10. Is it Over Now?
CHAPTER TEN
is it over now?
ABI
EMERALD BAY, WASHINGTON
PRESENT DAY
Piper, Imogen, and I are crammed into Emerald Bay’s one and only vintage store, Throwback . It’s a bit of a local hidden gem and I’m kind of obsessed with it. The owners are an old hippy couple, one of whom claims they used to be a fashion editor for Vogue back in the ‘70s. The two of them hand pick all of their pieces and get stuff from all over the world, which is pretty special for a little town like this.
“Oooh! Abi! Check it out, this would look incredible on you.”
Imogen is holding up a gorgeous plum-colored crushed velvet dress that reminds me of an 80s era prom. It’s short and a little small, seeming like it might just barely fit over my thigh, but when I tug on the material I can tell it’s spandex right away.
One thing I quickly learned about Imogen is that she’s got an eclectic style. She’ll dress like a 70s rocker girl one day, and a cowgirl the next, and it feels like she could throw nearly anything together and still look amazing.
In contrast, everything I wear to work is stiff and structured, mostly black and white with a pop of color at most. I often find myself in high collars, higher waists, and a little bit of flare in the form of some black pointed boots. My mom’s always said she thinks I dress like I’m auditioning for The Crucible.
She’s kind of right, but I feel safe in those clothes.
I started the trip today by telling the girls I wanted to branch out; that I wanted something to actually show off my body for a change.
“It would be cute to wear to your high school reunion,” Piper offers. “It’ll go perfectly with your brand new fake boyfriend!”
I roll my eyes. Piper brought up the situation in our group chat, and neither her nor Imogen have let it go since, so much so that I just ended up RSVPing in the car out of spite.
“I already said I’m not doing the fake boyfriend thing.”
“Aw, why not?” Imogen laughs. “What’s wrong with my brother?”
They pestered me about it on the entire drive to Throwback.
“Nothing!” I reply, immediately wishing there was somewhere I could escape to. “I— Logan’s the best. I just… I don’t like having to lie to people. It makes me really uncomfortable.”
“Why are you worried about lying to a bunch of people you haven’t even seen in years?” Imogen asks.
“It’s not just the people I went to high school with, it’s…” I sigh. “Look, I told my mom too. So, if I bring Logan, we have to come up with a whole story; my mom will ask a bunch of questions, one of us will inevitably slip up, and it’ll end up being super awkward for everyone.”
I had some time in the car, in between the snark and quips, to come up with this perfectly good explanation. I think I delivered it pretty damn well considering.
Imogen shrugs her shoulders, looking a bit disappointed.
“Well, I’m just saying, you two are cute together— and more importantly you’d be totally believable as a couple.”
I match Imogen’s wry smile.
As far as anyone else is concerned, Logan and I didn’t know each other before I set foot on campus. It’s the secret we’ve both been keeping for years now. We never bring it up, we never acknowledge that night… but I can feel it sitting in the corner every time we’re in the same room together.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting!” Imogen laughs. “Piper, what am I starting?”
“I told her the same shit,” Piper sighs, holding up a blue paisley jumpsuit. “But what do we think of this?”
I can always depend on Piper to prioritize shopping over talking boys.
“It’s very 70s flower child,” Imogen replies. “I love it.”
“Yeah?” Piper eyes the jumpsuit with a mixture of suspicion and desire. “I’m afraid it tells people ‘whoever wears this literally lives at Burning Man.’”
“We can’t afford to go to Burning Man,” I chuckle. “Just show them your bank statements and I think you’ll be safe, babe.”
“Well, I think it’ll look cute with that leather belt you bought the other day.” Imogen drapes her own bright pink dress over her arm. “As long as you wear some chunky heels.”
“Alright, you sold me.” Piper carefully places the jumpsuit into her little wicker shopping basket. “Are you ladies ready to try stuff on?”
Imogen thrusts another dress into my hands.
“Hang on, no rushing! This color is gorgeous, it goes so well with your hair.”
The beautiful emerald color comes out wonderfully in the crushed velvet fabric, with little rhinestones stitched into the bodice adding an ostentatious flare. It’s gaudy and glitzy, maybe even a bit tacky, and I fucking love it. If there’s anything I adore in fashion it’s camp, and really anything over the top. I think I walk a fine line between a Tim Burton character and Party City. When we finally got to know each other after Logan introduced the two of us, I remember Roman comfortably described me as ‘the most confident walking cliche’ he’d ever seen.
I took it as a compliment.
“Add it to the pile, I’ll give it a whirl!”
The three of us head for the little saloon doors and slide into our change rooms.
I hang my dresses up and shed my clothes, starting with a long-sleeve 70s cocktail dress, sheer-black with white polka dots. At first I’m not sure I’m going to be able to get it up past my hips, but with a deep breath and a hell of a lot of hope, it slides down around my body. I pull my arms through the tiny sleeves and drag them down my shoulders to reveal a hell of a lot of collarbone.
I turn to the side, letting my hands glide over my stomach. It’s protruding a little, but I like it, and this thing even makes my ass look good. My opinions aside, I’m still a bit nervous. I might think I look great, but what I think and what’s really happening are sometimes two very different things in the fashion department.
I grab my phone in a moment of pique, snapping a picture and shooting it off to Logan for a second opinion.
ME
I need you to be honest. Is this too slutty, too 80s, or both?
Logan’s got a very similar fashion sense as me. He’s even joined us on a couple girl’s days of thrifting, cocktails, and talking about our favorite smutty books.
SUNSHINE
I’m sorry, is this Hollywood’s own Molly Ringwald? I thought my friend Abi was texting me. Give me a minute while I spread this all over the internet and I’ll get right back to you!
It’s hard not to blush. He’s just so damn cute, even when he’s being a total dork. I set my phone face down on the bench and grab the emerald dress that Imogen picked out. As pretty as it is, I quickly learn it doesn’t even come close to getting over my hips.
My eyes light up when I slip on the final one, a certain plum colored dress that glides up my body with ease like it was meant to fit me. There’s no tragic second-act to the show either, and it zips up with no extra effort, sitting comfortably against my body.
“Perfect…”
The fabric is almost buttery against my skin, and it still has a faint scent of perfume. Amber and sandalwood. I don’t know if it’s from all the incense they burn in here, but I love it all the same.
I snap another picture and send it to Logan.
ME
I think I like this one better. Thoughts? Or are you still busy committing crimes?
SUNSHINE
WOW! That color looks great on you!
I would usually defer to Piper and Imogen for a final verdict, but sometimes you just need to go with the wild card. Besides, it’s not uncommon for him to text me five different tie options first thing in the morning and demand that I make the decision for him. Time he put in the work.
ME
I think I’m buying it. I don’t know where I’d wear it, but I like it!
SUNSHINE
It’s a winner! And you could wear it to the faculty dinner, or the Christmas party! I bet I could convince Frankie to do an 80s prom theme. I even have a sick powder blue tux in the back of my closet that’s screaming to be worn somewhere… inappropriate.
ME
Better make sure you look as good as Hollywood’s Molly Ringwald, because I’m not getting dragged down by mediocrity.
I swear, our entire message history is just shit like this. No matter the topic, movies, music, or academic rigor, there’s always going to be a tidal wave of stupid jokes. One time Logan even narrated his entire morning for me through voice memos. This man just proves the old adage that you really are only as old as you feel.
As I step out of my dressing room I catch sight of Imogen in a pair of tight bell bottoms and a little rainbow tube top, with a leather jacket thrown over it. Piper’s off in the corner, checking herself out in the jumpsuit she grabbed, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders as she shifts back and forth in front of a mirror.
“Oh my God! This dress is amazing!” Imogen rushes up to me, immediately buzzing with excitement. “Fuck the green one I gave you, this is it!”
“I liked the green one, but this just feels…”
“It’s perfect,” Piper cuts in, glancing over from her corner. “It hits you in all the right places, babe. I’m a little jealous, I haven’t been so lucky.”
I beam, turning back around to stare at myself in the mirror one last time before heading back in and swapping into my street clothes
“Do you want to try on anything else?” I call as I’m climbing back into my jeans.
“Ummm, maybe shoes?” Imogen calls back. “I need something presentable for conferences.”
“She means something Barbie-pink!” Piper shouts.
“Okay, and? Is that not presentable? Is it a crime or something?”
“No, just an observation! A very scientific observation based on years of research: You like pink!”
I giggle as I step out of the dressing room and wait for the girls to finish up, pulling out my phone to see if Logan’s gotten back to me yet, only to feel the blood drain right out of my face when I see the notification.
brENDAN HOWARD wants to send you a message.
I stumble back, just barely landing on the bench behind me instead of heading straight to the floor.
This can’t be happening.
Three years of no contact and now he wants to send me a message? I’m shaking with anger and adrenaline, my body cold and clammy as a bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. The fucking audacity of this man.
I gnaw on my lip. It might be better to just block him. Don’t even read the message, just get it over with right away. What could he even say that would be worth reading? Or I could just not respond, let him think I never saw it. But then that notification will sit there, taunting me the whole time. Eventually, I’d roll over in the middle of the night and open it.
I know I would.
I’d type out some stupid response. Something I’d fire off without even thinking. I wouldn’t even feel good about it afterwards.
“Abi, you ready?” Piper shouts from outside, obviously ready to leave.
“Yeah!” I snatch my belongings up off the bench and stand, feeling my phone clenched so tight in my hand I think I might crush it.
Imogen raises her eyebrows as I rush out, both girls exchanging a look.
“You good, babe?” Piper asks.
“Totally fine,” I say far too quickly, sounding out of breath despite barely having moved at all. “Why?”
“Because you look like you saw a ghost,” she tilts her head. “And your hands are all white, are you sure you’re okay?”
I let out my breath, my stomach bubbling as I try to relax. I feel like I could throw up.
“My ex messaged me.”
“The dickhead who ghosted you?” Piper gasps.
I nod and Imogen grabs my hand.
“Fuck shoes. We’re going to get a drink. We can help you figure out what to do.”
“I think it’s better to just block him, isn’t it?”
She scoffs.
“And give him the satisfaction of winning? Fuck no!”
Before I can even respond, she’s dragged me to the cash register and we’re working out paying for our items.
“So where are we going?”
“To Simmer Down!” Imogen replies, taking her receipt and rushing me out the door with a wink. “I know a really sexy prep cook who’ll let us drink for cheap.”
Simmer Down isn’t far from Throwback, maybe a ten minute walk, and it’s a perfect blend of old Italian restaurant and New York deli.
The hostess beams at Imogen as we enter, picking up some menus.
“Hey, Ig!”
“Hey Charlotte, is my man here?”
“He’s on his fifteen, hiding away in the back office. Want me to grab him for you?”
Imogen strides right in like she owns the place, but there’s no resistance at all. It’s clearly a normal thing around here.
“Nah, I can do it myself. Thanks though!”
“You want your usual table near the window?” Charlotte calls after her.
“That’d be great! Thanks, babe!”
Charlotte’s curly red hair bounces up and down as she leads us toward a bright and spacious table by the window, with a lovely view of the street. Piper orders a margarita pitcher along with some appetizers for the three of us, and I can feel her gaze on me as Charlotte leaves to get our drinks.
“I should reply, shouldn’t I?” I ask, nervously tapping on the back of my face-down phone.
“You do whatever you need to do. Don’t let me or Imogen pull you away from what you think is best.” She leans over, cupping a hand around the side of her mouth with a whisper. “But personally, I think you should tell him to sit on a chainsaw.”
I snort, nodding and flipping my phone over. I shouldn’t even be entertaining messaging Brendan back, but I need to see what he has to say for himself.
brENDAN
Wow, you RSVPd?
I give an indignant scoff. Did he and Carly invite me out of pity? Or obligation?
My fingers linger over the keypad for a few moments, but deep down I know I already made my decision. No point in prolonging it any longer.
ME
Yeah. I did. Figured it’d be nice to see everyone.
I thought about lying, pretending I didn’t see who was hosting, maybe that I clicked on it by accident, but that just makes the entire thing even more pathetic. Besides, there’s a chance he won’t even see the message, or at least won’t see it for hours. I can come up with a perfect speech in my own time.
Absolutely tear into him.
But then right as I’m about to flip my phone back over, I see it.
brENDAN IS TYPING…
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
“What? What’s he saying?”
“Shhhh, nothing yet.”
I wait for a minute or so, watching the ellipses appear and disappear.
The classic sign of having no damn clue what you’re planning to say.
brENDAN
Oh, so it wasn’t a mistake, then. Cool. I guess I’ll see you.
I hand Piper my phone and watch as her eyes nearly bug out of her head.
“Is he fucking serious?! I’m gonna crawl into that phone and?—”
My heart is racing and my palms are already clammy. She slides out of her seat and into the one next to me, setting the phone down.
“Hey, hey, we don’t need to talk about this stuff. You look like you need an Emotional-Support-Piper, at least until we get the margaritas.”
“I do,” I chuckle, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Thanks.”
But I’m not done with Brendan Howard today. Not by a long shot.
ME
YOU invited ME.
That beautiful ellipses, that tells me he's at the very least a little flustered, appears and disappears a dozen or so times. I stare at it, my phone trembling like a leaf in my hands.
“What’s he saying?” Piper asks, trying her best not to read over my shoulder.
“Nothing yet.”
When my phone finally buzzes a minute or two later, I nearly jump out of my skin.
brENDAN
We had to invite everyone. I think Carly just clicked send all or something. I didn’t really have anything to do with it. I just didn’t expect you to say yes after everything that went down between us. Just kinda surprised me so I thought you might have been hacked or something. It’s cool though, you can come.
“Everything that went down between us?!” I hiss. “It’s cool? Is he fucking serious?”
My rage feels like a volcanic eruption, the aftershocks tingling all the way down to the tips of my toes.
“Tell him?—”
“I got it. I got it, don’t worry.”
My fingers are already flying across the keyboard.
ME
Brendan, I have every right to want to see MY friends and go to MY high school reunion in MY hometown. If you think I need your permission to come, you’ve got another think coming you deluded prick.
There’s another pause, but much faster than the last time I got a reply.
brENDAN
It’s thing.
I blink.
ME
What?
brENDAN
You said I had another think coming. It’s thing.
You know that scene in Return of the Jedi where Luke just beats the shit out of Darth Vader with his lightsaber, and the whole time the Emperor is cackling behind him? I feel like Luke right now, and the little Palpatine on my shoulder is telling me to give Brendan everything I’ve got.
“Get his ass,” Piper murmurs, a malicious sense of glee in her voice.
“Way ahead of you. There’s nothing worse than an idiot who thinks they’re right about something.”
“Careful he doesn’t drag you down to his level and beat you with experience,” Piper replies as Charlotte brings over our margaritas. “Seems like he’s been an idiot since birth.”
ME
Brendan, not that any of this matters, but it is ‘think.’ You should try Googling it, maybe along with how NOT to end a relationship like a coward.
brENDAN
Yeah, I knew you’d hold that against me.
ME
I’ll see you at the reunion. Right along with my fiancé. Maybe you can learn how a real man’s supposed to act.
The moment I hit send, that same sense of dread from the other day washes over me. What the fuck did I just do?
“Abi, what the fuck did you–”
I put my head in my hands and shove my phone toward her.
“Take this away from me!”
Fiancé?! What the hell was I thinking?
“Abi, are you alright?” Roman’s voice booms from above me. “You look like you’re gonna be sick.”
I lift my head slowly, gazing up into his warm hazel eyes currently full with concern. He’s holding one of those big clear containers, filled to the brim with Diet Coke, a wedge of lime floating on the top.
“Piper, show him the phone,” I groan, leaning back in my seat.
Roman’s brow creases as he reads over the messages, and Imogen gets up on her tiptoes, covering her mouth as she starts to catch herself up.
Roman’s eyes meet mine, his expression serene, maybe even a little amused.
“So?” He asks, sipping his drink. “Who’s the lucky guy, and where’s he been hiding?”
I swallow the bile that’s been creeping up inside me.
“Logan. God dammit, it’s gotta be Logan.”
It’s like the words themselves are burning away at my throat.