Evelyn
1 Year Later
“ W hat does it feel like coming off the final leg of your first tour?” Clement Meryl asks as he leans over his mic.
The Get Out of My Head podcast studio is designed to be comfortable and allow guests to unwind. Clement and Walt share one of the blue mid-century modern couches while I share the other with Garrett. A custom green neon sign in the shape of the show’s logo is mounted on the wall over the hosts.
“I feel like I’m ready for a very long nap. I think I might start experimenting with hibernation,” I say as I stretch my arms over my head so I can loop one around Garrett as he sits beside me.
“So, you’re not jumping into your next album?” Walt asks a new version of the same question they’ve asked three times already, but I don’t mind all that much.
“Stop Falling” peaked at number one on the charts for six weeks and has remained on the Hot 100 since it was released eight months ago. I know some of the success was due to me unveiling myself as Lyla West. I’m already talking to Vincent about using my real name for whatever comes next. I love Lyla, she’s been a part of me for so long that it was hard to accept I needed to say goodbye. She gave me so much, but I have to do this as myself.
“There are few things in the works, but it’s time to trade places in the spotlight,” I say, looking at Garrett.
His first solo album is set to be announced at the end of the week. We’ve been writing together whenever we feel like it, which is nearly every day. Writing isn’t the same as it was, it’s more. The shift isn’t only due to Garrett, though, it’s great to be able to work with someone who is able to complete my thoughts before I finish them and push me further than I thought possible.
Being able to connect with my fans and the people who listen to my music has added so much to my life. Sure, there are plenty of people still criticizing the way I went about starting my career. As I feared, journalists and bloggers picked apart my connections, looking at my relationships with Fool’s Gambit and Avery. At the same time, there have been just as many people coming to my defense saying that as Lyla I proved my talent without leaning on the people in my life publicly. There will always be that push and pull, but having Garrett, my family, and my friends to talk about it more openly than I used to makes it manageable. We’re still working through maintaining healthy lines of communication. It’s been an active effort to not keep things to myself, but that also means I get to share my wins with them too.
“Speaking of which, Garrett, how are you adjusting back into the industry after your time away?” Walt asks.
Garrett shifts next to me. I smile every time I look at him. I do in general, but yesterday I finally won a chess game and today I’m reaping the reward. He’s wearing a shirt that says I heart my girlfriend , with the heart drawn out. It matches my shirt that says Girlfriend . There’s a video recording of the podcast that will be released and I’m not above reminding everyone we're together.
“It’s nice to not feel pressured to wear skinny jeans anymore,” he says dryly. “Being back has been good, in general. Part of the reason I held off on it was because I thought I’d be doing it alone, instead of with bandmates. Obviously, I’m not alone in it.” His eyes jump to mine and hold before returning to the hosts.
“What is it like working together?” Clement takes his turn with this question. “From a listener’s perspective, there was this new energy to it all that we got to experience. Give us some insight into behind the scenes. Do you both always agree on creative directions and artistic choices?”
“Always agreeing on things would be so boring,” I tell them. “If we always agreed we would never have ended up here in the first place. The first time we ever went out as a couple we went to this berry farm, Barlowe Berry Farm in the Hudson Valley. Really, if you have the chance you have to visit, you should. The owners told us something that’s stuck with me: we don’t compromise, we collaborate. We both know what we’re doing with music, and we communicate the best we can to elevate what we already know.”
“That, and I like giving her what she wants,” Garrett says.
“That too.” I look up at him and when his eyes meet mine it feels like there’s no one else in the room.
The interview lasts for another hour between the rest of their questions and a friendly chat after. We would have stayed longer because I got sucked into the conversation as I tend to do, but Garrett reminded me we would be running late.
“I really am looking forward to seeing you in a wig,” I tell him as I slide into the passenger seat of my SUV. His truck is at Fletcher’s garage, needing a new round of repairs. It will probably last a few more months, so I’ve been looking for another of the exact make and model but less wear for sale.
“Is there any way you’ll forget in the two hours it takes us to get there.”
“Absolutely not, I’ve been holding on to this dream for a year. It’s the only reason I’ve stayed with you.” I act aghast, holding my hand to my mouth in exaggerated horror.
“If I hold off then I get to keep you longer?”
“You get to keep me anyway.” I reach over and squeeze his thigh. Before I pull my hand away he catches it and keeps it there. “And you get to see me in a wig, too.”
We won’t be performing this year at the festival, but we want to next year if we can make the proper preparations for security and ensure it won’t disrupt the festival itself. Instead, we’ll be attending with the help of cheap disguises, Garrett already has his and I ordered myself a blonde wig and massive sunglasses for mine. Since we didn’t get to experience it fully last year, I’ve been thinking about our trip back to Hartsfall nonstop for the last few weeks. Garrett has been able to go back to visit and help with his usual assortment of odd jobs. I had planned on joining him for Christmas, but my flight got canceled.
We talk and listen to music for the rest of the drive until we pull up to a familiar Victorian house on Austen Dr.. It’s exactly the same as the last time I saw it with its little white fence, bay windows, and porch that was designed to be relaxed on. For a moment, I feel like I’m dreaming and that this last year never happened. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt like this. There have been nights where I forget what city I’m in because everything feels too good to be true and my body tricks me into thinking I never had any of it. On those nights, I’ll roll over to see Garrett there and remember I belong right next to him.
The festival is just as magical as I remember. Blueberry wine stains my tongue as the hours fly by. We get our faces painted with hearts before we slow dance with the other couples enjoying the live music. I almost breeze past the letter writing station, but Garrett pulls me to it.
“I don’t need another one,” I tell him and it’s the truth. He’s given me enough for a lifetime. Sometimes we still opt to use calendar invites instead of texts.
Can you come get the remote, I’m too comfortable: Tuesday, 11 a.m. – 11:10 a.m. @ The Couch
People watching at The MET: Wednesday, 10 a.m. - 3:30 p.m. @ Meet you downstairs.
I miss you, that’s it. I miss you: Sunday, All Day Event @ Right Here
“So many of our love letters have been heard by the entire world. I’m going to write one just for you,” he says as if he hasn’t done enough.
After gathering the materials from Haven, who gives me a conspiratorial once over because of the wig, we find spots on opposite sides of the booth. I’m still working to write down every last word that comes to mind when I look up to find that Garrett is already folding his. Several minutes later, I fold mine up and seal it with the wax that Haven has to add a special touch.
“Here,” I say, handing my letter to Garrett.
“If I give you yours you have to promise to wait to open it.”
“Wait until when?” I question.
“You’ll know.”
“Okay.”
He hands over the letter and I put it in my back pocket. My curiosity over its contents quickly fades. I know how he feels about me. We tell each other in so many ways. It’s in the songs we write and the moments when we don’t talk at all. I’m comfortable with him in silence or in a crowd.
The streets are nearly empty by eleven. Business owners are packing up and we do our best to help with breaking down the folding tables and decorations. I think we both want the night to stretch as long as possible. I know I do. We’re collecting plastic cups with blueberry wine that festival goers have left stranded all over the square.
“Shit,” Garrett hisses as he loses his grip on one and it spills down his shirt, dark blue staining the white.
“You did that on purpose,” I say.
“And why on earth would I ruin my new favorite shirt?”
I roll my eyes in faux annoyance. There’s nothing I can do to hide how elated I am about today.
“Give me the cups you have. I’ll toss these and clean up a bit,” he says as he extends a hand to stack my cups in his. “You know what I’ve been wondering?”
“What?”
“If there’s still that nest in the gazebo.”
“I’ll go check,” I say as my attention flicks to the structure in question. “Meet you there?”
“Yeah.”
I slowly make my way to the gazebo, occasionally bending down to pick up trash and put it into the trash cans that have been brought out for the event. The streetlamps cast a blanket of warm light on the area.
Once inside the gazebo, I tilt my head up and slowly spin. The nest is still there, but of course, the birds we saw last year are gone. There are also no new hatchlings. I guess that’s natural. We move on.
“I found a replacement shirt, but I’m not sure how to feel about it,” Garrett says, and I turn to face him.
My voice catches as I read the words. “Why’s that?”
“I’m not sure if it’s accurate. Before you say anything, read the letter. Please.”
I’ve hung on to this paper for weeks waiting to figure out what to say. If this is going to be the first love letter you ever get, I want it to be perfect.
I read the first two lines then pause as I realize this isn’t the one he wrote earlier today. My vision starts to swim with tears, but I force them back so I can read the rest.
You're it. I've known it for so long but I don't know how to change who we are to each other. I guess, if you're reading this, I figured out how.
The thing is, when I look at you, I’m speechless. Words don’t do you justice, so how can I? Maybe it’s the way you try to make everyone laugh with you or that you don’t look away when other people would. Then there’s the way you sing and make music. You make me understand why sailors believed in sirens that could sing them into oblivion. I would be honored to drown in you.
“I’m sorry I waited so long to give it to you,” he says.
I have to swallow the emotions gathering in my throat before I can say, “It aged like fine wine.”
“I’d hoped it would.”
Garrett gets on one knee in the center of the gazebo and I reread the shirt he’s changed into. I heart my fiancée.
“Will you marry me?” he asks, and I’m already nodding. There’s never been anything I’ve wanted more to say yes to. I want our forever.
“Only if you have a matching shirt for me.” My voice warbles through the press of gathering tears.
“There’s one waiting for you on the bed at the house.”
“Yes, Garrett Larson. I will marry the shit out of you,” I say and seal my words with a kiss.
The clock tower doesn’t chime because it is too late for it to be rung. In the morning, we’ll share the news and the engagement counter on the welcome sign will go up from 6087 to 6088.
I’ve tripped right over the edge, and I never want to stop falling.