Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
By mid-December, Vivian had gone on more dates with Bryn in three months than she had in her entire life. Nearly every night they’d had dinner together, and sometimes Bryn surprised her with some experience intended to recapture Vivian’s misspent youth.
But nothing had prepared her for tonight.
Seated at her bathroom vanity, Vivian applied makeup lightly.
Just mascara, eyeliner, and a little nude lip gloss.
Not that she was trying to make herself small, exactly.
She just wanted to look like all the guests at Bryn’s mother’s birthday dinner. She wanted to blend in.
Vivian’s empty stomach churned, sending an unfortunate tremble to her fingers and smudging her eyeliner. She swallowed, throat dry but mouth watering with the telltale sign of nausea.
When Bryn had extended her mother’s invitation via screenshot from their texts, she’d also been very clear that Vivian was welcome but not mandated to attend.
Normally, Vivian wouldn’t have thought twice about declining.
She didn’t owe Bryn anything; they were dating.
Just dating. Not in some deep, committed relationship.
They hadn’t even discussed monogamy, although where Bryn would find the time to see anyone else when her days started at five in the morning and ended on Vivian’s couch most nights… .
The image snaked its way into Vivian’s brain before she could stop it. A sacrilegious picture of Bryn’s lips on someone else. Her fingers intertwined with anyone’s but hers.
Vivian slammed her eyebrow pencil down and reached for her makeup wipes. Unless she wanted to look like Faye Dunaway as Joan Crawford, she was going to have to start over.
Laughing to herself because her nervous system was completely dysregulated, Vivian let her mind run wild. She could embody a character. She could show up as Vivian Taylor to accept Bryn’s family’s rejection. It was the only reason she’d agreed to go.
If they had no future, it was better for Bryn to see that now.
For them to appreciate that they’d tried this little dating experiment, but it was always going to fail.
True to her word, Vivian wouldn’t say I told you so.
She’d take the beautiful moments with Bryn into the rest of her life and cherish them.
She looked at herself in the mirror, face wiped clean. Okay, first she’d wallow so spectacularly, and then she’d be wildly gracious. Maybe they could even manage something of a friendship.
Vivian groaned. God, she was pathetic. But she couldn’t lie to herself. She’d accept the scattered bits of Bryn’s light even if she couldn’t have her how she wanted her. Having her at all was worth any price.
An hour later, Vivian had ironed her freshly cut hair straight so it ended bluntly below her shoulders. Bryn had said dinner would be casual, but while staring at her closet, Vivian couldn’t imagine wearing jeans to meet Bryn’s family.
She swallowed again, palms sweaty and nausea at the ready. Her family. She was going to meet Bryn’s family. What the fuck was she thinking?
Reaching for a simple, long-sleeved wrap dress, navy blue and unremarkable, Vivian prepared herself for the end. She slipped on a pair of nude flats so she didn’t tower over everyone, and picked up her phone. Out of nervous habit, she checked her email and instantly regretted it.
“Vivian, we have to go,” Bryn said excitedly from the driver’s seat.
“You can go,” Vivian conceded, hands folded in her lap and eyes on the highway traffic. Traffic even at seven at night on a Saturday. Construction—
“Do you have any idea how many people are obsessed with Magpies?” Bryn didn’t signal before changing lanes or she’d risk the other car speeding up to block her entry. “Have you seen any of the fan art I’ve sent you?”
“No,” she lied.
Bryn laughed. “Have you ever been to a reader event?”
“Have you?”
“As a fan? Heck yeah.” Bryn settled into the express lane, but kept both hands on the steering wheel, her head on a swivel.
If pressed, Vivian might admit that she detested driving and appreciated that Bryn always seemed thrilled to do it.
She didn’t even hate that Bryn stubbornly insisted on driving her car and rarely Vivian’s.
There was something so maddeningly addictive about the way Bryn treated her like she was normal. How she made her feel normal.
“I once stood in line for two hours to get a book signed,” Bryn continued.
“Why?”
She chuckled. “Because it’s fun to like something! And it’s cool to share a passionate interest with others.”
“With strangers.”
“With friends you haven’t met yet.”
Vivian rolled her eyes, but it did nothing to cover the growing pit in her belly. An industry event was one thing, but exposing herself to the public—to the unpredictable masses. It was too much.
“It won’t be like you’re picturing,” Bryn said as if Vivian was projecting her anxieties onto the windshield. “A hundred attendees. A cute bookstore. An hour in conversation with Yenni Montoya and answering questions. Then signing—”
“What the hell are we even going to sign? Someone’s audiobook subscription—”
“So you don’t want to meet your fans because of the decline of CD sales?” Bryn called her on her bullshit so effortlessly, it should have been irritating. “If you spent even five minutes on Reddit—”
“I’d rather swallow dull razors.”
“Jesus. That’s a visual.” Bryn laughed. “People love you, Vivian. They’re dying to meet you.”
It wasn’t that Vivian didn’t believe Bryn. The problem was that she did. That she knew what it meant to meet fans. To be gawked at and grabbed at with hands and eyes and devouring energy.
“You should go,” Vivian decided. “That would be wonderful exposure for you.”
Vivian didn’t need to say anything else for Bryn to drop the subject. For her to focus on the road ahead. And for Vivian to focus on the more present terror: Bryn’s entire family waiting to meet her.
Gravel crunching under tires was louder than Vivian’s racing pulse. A cute little ranch-style house sat at the center of acres of land, though in the dark, Vivian couldn’t tell what kinds of trees were scattered around the property. Maybe she wouldn’t know in the daylight either.
She curled her clammy fingers into fists and then unclenched them again. A dozen cars were parked haphazardly all over both sides of the gravel driveway.
“I thought birthday dinner was just your family,” she managed, mouth as dry as her lower back was damp.
“It is,” Bryn agreed. “It’s just my parents, two aunts, three uncles.
” She turned off the path and rolled onto the grass next to a dusty SUV.
“Between them, I have eight cousins. And four of them have had kids. My grandparents drove down from Orlando. The only retirees to go North,” she joked to herself.
“My brother’s flight was delayed, but he’ll be here with his girlfriend and her kid. ”
Vivian stopped trying to do the math. The more people she counted, the more Vivian Taylor wanted to straighten her spine. Wanted to inhabit her body and take over her mouth. She resisted. For Bryn, she fought the intense instinct to retreat.
“I can still take you home,” Bryn said after parking. She turned to Vivian, blue eyes bleeding sincerity even in the dark. “No one will be mad.” She took one of Vivian’s hands in hers and squeezed it tight. “You don’t have to do this for me. I swear—”
“I know,” she agreed. But I need to do it for me, she thought.
Entering something like the stages of grief while she walked toward Bryn’s childhood home with a bottle of wine under one arm and Bryn’s light grasp on the other, Vivian burned through disbelief pretty fast. Denial didn’t stand a chance when the smell of barbecue wafted in the air and music mixed with the discordant sound of distant conversation.
Anger, hot and sharp, burned in Vivian’s chest. She should be able to do this.
Should be able to walk into someone’s house without forgetting what the fuck she used to do with her hands.
Every part of her body felt like it had been replaced with something slightly too small or too big.
She was awkward and on the very edge of bolting when she bargained with herself straight into depression.
This was just one night. A single disastrous night and Bryn would see that she’d been right. That they only fit together when they didn’t let any of the real world in. That they were too different to have any hope of success.
She was searching for acceptance when the worn wooden front door swung out, and a woman who looked like an older, full-figured version of Bryn appeared wearing a 1950’s housewife dress. A dozen people behind her, all dressed in their Sunday best, stopped talking at once.
“Mom, what the hell are you wearing?” Bryn asked before leading Vivian inside a house that smelled like it had just been thoroughly cleaned. The trace chemicals hid just under the scented Yankee candle and vat of potpourri on the console table near the door.
“Vivian, hello. My name is Sandy. I’m Bryn’s mother,” she said like she’d practiced the introduction and wouldn’t be thrown by Bryn having already identified her.
A man in a short-sleeved shirt and tie appeared behind her. “Ms. del Castillo, hello.”
“Dad, just call her Vivian,” Bryn interrupted his greeting.
He was also undeterred. “My name is Peter. I’m Bryn’s father. Please come in, won’t you?” He talked in the same practiced tone, sweat gathering at his temples.
“Father?” Bryn’s laugh was a nervous gurgle in her flushing throat.
Two teenage boys dressed in Dockers and polos, like they sold cars on the weekend, were immediately whisked out of their seats. Sandy gestured toward one of the vacated armchairs at the end of the couch where too many people were crammed together.
“Have a seat,” Sandy said, freckled face flushing to match the red of her hair. “We have some hors d’oeuvres before dinner is served.”
“Mom, why are you talking like that?”