Chapter 22
Chapter
Twenty-Two
ELLY
“Chuck is ghosting me. Hard.” Makena’s lips push into a pout as she burrows deeper into the wraparound couch in the living room. “Why do I always get ghosted, Elly? I’m not that scary, am I?”
We’re sitting by the “gaming system” TV Grammercy hardly ever uses, staying cozy while Mimi sleeps and Grammercy’s in Kansas City for the Voodoo’s first away game. It’s a rainy Friday in October, the first chilly NOLA night of the year, and Makena and I are honoring it with hot toddies.
The apple cider, bourbon, spice, and vanilla liquor concoction she calls “Sweater Weather” is delicious.
Hearing Chuck’s name on her lips again is much less so…
I pause mid-sip and arch a brow. “How can he be ghosting you? You broke up with him.” I hunch my shoulders closer to my ears as I beg, “Please, don’t tell me you’re back together, Mack.
I’ve already said way too many unpleasant things about Chuck to feel comfortable having drinks with him again. True things, but also…unpleasant.”
Makena rolls her blue eyes. “God, no. I finally learned my lesson with that one, believe me. He’s the worst.”
“Oh, thank God. He really is.” I relax back into the sinfully comfy couch. I’ve never had a couch like this, one that cradles you like a spongy cloud. Mimi calls it the “stuffed animal” couch because it’s so big and cuddly and she likes to do her reading homework here after school.
“I know,” Makena continues. “But he still has my entire vintage record collection. I was keeping it at his place because we liked to listen to Van Morrison and Joni Mitchell on the weekends. I’ve texted him ten times suggesting places we could meet up to do a handoff, but he refuses to respond.
I even told him he could just leave them out on his porch one Sunday morning, and I would bike over to get them on my day off, but… nothing.”
I frown. “That’s immature. Even for Chuck.”
She nods, her brow furrowing. “I know. And I’ve been stalking his social media, and he’s dropped off the face of the earth. He’s never online anymore. Ever.”
“Or he’s blocked you.” My lips pull away from my teeth. “Sorry to introduce that option, but I’ve recently become a lot more social media savvy than I used to be. And it happens. A lot.”
“No, he didn’t block me,” she says with a smug grin. “I know because I follow him under a fake bikini model profile. No one blocks the bikini model.”
“Really? Wow. You’re diabolical.”
She shrugs. “Kind of. A girl’s gotta be in this day and age.
But yeah, he’s gone dark, and when I swung by his office to pretend to deliver a lunch order and shame him into giving me my records back in public, there was a temp at his desk.
” She frowns, cocking her head sharply to one side.
“You don’t think he’s actually a ghost, do you? Like literally ?”
My eyes widen. “You mean…dead? Do I think Chuck is dead?”
“Yeah,” she says, nodding faster as she warms to the idea.
“I mean, I haven’t googled him, I’ve just been stalking him on socials.
What if he’s dead, and I’ve been texting an actual ghost this entire time!
I mean, he doesn’t have any family in the area, and his close friends still live in Boston.
He could totally lie dead in his house for a week or two without anyone noticing.
I was the only one who would have noticed, and I broke up with him and—” Her hand flies to clutch at the top of her fuzzy white sweater.
“Oh God, you don’t think he was so upset about the break up that he…
” She draws a finger slowly across her throat.
I gulp my drink, needing more bourbon for a conversation like this one. “I don’t think so, honey. I mean, I guess it’s possible, but Chuck loves himself an awful lot. And weren’t you pretty sure he was sleeping with someone else? Isn’t that part of why you ended it?”
She bites her lip. “You’re right. She probably killed him! I mean, not that I can blame her, but I want my records back.”
I laugh. I can’t help it.
“What?” Makena pokes my leg with her toe.
“What’s so funny? I mean, people do get murdered by their lovers.
Mostly women, but a scorned female has been known to pick up a knife now and then.
” Her eyes are wide again. “Shit! That means I’m going to be the prime suspect!
I might have to go on the lam for a crime I didn’t commit.
Unless someone with better internet stalking skills than mine can track him down for me… ”
Rolling my eyes, I grab my phone from the coffee table. “Fine, I’m on the hunt. Are you happy?”
“Yes,” she says, grinning before she adds with a prim sniff, “but if we find out he’s dead, you owe me an apology.”
Ten minutes later, I’ve confirmed that Chuck is not dead—he’s in Aruba on vacation with his new woman and has indeed blocked Makena’s burner account—and my bestie is pouring us a hot toddy refill.
“Well, shit,” she says, scrunching her nose. “Is it wrong that I was sort of hoping he was dead?”
I snort. “No. He’s an asshole who treated you like crap, cheated on you, and stole your record collection.”
“And never took me to Aruba,” she adds. “Or anywhere else. The Bama Shore for Labor Day doesn’t count.”
“It so doesn’t,” I agree. “And you don’t really want him dead. You just want closure and your records back. Both of which are valid.”
“Thanks.” She nods, studying me over the rim of her mug.
“You are social media savvy now.” Her brows lift as her lips curve in a teasing smile.
“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Those videos you put out with your new honey were fire.
You were so beautiful, and he was so beautiful, and the way he looked at you was everything a woman could ever want.
My ovaries literally exploded while I was watching. ”
“Literally?’ I tease.
“Yes, I’m having surgery to repair them on Monday,” she deadpans.
“The doctors are hopeful for a full recovery. And I haven’t forgiven you for keeping your fake marriage a secret, by the way.
As your BFF and the person indirectly responsible for introducing you to your hubby, that was a major life development I should have been clued in on, girl.
I’m still in my feelings about it, if I’m honest.”
“Even though you’re the only one who knows it was fake?” I ask gently. She’s joking, the way Makena always does, but she’s also not joking. I can tell. “I mean, aside from Grammercy’s Mom?”
She sighs, her nose wrinkling again. “I guess. I just want to feel special, you know? Like I have best friend privileges.”
“You do,” I assure her. “It was just a weird situation neither Grammercy or I knew how to handle.” I gaze down into my nearly empty mug as I add in a softer voice, “And you’re the only person who knows the way I feel about him now. I hope that feels like best friend privilege.”
“It does,” she says, taking her turn with the “gentle” tone. “But I shouldn’t be the only one who knows, Elly. Grammercy should definitely know about that, especially considering he’s obviously in love with you, too.”
I glance up sharply. “You don’t know that, Mack. Neither do I.”
“Girl, pictures don’t lie. Neither does video. That man is gone on you.”
“That was all staged,” I say, pushing back, no matter how much a part of me wants to believe it.
But if I believe it, if I let myself get swept up in the magic Grammercy and I have been making together, then I’ll have no choice but to come clean .
And coming clean has the potential to kill that magic pretty darned quick…
“The choreography was staged,” Makena counters, “but the emotion was real. I could tell. No offense, babes, but neither you nor your honey pie is that good at acting. No one is. When actors have the kind of onscreen chemistry you two do, they’re always banging behind the scenes. Always.”
I open my mouth to deflect, to make a joke, or change the subject. Instead, I hear myself blurt out, “Okay, but what if I’m in love and scared and certain I’ve already ruined it? What if I’m a horrible person?”
“What?” She shakes her head hard, sending her blond curls flying around her face. “Eloise Marianne Thibodeaux, you are not a horrible person. You are the sweetest, classiest, most genuine and honest person I?—”
“I lied,” I cut in, the “honesty” part guilting me into spilling it all.
In between fighting the urge to hyperventilate, I tell her everything—about the secret podcast, fangirling so hard over Grammercy that the entire “Love on Ice” audience knows he’s my dream guy, and the fact that I may have fudged the truth about how well I “knew” him when we first met.
“Oh my God,” Makena breathes when I’m done, her jaw slack. “That’s insane!”
“I know.” My hands fly to cover my face. “I should have told him. Right away. I never should have kept this a secret for so long.”
“No, not that part,” she says, excitement building in her tone. “That you’re Luvvy Puck! What the hell, girl! I had no idea. You sound totally different on the radio. ”
I peek through my fingers. “You’ve heard the show? No way.”
“Yes, way! Skye, my food prep girl, is a hockey maniac. She plays your show all the time while we’re in the kitchen, getting ready to start the day.
She can’t get enough.” Makena leans across the cushions to smack my arm.
“Damn, woman, you’re like a Friday burrito!
” I frown and she explains, “Chock-full of unexpected ingredients. Friday is ‘use up the leftovers in the fridge’ day. Shit. So…how long have you been leading this double life?”
“Three years?” I squeak. “But I’m not doing it anymore. I stopped as soon as Mimi and I moved in with Grammercy. It felt wrong to keep recording when he had no idea that was part of my life.”
She nods, sobering. “Yeah, I get that. A lie of omission is still a lie.”