29. Chapter 29
We all gathered at the salon in our yoga pants and flannels. We all decided to get the same pale shade of pink that would blend with the dresses, not stand out too much, and—most importantly—wouldn’t show much if it chipped.
My phone buzzed. It was Max.
I need to talk to you.
I didn’t respond.
I focused my attention back on the bridesmaids who were drinking mimosas and laughing. I sipped my mimosa while I tried not to think about Max or film—or anything except nail polish.
“You okay?” Caitlin asked quietly as she settled into the pedicure chair next to me.
I nodded, not wanting to darken her day with my drama.
My nail tech got the bubbles bubbling in the foot bath and set to work.
As she worked, I caught a headline in Caitlin’s People: “CAT TURNER AND MAX MACLEOD—ON THE ROCKS?” She flipped the page hastily, then realized I’d already seen it.
“So, what’s going on with you two?” asked Caitlin, closing her magazine.
“Well, there hasn’t really been an ‘us two’ because he’s supposed to be dating Cat Turner.”
“Bullshit.”
I slumped down in the massage chair. “I think I broke up with him?”
“What happened?”
I told her about the pros and cons list and the conversation that followed.
“Abby, that’s not what you want, is it?”
I shrugged. “I don’t want—”
Caitlin reached over and squeezed my hand. “Don’t focus on what you don’t want. Focus on what you do want.”
Oh.
Well.
I wanted stability. And creativity. And money. And a family. And a pony…
“You can’t have it all,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
“You can have a lot of it. At different times. Look at us—Angus had his rock star days, and now he’s happy with a simple life running a pub. But we can still play music together.”
“And he has all that money behind him that lets him live that simple life.”
Caitlin flipped back to the magazine. “I mean, I know show business is heavy on the show, but I get the idea Max has been doing okay. Maybe he could afford to pull back the reins a little.”
I huffed out a breath. “The hours, the lifestyle, the fake-dating bullshit…”
“The creativity, the joy of film, the way you feel when you see him walk through the door. The way you danced together the other night…”
There was something in my eye.
“Oh, Abby,” said Caitlin.
I rubbed the corner of my eye.
“Sweetie, we can fix this.”
“No, there’s something in my eye. Maybe it’s a midge?”
Caitlin leaned across her armrest to get a closer look. “It is a midge! How did it get in here?”
She tilted my face toward her, gently tugging at my eyelid to get a look underneath. The others started offering suggestions and digging through their purses for eye drops.
Finally a nail tech held up a small pocket mirror, and I was able to find and remove the insect. Gross.
The nail techs checked that we were ready to behave and sit still, then began to file and cut.
“…anyway, as I was saying…,” Caitlin continued.
A notification popped up on my phone. I automatically looked at it.
“Cat Turner and Max: Splitsville,” said the headline. I put my phone face down and maintained my composure as best I could.
Until TMZ blared the story from the TV in the corner.
Everyone turned and looked. In addition to the “Splitsville” headline, they had footage of Max and me in the restaurant.
I had nowhere to hide.
We waddled over to the drying stations. I sat there, cold air blowing on my toes while I looked out the window.
“Whelp, the fake dating part is done,” I said, staring at my feet.
Caitlin toyed with a button on her flannel. “He may have made that official for a reason.”
“Yeah. I don’t know.” I checked to see if my toes were dry. They were not.
“What are you going to do, Abby?” asked Melissa.
I shrugged. “What I always do.”
Caitlin showed me a page in her magazine. The article read “Declutter Your Life but Don’t Throw Away That Which Brings You Joy.”
She tapped it and gave me a knowing look.
I nodded.
As Caitlin went to the front to pay, I reached into my purse for a tip. My gaze caught on something deep in the corner of my wallet—the ticket stub to the first movie Max and I had gone to together. Our first real date. Not the on-set flirtations, not the grad school editing.
The movie was titled Second Chances.
I looked at the stub for a long moment, then put it back in my wallet.
“Abby, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I lied, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be as I hurried out the door, Caitlin on my heels.
“Abs?”
My cheeks were hot and the street looked blurry. “Let’s get in the car.”
We got in.
“Drive.”
“No. What’s wrong, Abby? I know you’ve got a lot going on, but something just happened and it wasn’t about Cat Turner and I don’t even know if it was entirely about… honey, talk to me.”
I sniffed. “June 18.”
Caitlin nodded.
My voice was tight as I choked out the words. “He took me to dinner. At the Gristmill, you know, that beautiful place not far from Austin by the river?”
Caitlin had been there. “With the multilevel patio facing the river and fairy lights and s’mores for dessert and amazing food…”
I nodded. “And when the s’mores came, there was a ring on my stick. And I said yes.”
“Oh! Abby!”
“We went right downstairs to the manager and booked the place for our special date…”
“June 18.”
“And we were so lucky, because they were booked solid through September, but there’d been a cancellation and we snagged it. Paid a hefty deposit and we were so happy. And we had such a beautiful night.”
“Why did I never know this?”
I motioned, the way sisters do, to mean hold on, I’m trying to tell you.
“The next morning I had a zillion texts. You were at the hospital. Dad had had a heart attack.”
Realization hit Caitlin and she just said “Oh.” With understanding.
“I was on a shoot, we were on a deadline. And we had just one last week of pickups before everyone scattered for the holidays. I had to stay.”
She nodded again. It had been an awkward time and one of the biggest regrets of my life and she knew it.
“I stayed to finish the film.”
We came home for Christmas. Dad was okay. But I’d missed the whole thing, hadn’t been there for you and Mom. And Dad.” My voice broke again.
“Then while I was home for Christmas, Max was back in LA getting ready to come meet the family—we were going to share our big news. But he got a phone call about a big movie with Cat Turner. He said yes. Shooting in Vancouver, May through July.
It was over the phone. I couldn’t see his face. All I knew was he was choosing film over us.
And I had chosen film over Dad.”
“And I sat there in the waiting room looking at all the families and listening to that Christmas music and staring at that text. He hadn’t called because he was on set… I couldn’t call because he was on set.
And so I didn’t reply. I mailed the ring back. And I moved back home.”
“You didn’t reply?”
“No. I mean, later. But I just ghosted him. And the thing is… the movie fell apart.”
“What happened?”
I smiled bitterly. “Cat Turner had a family emergency. Her father had a stroke, and she wanted to be with them. She pulled out, the film lost its funding, and I lost several months’ worth of deposit money and a fiancé.”
Caitlin put her arms around me. “Oh, Abby. I had no idea.”
“I mean—now, with perspective—it was absolutely her right not to take a new job during a family emergency. And Max called and texted and called, but I was going through an identity crisis. I probably still am. I definitely still am.”
“And June 18 was supposed to be your wedding, and here I am making you plan mine…”
“You’re not making me do anything. I love planning weddings. And I love you.”
“Still.”
“Well. Yeah. If you’d known.”
We still had most of the day before the rehearsal dinner.
Caitlin had things to go over with Angus’s family, since they were officially throwing the dinner, which meant I was free.
Alone with my thoughts.
And TMZ.
And that stupid ticket stub in my wallet.
It wasn’t the best movie. It was fine. Your basic rom com. A couple had a second chance. They ended up taking it. Happily Ever After. Blah blah.
But when we went on that date, it was the first time I’d ever seen Max silence his phone.
After the movie, we’d gone to a diner and had pie. I’d had Traverse City cherry pie, and he’d had chocolate fudge pecan.
We’d shared our slices, laughed about silly subplots, and plotted to take over the world.
Together.
With the cell phone turned off.
All this time I’d thought of Max as the one that left, but he was only doing what he’d set out to do. I was the one who’d left.
And now I’d done it again.
He’d never give up film, but he had ripped up the contract for fake dating Cat.
He’d offered me a chance at a film deal.
I had a lot to think about.
If I wasn’t already too late.
But was he fake-dating me just to make Cat look sympathetic when she ended things with him? Was I just a piece on the chess board—or the Hollywood Walk of Fame?
As I walked down High Street, I saw a man walking quickly, the wind blowing his overcoat. That dark hair. It had to be Max. I walked quickly to catch up to him. I tapped him on the shoulder. He turned. It was not Max.
“Sorry. I thought you were someone else,” I mumbled, taking a step back.
The man continued on his way.
Mortified, I turned back—and nearly bumped into the actual Max.
“I thought that was you,” he said.
“Yeah?” I blinked, trying to process that he was here.
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t mean to… be here. It’s just…”
“It’s fine. It’s a small town.”
We stood there a beat as drizzle began to fall around us.
He looked cold. I wanted to pull his hood up.
“Do you need a ride back to…,” he asked.
“It’s too far to go back to the house. I thought I’d change at the inn for the rehearsal dinner,” I said, pointing toward Drumnadrochit like an idiot.
“I brought my clothes, too.” Max looked down, and there was a long pause. Finally, he couldn’t help but grin. “Sparkling conversation…”
“Pure cinematic gold,” I responded automatically.
“AmIright?” he shot back in his best Hollywood producer voice.
We both laughed, the tension beginning to ease.
Then his phone rang.
I started to back away, expecting him to answer.
Instead, he tossed it on the ground.
I looked at the phone buzzing in the rain, then at Max—water running down his face, those blue eyes.
I took his face in my hands and crushed my lips to his.
He made a low sound against my mouth, something between relief and disbelief, and his hands found my waist like he’d been waiting five years to put them there.
I held him tight, the rain seeping through our clothes, and for one long moment I let myself stop thinking.
Stop planning. Stop bracing for the part where it falls apart.
My eyes started to burn. Must be something in my eye again.
Dammit.
I broke away from the kiss.
Max reached for me. “Abby, wait… listen…”
“No, it’s just—” I said, turning my face away.
“You’re my best friend and always have been, but I also—” Max stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“There’s something in my eye. A midge or a…”
He cradled my chin in his hand and leaned closer. “It’s really red.”
“I know.”
“Look up.”
I looked up. He was so close I could feel his warmth as he examined my eye.
“I think you’re just crying.”
“I am not crying.” I gave him a weak shove.
Max grinned. “Are, too.”
“Am not!”
He rifled through his wallet and fished out a tiny plastic vial of eyedrops. “Let’s get that midge out, and then we can continue this conversation.”
But as he handed me the drops, something else fell from his wallet.
A ticket stub. Second Chances.
I picked it up and turned it over.
June 18 stared back at me.
Our first date.
Later, our first premiere.
The date we’d planned to get married.
Then it was just another date on the calendar.
“You kept it,” I whispered.
“I never had a reason to throw it away.”
Neither of us moved. Rain blurred the faded ink.
“If I were writing this,” I said, “I’d probably cut this. Too on the nose.”
Max smiled. “If I were writing it, I’d keep it. Sometimes the universe isn’t subtle.”
“It’s almost here again.”
“Abby. I know this is hard, it’s been hard, but I’m getting so much better at all of this.
Finding the balance.” He took a breath, like he needed to get the rest out in one go.
“I used to think being good at my job meant being all in, all the time, no matter what the cost. I don’t think that anymore.
I want to build a life where I’m actually there.
I want a life that isn’t just a film and then a wrap party and then nothing.
I want you. Not five years of you. Not until the next project.
Just—you. For however long I can have you. ”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself.
“I know that’s a lot to put on a sidewalk in the rain,” he said, quieter now.
His phone was still buzzing somewhere behind us.
Neither of us cared.
Instead, I took a step forward.
I leaned in and kissed him.