14. Mav
FOURTEEN
MAV
“It’s cool. It’s fine,” I tell Allegra as I cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear. I run my fingers through my hair, styling it in front of the bathroom mirror. “We’re friends.”
Allegra’s melodic laughter comes through the line. “I don’t know any man who’s been able to spend time with Kenny and think of her as just a friend.”
I scowl.
“Or you, for that matter,” A continues. “You guys have that in common!” She whoops, like Mckenna and I sharing common ground is cause for celebration.
Right now, it is.
“How long are you in town for?” I ask, changing the direction of this conversation.
“Through the weekend. Derek will send a group text about dinner at The Ivy.”
“Not Carter’s?” I wonder.
Allegra snorts. “Too many shitty memories for him.”
“Right,” I agree, recalling our graphic designer, Claire, and the colossal dinner bill Derek stuck her with the summer they hooked up. Then, there was the time he fucked one of our opening act member’s daughters in the bathroom. And the fight he caused in the kitchen…
Remembering Reign’s shitty behavior makes me feel better about my current debacle, and I grin at my reflection. My hair turned out great too. It’s shaved shorter on the sides and back, clipped longer on top, and currently has this blue hue going through it. Not a mohawk or a fauxhawk, but some kind of fade I can work with.
“Anyway, with you and Kenny together, the band going out for a bite will help kick off dating rumors. Between your dinner tonight, and our group one this week, everyone will think you’re for real. Bringing Kenny into the fold, introducing her to your friends… It matters, Mav.”
I snort, shaking my head. “Or they’ll think, ‘Fuck, Mav is really trying hard to make people forget last weekend, when he fucked the senator’s wife in the back seat of his car.’”
Allegra laughs again. “No one is forgetting that easily. Angela Hayes is getting dragged through the mud. She’s on every news station and all political coverage mentions her.”
“I heard they’ve started couples therapy.”
“And counseling with their pastor,” Allegra adds, snorting. “The blowback for you guys hasn’t been as bad as I expected.”
I grip my phone tighter. “Seriously? The press called me ‘the ultimate fuckboy.’”
“Yeah, but that’s kind of true, right?” She giggles, the sound light and airy. She’s happy, and the realization makes me smile. A is like my kid sister, and the fact that she’s one of Mckenna’s best friends used to irk me. Now, well, it’s one more thing Mckenna and I have in common.
If all else fails, we’ll just talk about Allegra and how awesome she is on our date tonight.
“Not anymore,” I counter. “Now, I’m dating Mckenna Byrne.”
“Hell yeah you are! You got this, Mav,” Allegra assures me. “Kenny is the best, and if she says she’ll help you, well, my girl is nothing if not loyal. She’ll see this through. Whip your ass into perfect boyfriend material.”
“Whatever you say, A,” I appease her since…no one is whipping my ass into anything. Unless that’s a more literal meaning and?—
“I gotta go. See you later. Have fun tonight!”
“‘Kay,” I say noncommittally.
Another chuckle. “Be good to her, Mav. She’s… It hasn’t been easy for Mckenna.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my voice quieter. One-hundred-sixty-thousand dollars in debt.
Forgotten .
I knew the Byrnes were divorcing because it’s been literal news. Splashed in newspapers and commented on in circles throughout Boston. But I had no idea Mckenna was practically estranged from her parents without actually being estranged.
That must be rich people shit. I bet my newest, custom Zildjian cymbals that if Mckenna’s parents called and asked her to attend some event, smile for photos, and sit at their table, she would. Partly because that’s the type of woman she is. I mean, clearly, look what she’s doing for me. And somewhat because her parents would expect her to. Mckenna would say yes to avoid disappointing them.
Even though they have no clue how much she’s struggling. They probably haven’t given her tuition a second thought. In their minds, it’s settled.
I end the call with A and toss down my phone.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I brace my palms on the vanity and sigh.
“Don’t fuck her over,” I warn my reflection. “You can be a decent friend. Be that for her. This is nothing more than friends helping friends. A business transaction. An agreement. That’s it.”
Confident in my commitment, I give a sturdy nod. Then, I flip off the bathroom light and head downstairs to wait for my date.
Twenty minutes later, Mckenna is a no-show.
I heave out a sigh and drop my head back against the cushion of the chair I’m propped in. Did she blow me off? Did she forget?
I stretch my legs out, stacking my left heel on my right foot’s toes. I pull out my phone and glance at the screen, scrolling through the messages I don’t give a shit about to see if I’ve got any from her.
Nope.
I pull up Flip’s name, about to send him a message to inquire about getting fucked up tonight, when my phone rings.
Mckenna’s name floats across the screen.
“Mckenna?” I ask, my tone mostly annoyed with a thin thread of relief.
“Mav? Are you coming?” she asks. Her tone is flustered, and I sit up straight, glancing around the empty living room as if expecting her to jump out from behind the couch and yell, “Surprise!”
“What are you talking about? I’ve been sitting in the living room, waiting for you, for over twenty minutes.”
“The living room? We’re supposed to meet at the restaurant. I’ve been—” She lowers her voice. “Everyone is looking at me. I’m, well, about to take another sip of wine, so…unless you get here soon, everyone will think your girlfriend is a lush and you stood her up.”
“Fuck,” I wheeze. “Why didn’t you?—”
“I sent you an email this morning,” she cuts me off.
“An email?” I repeat, baffled. “Mckenna, are you fucking kidding me? Do you really think I’m the kind of guy who would check my fucking email inbox?”
She doesn’t respond to that since the answer is obvious.
Instead, she huffs, “Are you coming?”
“Yeah.” I stand and grab my wallet. “I’ll be there in…well, when I get there.”
“Hurry.” She disconnects.
I groan and step outside. After exchanging a few words with Drew and Alfred, I’m on my way, sitting in the evening downtown traffic.
But within twenty minutes, and I imagine a second glass of wine for Mckenna, the SUV pulls to a stop in front of the trendy, modern Italian kitchen Kimberly arranged for Mckenna and me to dine at tonight.
I’m relieved that Kimberly felt tonight should be a practice run and didn’t arrange for any paparazzi or well-placed journalists to document my late arrival and my girl guzzling wine solo.
“Thanks, mate,” I tell Alfred as Drew quickly sweeps the sidewalk.
Alfred catches my eyes in the rearview mirror. “She’s a good girl, Mav.”
I narrow my eyes. Now I’ve gotta take shit from my driver, too? “I know,” I snap.
Alfred’s eyes crinkle like he’s trying not to chuckle.
I huff out a breath and unfold myself from the back seat, thanking Drew before I stride inside. I bypass the hostess, my gaze locked in on the beauty sitting in the corner. All by herself.
It’s a wonder she hasn’t spotted me yet, but I slow my steps since Mckenna’s gaze is trained outside the window on the opposite side of the restaurant’s entrance. I take a second to drink her in. Study her.
And it hits me like a sucker punch.
Mckenna’s hair, long, soft tresses of auburn with strands of glinting gold, is perfectly blown out. When she turns her head, her hair falls around her delicate shoulders.
She’s dressed in a long, navy patterned skirt that skims the toes of sensible, black boots. The skirt, fun and flirty and so unlike anything I’ve seen her wear in recent months, is paired with a simple black sweater, tucked in and tight. It hugs her curves, grazes her breasts, which are always hidden under baggie hoodies, and ties in a bow right under her chin. It’s a small flourish, a detail I instantly note and like.
Mckenna faces me, and her eyes widen as I approach the table.
She’s wearing makeup, and although it’s subtle, it amplifies her natural beauty.
“You’re here,” she breathes, slipping from her chair to stand before me.
I feel the eyes of other patrons on the center of my back. In between my shoulder blades. I know we’re being carefully watched. Studied and scrutinized.
I reach Mckenna and my hands grasp hers. I stop a few steps away and dip my head, my mouth brushing over her ear.
I inhale, letting her light, citrus scent wash over me. My lips find her cheek, and I kiss against its softness. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mckenna.” My voice vibrates sincerely.
Right now, I am sorry.
“You look lovely.” I give her hands a little squeeze before dropping them.
She stares at me, dumbfounded. I smile, and a surprised chuckle falls from Mckenna’s mouth.
Her blue eyes, more night sky than stormy sea in the soft lighting, crinkle at the corners, much like Alfred’s did. I wonder if she’s trying not to laugh. Her lips curl upward, and she shakes her head slightly.
Mckenna sits across from me and tucks her hair behind her ear. I have the urge to reach out and run the pads of my fingers along that strand, feel its silk against my skin.
I clear my throat and lift my chin toward her wineglass. “How many have you had?”
“Oh, Mav,” she sighs, tilting her head. Her eyes gleam playfully, and I lean closer. I’m not used to this version of Mckenna. Is she already drunk? “I ordered the bottle.” She bites the corner of her mouth, giving me a sheepish look.
At her honesty, I tip my head back and laugh.
Mckenna joins in.
And the patrons seated at the other tables go back to eating.
It’s as if the entire restaurant let out a collective sigh. A group exhale.
I pour myself a glass of wine and top off Mckenna’s, waving off the approaching server. I lift my glass toward the beautiful enigma seated across from me.
“To tonight,” I say. My voice is low and gruff. I clear my throat again.
Mckenna dazzles me with another smile. “Cheers, Mav.”
We drink.
“I like this version of you, Mckenna,” I admit, as she pushes the menu closer to me.
“Tipsy?”
I smirk. “Relaxed.” I scan the menu.
When the server appears, I rattle off a bunch of appetizers. Mckenna adds a salad and I give her a look.
“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll take the spaghetti bolognese.”
I grin. “Good girl.”
She narrows her eyes at me and the server’s gaze ping-pongs between us.
“I’ll have the veal saltimbocca.” I hand back our menus.
As the server moves toward the kitchen, I fold my hands and lean closer to Mckenna. “So, what shall we talk about?”
She smiles and leans back in her chair. Holding the stem of her wineglass, she swirls her wine and stares at me. The corner of her mouth lifts and her eyes soften.
Yeah, I like this version of Mckenna too. Sweet and playful. Sincere and easygoing.
“What’s your favorite color?” I ask, breaking the ice.
She smiles. “Green. You?”
“Black or red, depending on the day.”
Mckenna laughs. “Favorite meal?”
“Shepherd’s pie,” I admit.
“Really? I would’ve pegged you for pizza.”
I scoff. “I’m more original than that.”
“Pizza’s mine,” she volunteers.
I frown and point to the coal brick oven. “You could have ordered that.”
She shrugs. “I’m mixing it up tonight.”
“Fair. Best memory?”
Mckenna sighs and her eyes take on a faraway look, as if she’s reliving an experience. “Freshman year at UCLA. Allegra, Ivy, Nova, and I hosted a Friendsgiving and that was…” she trails off, her eyebrows pulling together. “It was the first time I felt like I really fit in. Like I truly belonged in a social setting, to a group of friends. It was the first night of many, but that night was special.”
I nod along with her. “I get that. I had a few nights like that, back when the Clovers were starting out.”
Mckenna smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Isn’t it funny? We think those moments will always be there. Those nights, those friends, that bar… We fall into a pattern. It’s such a norm that we never realize that our last time all together is really the last time and then…everything changes. It’s all different now. And I didn’t appreciate it until it became my best memory.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, moving my hand to grasp hers. I play with her fingers as I digest what she said. It’s one of the truest things Mckenna has ever admitted to me. And for the first time, I realize we’re more similar than I ever considered.
Forgotten. Apart. Lost.
“Here’re your appetizers,” the server announces brightly. She sets several plates down on our table.
Mckenna thanks her and takes another sip of her wine. Then, she changes the subject to ask questions about the band and our next album.
We keep the topics light for the remainder of dinner. But something shifts between us. There’s a quiet acceptance that we’re in this together. A nod to our shared circumstances.
And I silently vow not to take this new norm for granted. Even though I know this pattern with Mckenna won’t last—how could it?—I’d still hate for her to one day only exist in my life as a memory.