Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
HAPPILY EVER BEFORE
Arden
I’m tagging along to a surprise birthday party of someone I don’t know thanks to Ethan who abandoned me as soon as we walked through the door. Fine , abandoned is harsh. I decided to hang back closer to an escape than the center of the room.
Our host’s name is Rosalie, Ethan gave me the rundown before we got here. College sweethearts who moved here when he got a job. She followed him. And when he decided to quit, to start his own company, she followed him into that, too. From the look of things, it was a gamble that seemed to pay off. At least so Ethan says. They just celebrated their IPO. Though despite all that, he swears they are more down to earth than Forbes will paint them to be.
This city is known for making people like them. The Mark Zuckerbergs of it all. The disrupters with their hoodies and laptops clamoring in this wild wild west of business. A new age. Meanwhile my day was spent with versions of monopoly men who worship at the altar of JP Morgan in a way that should genuinely terrify everyone.
Rosalie gives Ethan a greeting that is full of comfort as he motions to me for the intro. She’s sleek in so many ways but also visibly uncomfortable. Watching her move through the space like a bird caught in an unfamiliar cage despite this being her home. I can’t explain it fully. Like there are too many people in this space for her to be able to have oxygen. So I don’t force a hug, instead just smile and stick out my hand to shake hers.
Nails bitten down, but also a hair not out of place. A contradiction of personalities that I’m fascinated by.
"This is my friend, Arden Bancroft," Ethan says as exchange hellos. "We go way back," he offers her and she gives him a sideways glance and smirk that tells me she knows too much but would never dare say a word.
"Thanks for coming, the more the merrier they say." Her voice sounds like she’s trying to convince herself she isn’t drowning in the number of people that are here.
"Just because they say it, doesn’t mean it’s true." I say, offering the acknowledgement of the invasion. The small huff she lets out is an indication of her agreement, and confirmation of my assessment.
She’s gorgeous really, with her hair tucked behind one ear and falling just below her chin. Her brown eyes are friendly but the way they bounce around the room looking for some kind of stability. I know that must be her looking for him, being the thing that grounds her, even though she knows he isn’t here yet. I think about what that must be like. The human lightning rod that will take all mother earth has to charge. Your energy source without giving up any of themselves.
I’ve existed in spaces and crowds for long enough to know how draining they are. There was a time I convinced myself I was energized by them. I used to tell myself that I would get that volt of electricity and light up a room from it. I would be the disco ball. The one people can’t keep their eyes off of. Wherever I perched myself would be where the small cluster would form. They never realized why, as much as just felt it, the electricity, the spark, the sparkle, that since has faded and dimmed to a place it doesn’t reflect light in the same way.
Now, I spend my time amongst a room full of strangers searching the room for who has taken my place. There’s always one in the crowd, I can spot her in the way of looking for myself. I can hear the boredom between the giggles and read the look on her face as her cheeks blush on self-command. She’s playing the role society instructed her to, the one that she believes will get her far, and keep her safe. It's everything we’re ever taught as women. The perceived agreeability in femininity that gives us the illusion of control over social settings dominated by men. But it’s just that, an illusion, no different than the mirroring of their own selves or rather who they want to be, in her shiniest of reflections.
I look at the girl who I feel more kinship to than most. I want to be her friend. The kind she might not realize she needs yet. Because right now, she knows everything. Who she will go home with, who she is going to become, what to say to get the audience of suitors and jesters to respond. She thinks she knows who she is, but the painful reality will eventually catch up with her in the way that everything she thinks she knows gets washed away one morning when you wake up in the bed you made but can’t recognize anymore.
I used to have that charm. But it cost me so much more than I thought it did at the time. Swiping my card at every interaction, but it was feeding their accounts while draining mine. I used to think I was energized by people naturally. It’s not until I stepped out of that light that it became clear that natural doesn’t mean easy, and doesn’t always mean good.
I stand here as a bystander to Rosalie and Ethan as she eases into conversation with him. He has this superpower that is so disarming, comforting in a way that you wouldn’t expect. But the presence of him just offers relief in whatever form is needed as he has to me in so many ways over so many years.
She checks her phone and frantically tries to quell the crowd.
"OKAY EVERYONE! He’s almost here," she shouts in a whisper. "Hiding places!"
And with that she runs to flip the lights off and everyone scatters. Ethan and I dart in opposite directions and I drop behind the sofa.
There’s something joyously juvenile in physically hiding. I’ve become far too comfortable in the alternative.
My knees are exposed on the rug and I peek up ever so slightly knowing I have the perfect view of the door.
"You look like someone who might be able to help…" The voice is distorted through whispers but as I glance over my shoulder, no one forgets a face like that. One so good looking it's actually laughable and time has only been kind to him though it’s been years since we’ve been this close. Never having reason to share spaces after Reid dumped me.
"You see, there’s this toast I’d love to give about honor, I heard it once before, but I can’t remember how it ends…"
And just like that, the crackle and flicker of the old disco ball sparks on in memory for Austin Becks.
"And you look like someone I might know, but it’s hard to say… I’m going to need you to strip down to a gold speedo and cover yourself in body glitter to be sure."
"Those days are behind me, I’m respectable now… Unless you ask nicely, of course ."
He laughs, and it sounds like the shared memories of Rocky Horror Picture Show in the cold Cambridge nights of my freshman year.
"Were you always this much of a flirt, Austin?"
"Always," he says with a smile that is seen even in the darkness of the room. "It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in the flesh."
“I can say the same to you.” Tipping my chin towards his fully-clothed-self.
We haven’t seen each other in some time, even longer since it was purposeful. Our lives stopped intersecting. It’s always funny how that can happen. I'm struck by how much time pleats people and places together at the strangest times, crouched behind a sofa waiting to yell surprise for someone else’s milestone.
And while Austin never tried to be deeper than a puddle of water he is giving me a look that tells me he remembers more than he’s let on. Instead just playing along with the game of memories that I’m willing to trade.
Someone across the room makes violent shushing gestures, there’s a frantic last minute shuffling while people duck behind curtains and behind walls, as footsteps and laughter come from the hallway.
"How’ve you been, Arden?" The whispers of banter from friendships past subsided, a genuine question now on his lips.
"I’m good… how’s…"
"SURPRISE!!!"
The door opens and the lights flick on. Our instincts have us on our feet with the rest of the crowd regardless of narrowly avoiding a trip down memory lane. Not like we’d be skipping down the street arm in arm, but at least we’re both past the point where we’d cross it to avoid each other. Something I’m ashamed to say happened once before I was ready to deal with the implications of everything beyond the updated relationship status.
The noise around the room picks up, and the man who walks in with a backpack on his shoulder, hair a hint of red, ignores every bit of sound and every figure taking up space until he spots her. Like lightning. He absorbs it all and passes through the crowd to where she stands. I can see her mouth ‘happy birthday’ as he smiles into their kiss. Whispering into her ear something only for them. Before turning to the room full of people.
"I don’t know who you all are, and I don’t know who to thank more," he says, "You for being here… or my Rosie for putting up with you!" He slips his arm around her waist and I think she stands a little taller by him, smile broader, shoulders no longer at her ears like earrings. Her lightning rod. The crowd laughs a bit, the music comes back on.
"What were you saying?" Austin asks. But I’m completely lost to anything besides Will standing in the doorway. A narrowing of his eyes is penetrating in a way that is indescribable and becoming more and more frequent.
"What?" I turn my head slightly to acknowledge Austin’s question, but my eyes are elsewhere. The delayed impact of understanding that I had abandoned mid-thought no longer of any interest. "Oh, uh, nothing worthwhile."
Austin, who was once a back channel of information I found valuable, but not anymore, and certainly not now.
Now, the only things I want to know are ‘what is he doing here’ and ‘can he read my lips?’ Can he see that this conversation is nothing or is he intrigued at the idea it might be something ? Is it jealousy that has my stomach rolling despite our distance or is it the very recent memory of his hands on my skin that has the tightness deepening in my chest?
He stands there somewhere between the same shock and fascination that I have.
I would be lying to myself to say I hadn’t replayed the other night more than once. But the idea of all of that had me unnerved to the point I’ve ignored his texts since. Attraction that strong always combusts. In some form or another, everything goes up in smoke. Either I strike a match and it sets everything on fire or the slow silent gas leak fills the air until the smallest spark blows up the happily ever after house.
It takes all of my attention to untangle my stare from his. Blinking as if that will clear my vision.
You know that feeling when a camera flashes and you blink really fast to try and clear from your sight. But it doesn’t dissolve. The shadow of still obscuring whatever you look at. That’s what happens when I see Will. No amount of blinking can clear his shape from my sight.
"It was nice to see you, Austin," I give him a hug and I think we both know its meaning.
"You too, Arden," he responds in kind. The same agreeable, friendly, we-have-a-weird-reason-for-knowing-each-other, good-bye . The kind that indicates, despite crossing paths, we may never see each other again, as I walk towards the only thing calling my name.
Will took steps as I did, meeting me in the middle of the room. Standing there toes to toes, no more steps to take. Except the one that has my lips tingling. I tilt my chin up with a smile and he reads it for what it is. His hand lands on the side of my face as he presses his lips to mine in a crowded room full of people with no remorse.
My eyes open and the sunspots that blurred my vision are gone. It's just him now.
When we finally pull apart, his eyes hold an intensity that makes my knees weak, full of tenderness and a barely contained wanting. The corner of his mouth quirked in a half-smile. And while his text remains unresponded to, I’ve drafted more than one in reply. Just never hitting send.
"Hi," I whisper into his mouth. He freckles a pattern of kisses up to my ear.
"Hello."
It’s when he pulls away I drop my hand from where it planted on his chest, but he catches it in his palm. Like it was waiting there.
"Fancy meeting you here," he murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist in a way that makes my pulse jump. "Though I should have known, you seem to have a knack for showing up exactly when I was thinking about you."
"Is that so?" I managed, trying to sound "And how often is that?"
"More than I should admit in public." His voice has a rough edge to it that makes me want to drag him away from all these people, find some quiet corner where we could just exist in our own little world like we did before. "But apparently not enough for you to respond to my texts.”
“Oh? Was I supposed to?”
Ethan bumps into Will from behind, momentarily breaking our bubble. They know each other. I’d even go so far as to say they are friends . The look on my face must say it all, as the shock of the proximity of Will Sterling in my life just grows.
The party surges around us, with laughter, music, and the clink of glasses.
“Excuse us,” he says to Ethan as he wraps his fingers with mine and pulls me down the hallway beyond and into a small office. The door shuts behind us and we’ve both clearly possessed by the ghosts of bar-bathrooms-past. The wordless exchange of kisses and breaths going beyond reason.
But when my back hits the wood door, I feel it. The wood grain against my spine. My breath gets short and his eyes open.
I see his face marked with confusion as he takes a step back.
"I’m sorry, I…" he begins to offer immediately as he scans me to understand what’s shifted.
"Don’t be… I- I just, I get a little claustrophobic."
It looks like he doesn’t know if he should believe me. I don't know if he should. Claustrophobic. Skittish. And about a dozen other things I am that have absolutely nothing to do with him despite how much I want him right now. These things that come up like food poisoning. You don’t know it's there until you’re emotionally vomiting it over someone else’s shoes.
I look down at our feet, but they are all clean.
I should step back. I should make an excuse. I should do anything except stand here, letting the gravity of him pull me closer while my mind screams about all the ways this will go wrong.
But then he shifts his weight, and even that small movement eases me into him.
"You know," Will says, as he steps back to lean against the desk, "for someone who keeps running away from me, you have an interesting habit reappearing."
"Well, maybe the universe just has a twisted sense of humor," I counter, following him like my feet have their own agenda. I hop onto the desk beside him, letting my legs dangle.
"That’s what we're calling party-crashing these days?" He shifts his pinky finger toward mine.
"I'll have you know I was invited!" I say with mock indignation.
“That’s right, you’re Ethan’s friend.” His pinky loops under mine.
"No, not just Ethan. Rosalie and I are the best of friends." The lie rolls off my tongue with surprising ease, even as my pinky curls around his in what feels like a secret.
"Oh, really?" His voice drops a register. "Do tell."
"We go way back." I continue, doubling down on my obvious fabrication. But he knows Ethan, through run-club or something , and I can’t let him be the only one with the advantage of a shared acquaintance. Not to mention the fact that lying feels better than the alternative of appearing like a complete psycho who just keeps popping wherever he is.
"Fascinating," he says, reaching across the desk with his free hand. "Then you'll definitely remember this." He produces a framed photo of himself, Rosalie, and Simon, at what appears to be a marathon finish line, all three grinning and holding up medals.
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest. "You are absolutely terrible at this, you know. It would be so much easier to just admit you’re obsessed with me."
“Fine, you’ve caught me.” I say.
“Not yet I haven’t.”
"For all I know, you've been the one orchestrating this whole thing, and you’re the one obsessed with me .” I raise an eyebrow.
“I am.” His free hand finds my hip, pulling me closer with a confidence that makes my breath catch. Two simple words exhaled into the space between us as his lips land against mine for the briefest of moments. “But if I had that kind of power, you would have said yes to coffee."
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" I manage, despite the way his proximity is scrambling my thoughts. "This way, you get to keep pursuing me dramatically across the city."
"You do realize," he says, his voice softer now, more serious, "that this is the third time you've ended up in my arms after technically turning me down. I'm starting to think you like the chase more than the catch."
"Maybe I'm just worried about what happens when the chase ends." The words slip out before I can stop them, more honest than I mean them to be.
His eyes meet mine, and there's understanding there.
"Or maybe you're more worried about what happens when it doesn't end at all." The audacity in the statement doesn’t make it any less true, but I’m swallowing down the disbelief that he would say it.
"That's...That's a lot of certainty from someone who barely knows me."
"Is it?" His thumb traces circles on my hip where my shirt has ridden up ever so slightly to expose a patch of skin to him. "Because it seems like we’ve been missing each other by minutes or miles. And suddenly, every time I turn around, you're there. It's starting to feel less like coincidence and more like inevitability."
"Inevitability is just another word for lack of choice," I whisper, but even I don't believe it anymore.
"No, you always have the choice." he says, tucking that errant strand of hair behind my ear. The weight of that truth sits between us, heavy with possibility.
"How about this, third time’s a charm," he says finally, breaking the tension. "Have dinner with me."
"It’s almost midnight, I've already eaten."
“Breakfast then.”