pineapple and lots of bacon. These people could definitely handle their pig products. We didn’t even look at each other, barely remembering even to look out at the ocean, as we devoured our sandwiches.

“This was a really good idea.” Meg wiped her mouth.

“You say bacon, I come running,” I said through my last mouthful of pig.

“Well, yeah, but I mean…the whole thing.” She balled up her sandwich wrapper and stared past the trees, past the dark sand, out at the water. The tone of her voice made it sound like she wanted to say more, but instead, she just reached over and patted my leg.

I swallowed hard and turned to look at her. The breeze off the water caught her hair and played with it, caught her long skirt where her legs were dangling off the tree, not quite touching the ground. She looked as content as I had ever seen her. And damn it, she looked beautiful. This place was very kind to her.

She turned and caught my eye just as I realized I’d been staring too long. I didn’t look away. She was my girl, after all. If anyone got to stare at her, it was me. She opened her mouth, looking like she wanted to ask me something, but then closed it again. She just smiled at me, then reached over and took my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. She scooted closer and laid her head on my shoulder.

A million happy words hung in the air between us. I didn’t want to speak any of them. I didn’t think she did, either. We had traveled what seemed like a million miles to be here, sitting by the sea in peaceful silence. Two years ago, I hadn’t even known who she was. Six months ago, she hadn’t even wanted anything to do with me. And now, here we were. What a long journey it had been. What a long journey lay ahead, God willing.

The ring was in my pocket, and yet somehow, pulling it out right now didn’t feel quite right. This wasn’t the moment for that. This was a moment to be still and be together. So instead, I tried to ignore the ring, kissed her forehead, and sat with her in this frozen moment.



The luau was pretty much everything a white tourist in Hawaii could imagine a luau being: gorgeous hula dancers with grass skirts swishing as if they had a mind of their own, fat guys playing ukuleles, cut young dudes dancing with torches, a whole pig on a spit with an apple shoved in its mouth, fresh fruit and bright flowers everywhere you looked. We wore purple leis around our necks – the real thing, with the best floral scent hovering right under our noses – and drank silly umbrella drinks right out of coconuts.

At one point, the hula dancers invited us up to learn a dance. Meg, of all people, shoved her drink into my hand and walked up to the front. Her face was flushed, but she was grinning from ear to ear as she gamely wiggled her hips and her arms. She was wearing a long, breezy white dress that made her look as tan as if she’d lived here all her life, and one of the torch dudes had stuck a yellow flower in her loose hair, and now another one twirled her around. She caught my eye and winked at me.

I’d never seen her look happier or have more fun, and I thought my heart might explode with love for her. Yes. This was definitely the night.

I had an overwhelming urge to run up to the front, grab the mic, and start singing “Hawaiian Wedding Song.” I was sure the fat ukulele guys knew it. I was also sure they’d think I was the corniest and whitest white dude on Earth. And she deserved romantic, not corny. I was willing to go for fireworks, but Elvis might cross the line.

Yeah, I know. As you may have heard, that didn’t stop me on Valentine’s Day. But this was different.

The luau was still going strong as 9:00 approached. My nerves finally got the better of me, and I grabbed Meg’s hand and inclined my head toward the beach. “Let’s get out of here,” I whispered.

Her fingers laced through mine. “I was hoping you’d say that eventually,” she whispered back.

We picked up our coconut drinks and snuck out while the dancers were onstage. Down on the beach, people were already gathering for the fireworks. We took off our shoes and picked our way along the sand. I found a rock off to the side, a corner all to ourselves, where we could sit with our feet in the water or the sand and look out and see everything.

Meg tucked her legs up under her, feet disappearing under her skirt, and took a sip of her coconut drink. “What are we doing?”

I stretched out my legs so my toes were in the damp sand and placed a hand on the small of her back, tracing little circles through her dress. My voice was already shaking with nerves, and I hoped she didn’t notice. “Well, what day is it?”

She grinned at me. “They’re going to do fireworks out here, aren’t they?” She laid her head on my shoulder and took another long pull from her coconut drink. “You’re good to me.”

I turned my head and pressed my lips to the top of her head, inhaling the sweet, fruity scent of her hair. “I didn’t have a whole lot to do with this. We’d have had fireworks in Kaanapali, too, I bet.”

I heard the smirk in her voice. “We’d also have had all the guys annoying us.”

I sipped my coconut drink. “I bet Kevin wouldn’t have annoyed us. He’s an actual adult who understands relationships.”

Meg slipped her arm around my waist and pinched my side. “Y’all could learn something from him.”

“Ouch.” I blew a loud raspberry into her hair. “You and your smart mouth.”

Her smart mouth was a pretty welcome distraction, though, from figuring out how exactly I was going to do this. The ring weighed a million pounds in the pocket of my khaki shorts, and it seemed to be yelling at me, challenging me to do something. I wondered if this was how Frodo Baggins had felt.

I still hadn’t given a whole lot of thought to what I was going to say. Obviously blurting out “Marry me” had been the wrong play, all the crap we’d apparently had to work out notwithstanding. That wasn’t much of an opening anyway. I didn’t know what my opening would be, though. How’d you like to wear white again soon? No, that was stupid. You wanna see some real fireworks? No, that was stupid and corny. I wondered if one of our lyrics would make sense. She’d shame me off the beach for that one for sure.

Weren’t we both supposed to be writers? Weren’t we both supposed to have a way with words? But then again, weren’t these some of the most important words I’d ever say to her?

A boom down the beach interrupted my reverie. A white arc over the water from behind the rocks, and then a shower of gold sparks over the water, reflecting in the waves. A chorus of oohs and aahs sounded across the beach as more fireworks followed, all in double, their light and colors glinting off the water.

“Oh my God.” Meg’s voice was muffled by a hand over her mouth. “That’s incredible.”

I tried to watch the fireworks. I didn’t want to do it too soon. But finally, when I tore my eyes away from the fireworks, I knew I wouldn’t look back at them. The light and colors played across a face full of girlish wonder, the sparks reflecting in those eyes I loved. If I’d thought she was stunning by the sunset, I hadn’t seen anything yet. She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.

And I couldn’t wait any longer to ask her to be mine.

I belted back the rest of my coconut drink and threw the shell down into the sand, where I was sure the water would pick it up in a few minutes. I hopped down from the rock on legs I didn’t really trust. My heart was pounding as I stood in front of her and reached into my pocket, my fingers closing around the ring.

At the movement, Meg looked away from the fireworks. “What are…”

I took a deep breath and planted one knee in the damp sand.

Her eyes got as big and round as the moon. “…you…” She trailed off, and her hands covered her mouth again.

I took another deep breath, and then the words spilled out, bypassing my brain and coming straight from my heart. “I love you. You’re my best friend. You’re the air I breathe. I don’t remember how I lived without you, and I don’t ever want to live without you again.”

“I love you, too,” came the shaky reply from behind her hands, barely audible. The fireworks reflected in her huge, shining gray eyes, and the breeze caught her hair and ruffled it.

“So can we love each other forever? Please?” I held up the ring, letting her see it, letting her see how the fireworks reflected off it. “Will you marry me, Meg?”

She finally blinked, as if waking up, and I saw a tear slide down her cheek toward her hands. She nodded furiously and tore her hands away from her mouth. “Yes,” she whispered. Then, more loudly, on a half-sob, half-laugh, “Yes!”

“Yes?” I echoed, my giddy heart in my throat.

“Yes!” she shouted, her voice breaking, her smile enormous.

I almost collapsed in the sand with relief and euphoria. All the breath rushed out of me, and tears pricked my own eyes. I only just managed to grab her hand and slide the ring onto her finger. She looked down at her hand and gasped, and I saw her lips form a soundless “Holy shit.”

I climbed to my feet and reached for her at the exact moment that she slid off the rock. She practically jumped into my arms and kissed me. I wrapped my arms tight around her waist and lifted her off the ground, pulling her close, claiming her mouth with mine. It was the sweetest, most passionate kiss of my life, a kiss to seal promises, a kiss to start a new chapter, a kiss to punctuate this love that had snuck up on us and changed us both forever. A kiss for the woman who would be my wife.

I thought I heard a few cheers, but really, all I heard were the booms of the fireworks, fireworks that felt as though they were just for us. We were the only people on the beach. This moment would be ours forever.

And she’d be mine forever.

Part V by Ellebeth

Part V

9/7/13: 5:30 p.m.

The zipper on my dress whooshed softly as Mom eased it into place. Alicia was kneeling in front of me, easing my feet into my blue satin flats, which had me praying for dry ground. Kristin’s pearl necklace was around my neck. Leigh’s vintage hair comb was tucked into my pinned-up hair.

Shit was getting real, and I hardly dared to breathe. The bedroom was dead silent.

A few silent footsteps on soft carpet, and then someone was holding my arms out. “My God, look at you,” Mom said softly, her voice watery.

She let go of my hands, and I turned to look in the oval, full-length mirror in the corner. My reflection blurred before me. The gorgeous dress – ivory lace, cap sleeves, slim knee-length skirt – fit me perfectly, every stitch in place, the tailor a miracle worker, the low-carb torment finally paying off. I ran my hands nervously over my hips. Everything went together perfectly, even the borrowed items.

I was more than myself. I was a bride. His bride. It was all real. But it was all a dream, wasn’t it? This couldn’t be my life, could it?

Behind me, Alicia sniffled loudly. She was wearing a very pretty, strapless cocktail dress in apple-green satin, with a ruched waist, and she had let Rochelle talk her into just a touch of makeup, which looked lovely, if incongruous next to her trademark black fauxhawk. I turned to her, shocked at the sign of rare tears, and she almost tackled me in a hug before I could figure out whether she really was crying. Tears pricked the backs of my own eyeballs.

“It’s finally here,” she whispered. “Oh, Peggy Jo, you’re getting married.”

Rochelle came walking into the room slowly, tentatively. She was drop-dead gorgeous in a full-skirted hot pink dress printed with flowers, her dark hair streaked pink to match and combed into an elaborate victory roll. She put her arms around both of us, without a word. Lindie followed her in, statuesque in a soft blue chiffon thing, her blonde hair loose and curly, and patted my back.

“You don’t have your something old.” Mom’s voice was still quiet and unsteady. “I just realized that.”

The group hug parted, and I saw Mom, who was wearing a simple silver dress with a little jacket over it, wrestling the simple gold band off her left hand, revealing a tan line. She took my right hand and slid it onto my ring finger. I stared down at it, uncomprehending. It had been more than 25 years since I’d seen her without this ring, since the only dad I’d ever really had, the person who should have been walking me down the aisle today, had placed it on her finger as we stood by the river. I closed my eyes again, but the tears came back anyway.

“That’s from Jeff,” Mom said, I suspected more for everyone else’s benefit than for mine. Her eyes were brimming with tears when I opened mine, her voice shaky. “He’s looking down at you right now. You know that.”

I nodded furiously. “I know.” The words came out on a sob.

Mom’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Now you’re dressed.”

The doorbell rang. Lindie wiped her eyes. “Crap.”

She walked out of the room. I took a few deep breaths to compose myself. Rochelle disappeared and reappeared a moment later with tissues and a makeup compact. She doled out the Kleenex, dabbed at my eyes and touched up my cheeks.

“That mascara’s gonna last you through a hurricane,” she said. Her voice was scratchy, and she cleared her throat. “But I’m gonna send this compact with you in your purse.”

“Here, I’ll take it.” Alicia took the compact from Rochelle and put it in the little white clutch that would probably never leave the car.

Lindie reappeared in the doorway. She smiled at me. “We need a bride out here.”

I frowned a little in confusion. We all ambled down the hallway into the living room. Nick was standing in the foyer, hands behind his back, wearing a well-cut gray suit. He turned to look at me. The smile on his face was sentimental and a little shaky.

“Meg, you’re a lady,” he said quietly. His eyes suddenly looked a bit too bright.

“The heck are you doin’ here?” I smiled up at him. It was no surprise to see the fourth bandmate after the day we’d had, but this didn’t seem like the ideal place for the best man an hour before the wedding.

“Well, for one thing, I had to come pick up the girls. For another thing…” He held out one hand to reveal a little silver-wrapped box. “I got a wedding present from the big guy.”

I tore the wrapping paper carefully off the unmistakable little aqua box. Inside, a tiny, folded square of hotel stationery practically jumped out, revealing very simple, very beautiful pearl drop earrings with tiny diamond accents. I could hardly take my eyes off them.

“Oh my goooooosh.” Alicia was peeking over my shoulder, just as glued to the earrings as I was.

Nick cleared his throat. “Nice to see you, too, partner in crime.”

“Sorry, Nick. Shiny objects.” Alicia practically ripped the box out of my hand before I could stare at them any longer. “Here, I’ll help you put them on. What’s the note say?”

I looked down at the note. Written on the outside, in messy script, was “Read in the car.”

“Of course,” I muttered, unable to squelch a smile.

“What’s that?” Alicia was taking the earrings out of the box.

“Nothing.” I looked up at Nick, who was watching us expectantly. “They’re beautiful. Here, mine is…” I walked into the foyer and retrieved an oblong box from the side table, wrapped in blue with a white bow. Inside was a very nice silver watch with a Kentucky-blue face and a sapphire at high noon. I had had our wedding date engraved on the back and everything. A white envelope, holding a greeting card over which I’d agonized for hours last night, was taped to the bottom.

“You nervous?” Nick asked as I handed him the box.

I blew out a little breath. “I’m just finally starting to feel like it’s all real.” I smiled. “I’m ready. I’m nervous, but I’m ready. I’ve been ready a long time.” And I knew as I said it that it wasn’t a lie, wasn’t me faking it.

“So’s he.” Nick pulled me into a tight hug. His voice was actually shaking. I didn’t think I’d ever seen Nick cry. “I don’t know what to say. He’s my bro, Meg. You take good care of him.”

“It’s not like you’re never gonna see him again,” I said, my voice muffled in his chest, trying not to press my made-up face into his jacket. “I’m not stealing him away to Egypt. And it’s not like you’ve never seen him on his wedding day before.”

“You know what I mean.” Nick let me go and looked down at me. His eyes were dry, his voice steady now, both a bit wry. “It’s different this time. I didn’t even wanna look at…you know…She Who Must Not Be Named.”

I rolled my eyes. “For the last time, she’s not Voldemort, Nick. She’s my stepson’s mother. I don’t even know why we’re talking about her.”

The butterflies in my stomach intensified. Once, out of morbid curiosity, I had Googled their wedding photos. They’d looked so young, so stunning, that there was simply no comparison between me and her. Never had been. Never would be. I could say I had won, but there had never been a competition. She’d dropped out of the race before I had ever started running.

On the other hand, I was becoming Brian’s wife today. Me, and no one else. His wife. His partner, and he mine, until death parted us, or something like that. He was better than I deserved, but he had picked me anyway. Just thinking about it made my throat swell.

“But you know what I’m getting at. You’re fucking awesome, and I thought this day would never get here. I couldn’t be happier for the two of you losers.” Nick’s words were typically manchildish, his walls back up, but the sentiment was heartwarming.

I returned his warm smile. “You’re no slouch yourself. I don’t know what either of our lives would be like without you.”

And now that warm smile was quite a shitty grin. “And lemme just remind you that I was the one who told him to be nice to you.”

I gave him a little shove, to distract from the lump in my throat. “Will you get out of here? I’m sure you’re needed down there.”

“All right, all right.” He looked past me. “Ladies?”

Rochelle and Lindie walked over, dragging their bags and cases and detritus. They both hugged me tight.

“Thanks for letting us be part of your day,” Rochelle whispered in my ear. “You look pretty gorgeous, if I do say so.”

I couldn’t remember ever feeling more sentimental toward another female who hadn’t given birth to me. I squeezed Rochelle around the waist, extending an arm to pull Lindie into a group hug. “Thanks for everything. I’m lucky to have you girls as friends.”

Nick opened the door. “My wedding present oughta be here shortly,” he said as Rochelle walked out and Lindie paused beside him, slipping her hand into his. “In the meantime…” He winked down at me and chucked me lightly under the chin. “See ya at the altar, Miz Michaels.”

I watched them walk across the lawn. Alicia came up beside me and carefully put the new earrings on me. I looked down at the folded note in my hands, growing damp and wrinkled from the sudden sweat that covered them.

“Want me to put that in your purse?” she said.

I handed it to her, reluctantly, part of me irrationally afraid I might never see it again. “Yeah, you better.”

Mom walked up on my other side and put an arm around my shoulders. “Almost time for us to go.”

We watched Nick drive off, leaving me standing at the front door in my lace and pearls and growing anticipation, with 45 minutes until I married Brian Littrell.

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