18
I fling Anthony’s front door shut like I’m auditioning for a telenovela and am immediately hit with a wave of frigid air.
The bomber jacket I grabbed isn’t doing much to keep me warm, but I don’t care at all.
The idea of spending any more time celebrating Kegmas is even worse than freezing my ass off.
I don’t care what the universe, or Madam Lunas, or the three horsemen of the apocalypse have done to put me in this alternate future.
Even if the reason I’ve been selected to do these time loops is to alter the course of humanity for the greater good—I am not partying with a bunch of adults who yell “chug” over a ten-dollar speaker system.
I can’t believe I ever thought that this cycle was the one, that Anthony was the one.
My body is overcome with fatigue and impatience.
I’m over this loop, but how do I end these cycles?
I wince as the answer hits me in the head—literally.
The last moments of every loop ended with me being knocked unconscious.
My stomach drops with the ugly truth. It seems knocking myself out is something I actually have control over.
I grimace. If I want to get out of Anthony’s universe, then slipping on ice may be the fastest way for me to do it.
I pick a direction and just start walking. As I stomp down his driveway, I fume over Anthony’s karaoke machine gift. His intent was nice, but demanding that I act grateful and sing wasn’t.
Of course I wish I could sing. I wish I could be who I used to be.
I was loud, fearless, like someone who believed in herself.
I even sang lead back in high school when I dreamed of a real music career, back when me and Robbie would talk about performing around the world and the stages we’d conquer together.
Then Dale Quigley came along. And Robbie pushed me onto that stage at the Battle of the Bands. The night I choked. The night I realized I wasn’t as confident in my voice as I thought I was. I got permanent stage fright, and I stopped singing.
But of all the unexpected developments of late, there was a moment today when I was humming a song. Just for myself. And maybe that’s the point. I can’t sing to please Anthony. I can’t sing to please anyone else.
Maybe that’s why I cracked at the Battle of the Bands. I wasn’t singing for myself—I was singing to save Dale’s band. I think I may be ready to sing again, but the first notes I sing in years will not be at a frat party full of drunken men wearing Christmas wreaths on their heads.
It’s time to go. If I learned anything, it’s to break patterns of needy boyfriends.
I spy a slick-looking patch near Anthony’s mailbox and walk quickly toward it, but not before hearing the thud of heavy footsteps behind me.
I pause and hold my breath. Maybe Anthony realized he lost his temper and is coming to make up.
“Marygrace, watch your step!”
My back straightens. That voice definitely doesn’t belong to Anthony. I twist to find Robbie hurrying toward me so fast his floppy brown hair flutters beneath a forest-green beanie.
He closes the distance until we’re standing just an arm’s length apart. Puffs of mist appear as he catches his breath, and I’m temporarily speechless seeing the dark flecks in his eyes burn with an intensity I’ve rarely seen directed at me.
“There’s a huge patch of ice up there, didn’t you see it?”
I bite my lip. Yes, I sure did, but of course I can’t tell him I was intentionally trying to knock myself out. “Thanks for pointing that out,” I gush. “I thought you left already? To see your friend.”
I say “friend” a little more forcefully than I intended. I refuse to say her name aloud.
“I left Diamond’s keys here. I took them out when I was helping with the pizza earlier.” He holds up a key chain with a cat paw and several keys jangling. “I was walking out of the garage when I saw you about to take a nosedive on the ice.” He studies me. “You could have hurt yourself.”
But all I can focus on are those keys. Keys means his relationship is serious—why doesn’t he admit Diamond is his girlfriend? At least former best friends get that courtesy. He shouldn’t have to hide that from me.
It’s just a reminder of how far we’ve grown apart.
“I’m glad we were able to say goodbye, then, especially after the way Anthony treated you…” I say, my voice trailing off. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I run into plenty of egos in my line of work. Dudes like him are so full of themselves they need their own weather system,” Robbie says, shaking his head with disgust. “He shouldn’t treat you like he does.”
I scoff at him, suddenly angry. “You’re one to talk.”
He does a double take. “What does that mean?”
“You basically did the same thing to me, all those years ago at the Battle of the Bands.”
His mouth opens, a little puff of breath freezing in the cold air. I should feel bad for throwing that in his face, but I don’t. It feels good to get it off my chest, say it out loud.
“Really?” Robbie takes an angry step toward me, jerking his thumb to the house behind us. “You think I’m the same as Frat-thony back there?”
“You forced me to sing when I wasn’t ready!” I say, folding my arms. The chill is creeping up my skin, and I wish I’d grabbed a coat. Robbie mutters to himself and removes his scarf.
“I was supporting you. Giving you a chance to sing when your boyfriend wouldn’t let you,” he says, eyes narrowed. “There’s a huge difference between giving you an opportunity and forcing you to do drunk karaoke!”
“I don’t see it like that,” I say stiffly. “You have no idea what it was like for me up on that stage.”
He wraps his scarf around me, the movement pulling us closer together. I’m upset at him, but I appreciate the extra layer. Robbie takes a deep breath. “I knew that Dale was never going to let you be who you could be,” Robbie insists. “And look, you followed him to State, you stopped singing—”
“I stopped singing because of what you did!” I yell.
He sucks in a breath and winces, like I’ve scalded him with hot water. His shoulders hunch as he retreats back. “I’m sorry,” he says, softer now. “You’d performed alone dozens of times back then. I didn’t think singing with his band would’ve fazed you.”
“No, you didn’t think, Robbie,” I say, squeezing my arms around my chest, my voice bitter. “No one wanted to hear me sing that day.”
“I did!” he says. “I did, Marygrace. I thought since Dale wouldn’t put you on, that might’ve been your chance. He’d see you and realize how lucky he was. Instead, he kept you behind the scenes and to himself.”
I close my eyes, feeling the sting of his words.
Dale did keep me behind the scenes, and after my glimpse into our possible future I know that was his intent all along, but it hurts to hear it coming from Robbie.
“My passion was music, and at the time Dale was the lead singer of his amazing rock band. I supported him.”
“Yes, that’s what you always said,” Robbie says with barely disguised bitterness. Then he sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just, you always do this and it kills me.”
“Do what?” I ask. “Stand up for myself?”
“I wish.” He scoffs.
“What then?” I ask, taking a step closer.
Robbie continues, “You’re like a relationship chameleon. You’re a different person with each new boyfriend.”
My mouth drops open as I scoff, too angry to feel the way his words cut something vital inside me.
“That’s rich coming from you,” I seethe. “You haven’t been in my life for the last eight years. You don’t know me at all. Or how I am with my boyfriends.”
I snap my mouth shut as memories of the last Christmas Eves rock through me.
Dale, Flynn, Anthony. In each life I was there supporting them, dropping my passions to hold theirs and changing my dreams to fit theirs.
“Maybe I don’t know you anymore.” Robbie inhales.
“But I like to think that I did know you. The real you. And this isn’t her. I wish you would be yourself.”
Something sours inside me. Do I even know who I am?
Tears threaten in my eyes. “I’m sorry that you like high-school Mary better than adult Mary.” I gesture toward the neighborhood. “Not that it matters to me. I’m sure Diamond is better company, so go spend time with her.”
“Diamond?” he says, confused. “Look. I’m sorry. I just… care for you and want you to be happy.” His face twists into a grimace.
“And are you happy, Robbie? You must have everything figured out if you’re standing here lecturing me.”
He shifts uncomfortably. “No, I don’t have everything figured out. But I do know what I want.” His gaze meets mine with an intensity that makes me stiffen.
I take a deep breath. “Good for you, Robbie. Congratulations. You’ve passed your quarterlife crisis. But for those of us still in it? My advice: Lecturing friends about their life choices is a funny way to show you care.”
I watch as the fire in his eyes dies and his shoulders drop. My anger turns to guilt seeing the remorse on his face. Maybe I went too far? Robbie can be stubborn… but no more than me. And he’s always meant well—when we were kids. When we were friends. I inhale deeply. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No. You’re right,” he says, interrupting me. “I don’t know what got into me. We were friends—but that was long ago. It was rude of me to presume. You just…” His voice trails off.
“I just what?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head. “You and I. We’re musicians.
Believe me, I understand that music, singing, means putting yourself out there and showing everyone your vulnerability.
” He places a hand over his heart. “Singing is like laying your soul bare for everyone to see.” He pauses and I realize I’m hanging on to his every word.
“You have a beautiful soul, Marygrace. I hope one day you see that and sing again.”
The tears in my eyes make it hard to see. The truth of his words crashes like a tidal wave, and all I can do is shiver in silence in response.
“Come on,” Robbie says, motioning me to follow him. “I’ll give you a lift home.”