Page 111 of Until You Say Stay
When we finally hang up, I sit there staring at my phone.
Vegas. Two weeks. Formula One.
The hollow ache in my chest that’s been there since Jack left expands, takes up more space. I should be excited. This is everything I wanted. So why does it feel like I just agreed to step off a cliff?
Then there’s the stage fright that Maya doesn’t even know about because I’ve been so careful. Only posting the tiny open mic clips where things went okay, where I managed to push through the panic for two minutes. Never posting the moments where I froze. Never posting the Blue Room disaster.Definitelynever posting that.
She thinks I can handle this. She has no idea I might get up on that stage in Vegas and completely fall apart in front of thousands of people and every camera in the world.
And then, because I apparently can’t help myself, the thought I’ve been trying to avoid crashes over me: Jack will be there. Jack, who I’m still so stupidly, painfully in love with that it makes me want to scream into a pillow.
I’ll have to exist in his world without him. Perform in his universe while knowing he’s somewhere nearby and we’re not speaking. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
I pull up my texts with him, scrolling back through our conversation history like I’m deliberately torturing myself. Photos from Banff with the mountains in the background, both of us grinning like idiots. Inside jokes that don’t make sense to anyone but us. Heart emojis scattered throughout like confetti. “I love you” said so easily, so naturally, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
And now. Nothing. Three days of complete radio silence that somehow feels louder than any words we actually said to each other during our fight.
Are we broken up? In a fight? He left for Monaco without a word, without his stuff from the cabin, without anything. Which seems pretty definitive. You don’t just fly to another continent if you’re planning to work things out. You don’t walk away from someone you love if you actually want to fix things.
I’m not going to let him ruin this opportunity, too. I’m not going to let heartbreak derail the one good thing that’s happening in my life right now. At least I hope it’s a good thing.
I need to move. Do something. The walls of my apartment are starting to close in. I push myself off the bed and pad into the kitchen, my body running on autopilot.
Don’t think about Jack. Think about the opportunity. The exposure. The career-launching platform that Maya just handed you on a silver platter.
I start making coffee because it’s either that or day-drinking at ten in the morning, and I’m trying to be a functional adult here. The familiar routine is soothing—measuring grounds, pouring water, hitting the button and listening to the machine gurgle to life. I lean against the counter and let my head drop back, staring at the ceiling.
What if Jack brings someone else to the race? Some gorgeous model type who fits into his world way better than I ever did.What if I have to watch him with someone new while I’m trying to perform songs that don’t even sound like me anymore.
The coffee maker beeps and I pour myself a massive mug. My phone sits on the counter where I left it, face down. I should probably text Maren. Or my mom. Someone who can talk me down.
But when my phone buzzes, I practically lunge for it like a desperate person, my heart doing that stupid leap thinking maybe it’s Jack, maybe he finally?—
Kelly’sname flashes across the screen.
Kelly, who chose Brandon over our friendship and then started dating him like our entire friendship meant nothing. Kelly, who I’ve spent considerable therapy hours trying to stop being angry at because holding onto that hurt was only hurting me.
My hand hovers over the phone. I should just delete it. Pretend I never saw it. Go back to successfully ignoring her existence. But curiosity is a terrible, powerful thing.
I pick up the phone and open the message.
Kelly:I know this is overdue, and I know it’s shitty to do this in a text, but I don’t know if I could face you in person. I’m back in Seattle now. I dumped Brandon. I’m so sorry about what happened at your open mic night. I had no idea he would insist we go, and I’m sorry I let him talk me into it. He’s a horrible person and I guess I’ve finally realized that. I messed up, and then I kept trying to tell myself I was happy when I wasn’t. I’m not asking you to forgive me, but I just wanted you to know I was wrong, and regret the hurt I caused. I’m sorry I didn’t apologize sooner. For all of it.
I read it three times. Kelly dumped Brandon. Kelly is apologizing. Kelly is admitting she was wrong. Two years. Two years of radio silence. Two years of seeing them together onsocial media, living their life while I picked up the pieces of everything they destroyed. And now this.
I set the phone down and press the heels of my hands against my eyes. I don’t know what to feel. Angry? Relieved? Vindicated that she finally sees what I saw all along about Brandon?
Part of me wants to text back something cutting. Something that makes her feel even a fraction of the pain she caused when she chose him over me, when she showed up at my open mic night on his arm to twist the knife one more time.
But I’m so tired of being angry. So tired of carrying this hurt around like luggage I can’t put down.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. What do I even say to this? “It’s okay”? Because it’s not okay. “I forgive you”? Because I’m not sure I do. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I take a sip of coffee, letting the warmth ground me. Then I type slowly, carefully.
Me:I need to think this over and I’m not sure that I can forgive you. But thank you for reaching out. I really do wish you the best.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. It’s honest. It’s not cruel. And it’s all I can manage right now. The typing bubbles appear immediately.
