Mistakes We Never Made

11 Thursday Evening

(Two days before the wedding)

MY BODY IS STILLvibrating from the dream, and I’m sure that Finn can read the lust pulsing from my face. Napping was the absolute worst decision I could have made.

“That position didn’t look super comfortable,” Finn goes on, and I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or hinting at more, “but I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Um, thanks.”

“Maybe y’all can still get your massages tomorrow when we’re back at the hotel.”

The word massage just about murders the last shred of dignity I have. The only thing keeping me tethered to this life is that Finn must have thought I was moaning in pain.

I cross and uncross my legs and curl up against my side of the car as we continue past a field of windmills. The clear blue sky against the dusty brown of the mountains should soothe me, but it just reminds me of how I’ve lived like a cave dweller in New York, tucked away in either my office or my fourth-floor walk-up. I guess Sybil, even when she’s on the run, is the only one who can get me outside trying something new.

For the past four hours, we’ve been mostly driving through a barren landscape, but now little signs of civilization have begun to crop up—a gas station, a pawnshop.

Which is good, because I’m definitely due for a pit stop. I need to stretch my legs, to shake off the lingering awkwardness from my dream. “Can we pull over for a bathroom break?” I ask Finn.

“Sure,” he says. “Looks like there’s a diner up ahead. We can stop there.”

But when we pull into the parking lot, it’s suddenly clear that this is no diner.

“Oh my god.”

A large sign flashes INTERGALACTIC EMPORIUM in praying-mantis green.

An almost reverent look of awe comes over Finn’s face—like he’s never seen something so unabashedly tacky in his whole life. “What in the world…”

“No, no, Finn. I think what you mean is out of this world.” A cheesy grin has overtaken my own face. “Come on. I’ll be quick, I swear.”

Finn pulls his eyes away from the neon monstrosity and meets my gaze, the corners up his mouth tipping up ever so slightly.

“Okay. Take me to your leader.”

WE STEP INTO WHAT is clearly meant to be an air lock as a recording plays above our heads, “Prepare for a full-body decontamination.” I make eye contact with Finn, and he gives an overly pained grimace, like he already regrets agreeing to come inside with me—but then he grips my hand in mock solidarity and I can tell he’s secretly enjoying this ridiculous pit stop more than he wants to let on. The “decontamination” ends up being a blast of AC before the automatic doors open into the kitschiest roadside gift shop I’ve ever seen.

A life-sized display has a family of pearlescent gray aliens who seem to be meeting a family of cavemen. One of the adult-sized aliens is wearing a T-shirt—and nothing else—with a bowl of round green alien heads that reads WE COME IN PEAS. To the left there is a rack of the same shirt.

“How stoked do you think Sybil would be to find this place?” Finn asks, still holding my hand, but looser now, our fingers gently tangling together.

“This place definitely has Sybil vibes,” I agree. All I can think about though is our hands intertwined. Anyone walking by would assume we’re a couple.

Smoke from a fog machine cascades along the floor from one of the other rooms. We walk through an archway wallpapered in Bubble Wrap and iridescent cellophane into a room filled with alien costumes. I pluck a headband with two rhinestone-encrusted googly eyes bobbing above it, and place it on Finn’s head.

Finn turns around to take stock in the mirror. “More sparkles than I’m used to.”

“I think it suits you. You look like a beautiful alien princess.”

“Do you think Sybil will let me wear it during the ceremony?”

“We wouldn’t want you to outshine Sybil on her big day,” I joke, but then my stomach clenches remembering Sybil’s drunken worry that her gown didn’t have enough sparkles. “Maybe we can get it for Sybil. She was worried she didn’t have enough glitz in her wedding outfit.”

“That’s probably why she headed to Vegas. To pick up a pound or two of sequins.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Finn takes off the headband. “I’ll go settle up,” he says. “Do you need anything else?”

“I need this hot sauce,” I say, turning toward a floor-to-ceiling display of hot sauce bottles.

“How can you eat that stuff?”

“Asks the man who just drank twenty ounces of undiluted kale juice?”

“That doesn’t physically hurt me.”

“I can assure you that nothing on this wall”—I motion to the hundreds and hundreds of hot sauce bottles—“would hurt me as much as consuming that much kale in one sitting.”

I’m trying to decide between a ghost pepper sauce with a pirate zombie on the label and a Carolina Reaper–based sauce, when my phone vibrates. It’s Liz.

“Aren’t you supposed to be heading to a networking event right now?” I wedge the phone against my cheek and shoulder to keep my hands free as I clink through more hot sauces.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in LA right now?” my sister tosses back.

“How do you know I’m not in LA?”

“Have you been online recently?”

“Not really. I’ve been tied up with… wedding stuff.”

“Oh, have you? I didn’t realize Sybil was getting married to a breakfast taco.”

I manage to hang on to both hot sauce bottles, but the phone tumbles to the ground. “Shit.” Returning the phone to my ear, I say, “How could you know about that?”

“Um, because it’s trending. You and #burritogate are all over LovedBy Universe right now. Aaron’s expression when the burrito hits his face is what memes are made of.”

I groan, realizing once again that I’ve underestimated the level of interest that anything related to the show garners from its fan base. I watched all of Nikki’s LovedBy episodes for emotional support, but I tapered off after her season was over. Liz, on the other hand, has been a die-hard LovedBy fan since she was thirteen. Every time she runs into Nikki, she grills her over what it was actually like to be on the show.

I pull out my phone and cringe when I see the video. I guess Finn was right—I did go Emma-Hulk. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” Nikki is going to be so pissed. For the first time since my run-in with Aaron, I regret acting impulsively. I’d wanted to protect Nikki, but all I’ve done is thrust her back into the spotlight and back to vulnerability, which I know is the last thing she wants. Then an even worse thought occurs to me. “Do you think Jamie would have seen it? Has it gone super wide?”

Liz considers for a moment. “Probably not. I’m a lot deeper in the LovedBy weeds than most people.” I breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t need Jamie getting wise to the fact that something is going on. As far as he knows, I’m having a pamper session alongside his fiancée, who is supposedly in the hotel spa and not halfway to Vegas. “Also,” Liz continues, “I couldn’t help but notice someone tall, dark, and handsome in the video with you. What’s his deal? He looks so familiar. Is he from LovedBy too?”

“That’s just Finn,” I say. “Finn Hughes? He was in my year at school? He’s helping me with some… wedding stuff,” I say again, not wanting to verbalize even to my sister that the bride has gone AWOL. Our chances of finding Sybil and getting her back before Jamie realizes something is up are starting to feel slim. Finn and I need to get back on the road ASAP.

“Oh right,” Liz says, as I make my way back toward the front of the store. “He was that kid from your debate team who always wore that Calvin and Hobbes T-shirt. Wow, someone outgrew his dorkiness.”

No frickin’ kidding, I think to myself as I spot Finn waiting in line to pay for his silly alien googly-eyed headband. My heart clenches, remembering his lankier teenage self wearing that old Calvin and Hobbes T-shirt, and I find I’m glad that even though Finn is now, yes, tall, dark, and handsome, he can still be a little bit goofy.

“Oh, wait!” Liz shouts in my ear. “I know where I know him from.” She giggles. “My friend Callie from San Francisco totally hooked up with him a few months ago. She showed me his Bumble profile. She was obsessed. But he kind of ghosted her. Apparently he wasn’t looking for anything serious. Are you on Bumble, by the way? You should be. Didn’t you say it’s been a while since you had a good—”

“Uh-huh,” I interrupt before Liz can finish that sentence. I don’t need reminding of how long it’s been since I’ve had a good… anything. Irritation is suddenly prickling at my temples. Here I’ve been, basically waltzing around the store playing girlfriend and having erotic massage dreams about Finn, once again allowing myself to forget his true nature. How does this keep happening? “Liz, I really gotta go.”

“Okay, wait. The real reason I called is I don’t have anything to wear to the networking event,” she says. “Nothing I have is businessy enough.”

“What about those wide-leg black pants, and that blue top you wore to Mom’s birthday?” I say, not bothering to mention that at this point, Liz is probably going to miss the event altogether if she’s still stuck in a wardrobe crisis and not currently on the Q train uptown.

Liz was supposed to be interning in the city this summer in the hopes of lining up a full-time job for when she graduates next May. When I agreed to let her stay with me for two months, I assumed she actually had an internship lined up, but apparently she never turned in the requisite paperwork for her school program. I’ve been sending her posting after posting, helping her revise her résumé (okay, basically drafting the whole thing myself), and coaching her on interview prep. I didn’t realize I was going to have to lay out her clothes and physically escort her to the interviews too.

I take a deep breath. There’s no use getting frustrated with Liz. This is just who she is. A little scattered, but with a good heart. She just needs someone to keep her on track.

Someone had to keep the family on track.

Finn’s voice echoes in my ears, but this time I sense a hint of judgment that I didn’t notice before. Like he thinks I’ve been bending over backward to keep my family afloat, when that’s not the case at all. I just lend a helping hand when I need to. The irritation prickling along my scalp intensifies. Who is Finn to tell me how to deal with my family? Not exactly my boyfriend. And despite all that’s happened between us over the years, he never was.

“Liz, go to my closet and grab my black blazer and a pencil skirt. If you need to steam them, the steamer is on the top shelf of the closet.”

“Okay,” she says. Then there’s a longer pause. “Also, my debit card is running low… do you think you could—”

“I’ll put some money in your account. Now go—you’re going to be late.”

“Thanks, Em. You always save my ass.”

Yes, yes I do.

Liz and I say our goodbyes, and I use the ladies’ room before heading past a pile of alien pods to find Finn.

“Ready to head out?” I pull up my bank app, making sure that I angle it away from Finn. My account balance doesn’t look especially healthy, either, but I send Liz a couple hundred dollars anyway.

“I haven’t finished my alien poop.”

I look up from my phone. “Your what?”

Finn holds up a cup filled with tiny balls of ice cream.

“That looks a lot like Dippin’ Dots.”

“It was labeled as Alien Poop, and I, for one, don’t believe that the people who claim to have footage of Neil Armstrong playing badminton with an alien on the moon would lie to me. Do you want some?”

“Can you finish that in the car? I’ll drive. Let’s go.”

“Good one,” Finn says, like I’ve made a hilarious joke. “You are not driving. Not unless you win our bet.” But he must see how serious I am about leaving, because he just tosses what’s left of his ice cream in a trash can, and we get back to the car.

“Everything okay?” he asks once we’ve pulled back onto Route 15.

“We should have just flown to Vegas from San Diego. We would’ve gotten there in two hours instead of nearly six.” I press my hands down onto my knees in an effort to stop the nervous bouncing of my legs. “I guess it doesn’t matter. We couldn’t leave the car behind.”

“I could have driven it back to LA while you went on to Vegas.”

He’s right, of course. That would have been a logical solution. But the thought never would have occurred to me. Somehow along the way this has become a two-man mission, and even now, with the irritation and the stress, I can’t imagine it any other way.

“I mean, you did save my life on the beach this morning, so I figure it’s useful to keep you around,” I say. Maybe I’m just trying to justify it to myself. Why some clearly sadistic part of me didn’t mind… okay maybe even wanted… to be stuck for a little longer in a car with Finn.

Finn gives me that perfect little grin that I’ve come to think of as his Emma Face—half-exasperated, half-affectionate. One hundred percent devastating.

“Plus you wouldn’t have wanted to fly. You always hated it.”

I feel the familiar swoop low in my belly that I get every time Finn makes a reference to our shared past—small things that he’s managed to remember even after all this time.

“Things change, Finn.”

He smiles. “I guess they do.”

I check Sybil’s location again. Still in the vicinity of Caesars Palace. I remind myself why I’m really here—to save a wedding. To find Sybil and get to the bottom of her disappearance. I think about what Liz said on the phone, about how I always save her ass. And Sybil basically saying the same thing last night—You’re my rock. I think about Finn noticing how I keep the family on track, and how he seems to understand what a burden that can sometimes be. I know it’s not my job to fix everything.

But it is my job to fix this. I owe it to Sybil. My oldest friend. The one who dragged me onto the dance floor to do an impromptu Macarena while all the other girls at the church social were dancing on their dads’ feet. It didn’t matter that the song was some sweet country ballad—Sybil shook her hips and flung her hands across her shoulders to the imaginary beat until I couldn’t stop giggling. Until the pain of missing my own dad—the anger and confusion that he wasn’t at the dance, would never be the father that these other men were for their daughters—became so distant, I almost couldn’t feel it anymore.

Sybil makes me feel like there’s nothing wrong with me, like I’m loved and included no matter what. She makes me feel safe enough to take leaps I never would have otherwise. And I keep Sybil grounded. That’s been the unspoken rule of our friendship for nearly two decades, and I’m not about to break it now.

Also, I need to know why Sybil ran—and I need to make it right. Why doesn’t she feel like she’s good enough for Jamie? It’s something that’s been bothering me all day, at the back of my mind. How small her voice sounded last night. What could make her feel that small? Certainly not Jamie himself. So what, then?

I need to find her, and find out.

Outside the Singer, the sky is streaked with pinks and purples. It’s seven thirty, nearly sunset. Soon, everyone will be gathering back in Malibu for the welcome party—everyone, that is, except the maid of honor, the bride, and the bride’s best guy friend. I fire off a quick text to Willow and Nikki.

Still on the road—cover for us at the party?

How???Nikki responds almost instantly.

You’ll think of something!

I’m about to ask Finn how much longer we have, when a sparkling sign comes into view: WELCOME TO FABULOUS LAS VEGAS.