3
He had not forgiven Anne Elliot. She had used him ill, deserted and disappointed him. —Persuasion
She was at my concert. It’s all over social media with fans taking selfies with April Elliot. At my concert. I stare at a photo from last night. I have not seen her face in five years. She looks good, really good. In some of the pics, she’s wearing oversized sunglasses and has this whole Jackie Kennedy vibe. There’s a seriousness to her face that wasn’t there before, probably from all those business classes. She cut off her signature long, curly black hair to a short mop of curls. I bet her publicist had a heart attack when she did that. No more artistic shots of April’s riotous mane of ringlets. With short hair, her curls frame her face sweetly. I find myself longing to touch them. In the photos without sunglasses her eyes are red-rimmed with smudges of mascara. Had she been crying? Did she hear me pour my heart out in that encore? Did that reach her at all? Does anything reach her?
Why didn’t she come backstage? I always give her name to security with the wild hope that she might see me perform. And she finally did. I try to remember every detail of the concert. Would I have sung better knowing she was there? It’s probably best I didn’t know. The crowd had great energy. It was a good set. Nothing to be ashamed of, except maybe that final encore; I got a bit emotional there. I play a song like that at nearly every show. To deter groupies and because I’m a hopeless romantic. I scan through more photos of her at the concert. It’s the first time our names have ever been publicly linked, and it gives me a pleasant buzz.
Scrolling through the pics, a photo catches my attention. She is in a photo with Mouse, my drummer, backstage. She was backstage. How did I miss her? My fingers have a mind of their own. I text Mouse before I can even think this through.
freddy
Did you meet April Rain last night?
He answers with a pic of himself with his arm wrapped around her.
freddy
Why didn’t you tell me she was there? You know I’m a fan
mouse
She said she met you
Why would she lie like that? Okay, so it’s not really a lie. Technically, we have met, but it’s been years. Why did she come backstage if not to see me? Or maybe she came to the concert with someone. That’s possible. But she only would come backstage to see me, right? Is that an egotistical conclusion? Maybe. Probably. And then an insidious thought slinks in and takes over. She might have come backstage with someone else who wanted to meet me. What if she was on a date?
I text Mouse again.
freddy
Was she with anyone?
He takes forever to answer. In the meantime, I search “April” ... the search bar fills in “April Rain dating.” My phone knows me too well. This is, of course, a totally meaningless search, considering the tabloids never got a whiff of the two of us, and we were actually engaged.
She never made an official announcement because her father and manager pressured her to end things with me. I was a nobody, a lifeguard going to law school, apparently marrying her only for her money and fame. I didn’t mind what April’s manager or even what her father thought. I understood how they could misconstrue my intentions. I totally got why they were wary of our crazy plan. And to be clear, it was our plan. I certainly wasn’t the one who dreamed of a fairytale wedding. That was all Rainy. What really hurt, still hurts, is that she listened to everyone else and believed them. That she could have thought for one moment that I was dating her for the fame and the money. I wanted to marry her despite all of that.
I’m tormenting myself, scrolling through the photos of all the various guys April’s name has been linked to. I stop at a picture of her with a very familiar face. Carlos Musgrove. My best friend. Carlos and April. I’ve seen this before. Not long before I met Carlos in real life, I had seen photos of him and April together at various events. They were next-door neighbors, so it made sense that he would ask her out. Carlos is currently dating April’s younger sister, September. Neither Carlos nor September know of my history with April. September was backpacking the world at the time, and Carlos was... I have no idea what he was up to. Hustling to start his own business as a music manager, I’d guess.
My phone buzzes. Speak of the devil.
carlos
BIG NEWS!!!!
carlos
Can we come over?
freddy
You and September?
carlos
Who else?
I don’t feel like seeing anyone right now. But I find it hard to say no to Carlos; I owe him so much.
freddy
Absolutely
I climb out of bed and pull on some joggers. I’m currently staying in the bungalow behind Carlos’s parents’ house. And since his girlfriend lives right next door, Carlos spends more weekends at his parents. So, when he says he’s coming over in a minute, he means a minute. All he has to do is walk out his back door.
My phone buzzes with another text.
mouse
She might have been with this guy
I hold my breath and stare at the phone, waiting for the photo to come through.
When the picture appears, I drop my phone like it’s something poisonous. I pick it up and look closer at the smarmy handsome face of Johnny Love. Johnny effing Love. He’s like 40, and I do not like how he is ogling April in this photo.
“Dude, why are you growling?”
I drop my phone on my bed and turn around. Carlos stands in my doorway with his arm wrapped around September.
I snatch up my phone, close my messages, and turn it off. I can’t have September see me obsessing over her sister.
Carlos tosses me a shirt off the floor. “Dude! Put on a shirt! How’s a guy to compete with all that.” He waves a hand toward my chest. September giggles. But I don’t take Carlos’s comment seriously. We lift together when I’m not on tour, and the guy is ripped. Also, September, for all her flaws, is absolutely smitten with him. Sheesh, look at her right now. She keeps batting her impossibly long lashes at him.
Nearly every time I see September, I find myself looking for traces of her sister. They both have pale skin, which tends to freckle in the summer. September’s nut-brown hair hangs straight, while Rainy’s hair is black and unruly. September is several inches shorter than April and is a smaller person in general. But her mouth is similar to April’s, as is her smile. They definitely have the same eyes. Ocean eyes—that’s what I thought when I first met April, pulling her out of the water onto my surfboard. Her hazel eyes sparkled like water in sunlight.
Most people think of the ocean as blue; but that is only how it looks from a distance when it reflects the sky on a clear day. Most days, the ocean is a soft hazel–blueish, grayish, green. In my song Tsunami , a lyric refers to April’s “ocean eyes.” Fans hypothesized that the girl who broke my heart had blue eyes. Like most of my fans’ theories, I’ve never bothered to correct them. I like keeping Rainy’s eye color to myself. Right now, September is gazing up at Carlos with those same greenish-blue eyes. He gives her a sappy smile. Carlos is the smiliest person I know. But this is extreme, even for him.
“So . . .” September begins in a sing-songy voice.
Carlos takes her hand that he is already holding and laces his fingers between hers.
“We have big news,” he says, bouncing on his heels.
“We’re getting married!” She blurts out and then shows me the ring on her perfectly manicured hand.
“Whoa! Congratulations!” I give them both a hug. My mind jumps ahead. April is September’s sister—if they get married... I will see April at the wedding. I knew this day would come. Not that Carlos and September would marry, but that as long as I remained friends with him and he dated September, I would eventually see April again. I couldn’t make up my mind how I felt about that possibility. Now I know. I’m annoyed... and anxious... and maybe a little excited. But, this is not how I want this reunion. Deep down, I want April to reach out to me. After all, she’s the one who ended things. The old heaviness settles in my chest as I contort my face into a smile.
“This calls for a celebration!” I walk to the fridge, knowing full well there isn’t anything but beer and Smartwater.
“Save that for later,” says September. “I still need to tell my sister. April’s back in LA, you know.”
I nod as if what she is saying is everyday, ordinary, boring information. Not earth-shattering news, rattling me to my very core.
“So, is she . . . at your house? Or . . .”
“Yep, she moved back the day before yesterday. She’s talking about getting her own place; she certainly can afford it. But now that I’m getting married, Daddy’s hoping she’ll stay with him.”
April Rain slept next door last night. If I look out my window, I can see the laurel hedge dividing this yard from hers. If I take a few steps outside, I can see the slate-tiled roof of the mansion she grew up in. “We would have told her last night,” September is still talking while my mind spins out of control. “... but she was out like way late. I’m not sure where she was.”
Is this when I tell them she went to my concert? No, that would be weird. Why would I even know, especially since she didn’t visit me backstage. Argh. I cannot believe she was with Johnny Love. I seriously hate the guy. Granted, I hardly know him. But he seemed annoying when I talked to him last night.
“So would you?” September looks at me expectantly. I haven’t been listening. She fixes those ocean eyes on me with a pleading look. They are Rainy’s eyes. I have no choice but to agree.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I am getting married!” She jumps and squeals and hugs me. “And Freddy West is going to write a song for our wedding!” Record scratch. Um, what?
Carlos catches my eye. “Hey, what’s up? You look a little off.”
“Nah, I’m good! Hyped for you guys. I mean. I am surprised. But in a good way. Marriage.” I run my fingers through my hair. “That’ll be... cool.”
“Shouldn’t you have your sister sing, too?” Carlos asks September.
“Uhhh... I don’t know... She has been so weird about performing ever since she paused her career. I don’t even know why. She never talks about it.”
I know some of April’s reasons for leaving music, though probably not the whole story. She finished touring a few months after we broke up and then, six months later, announced she was taking a break from music and going to college. When we were dating, she always talked about how much she wanted to go to school. She was so frustrated that her father wouldn’t let her. When I read that she had finally stood up to him, I was so happy for her. I wrote a song: “Happy for You.” It was my first number-one single in the U.K. She has to know that song is about her.
“Like, no one knows who April Rain is anymore.” September prattles on. “She’s kind of a has-been.”
And this... is what I try to overlook about September. She’s sweet, sweet, sweet and then she’s not. Also, she’s mildly obsessed with fame and status. It’s the lens through which she makes sense of the world. September doesn’t know if she likes another person until she knows how well-connected they are and what other people think of them. She gets this from her father. I’m kind of surprised Dean Elliot is okay with her marrying a lowly music manager like Carlos Musgrove. He certainly isn’t a household name, though he does have the added benefit of coming from a wealthy family. His dad, Chuck Musgrove, is an insanely successful music producer.
“I bet April still sounds amazing,” says Carlos. And... this is why we are friends. Carlos lifts everyone up. He is the sunshine to my thunderclouds in our bromance. And no, I did not come up with that catchy phrase on my own. My sister told me that shortly after meeting Carlos, and like most things Kai says, it’s the truth.
“Yeah, well maybe.” September bites her lip. “We can ask her when we tell her.”
“When’s that?” Something in my voice catches Carlos’s attention. He gives me a questioning look.
“Right now. We are late for brunch,” September says, getting up from the couch. “Do you want to come with us?” Absolutely not! But also, hell yeah!
“Sounds like it’ll be just family.”
“You’re practically family.” Carlos drapes his arm around September. “Maybe after we’ve told April and started making plans, you could drop by?”
“Yeah, okay, maybe.” I cannot wrap my mind around seeing April in just a few minutes. I really want to see her, but I also don’t. I might bail on Carlos. “Hey, congrats again! This is huge and totally awesome!” I give them each a hug before they step out. I hug Carlos, and he slaps me on the back. “You’ll be my best man, right?”
“It would be an honor.”
He gives me a short nod. “Thanks, man.”
The two walk out the sliding door into the sunshiny, palm-filled day. I groan, pick up my phone, and return to the photo Mouse sent of April with Johnny Love.
She went to my concert with another guy. Or did she? It certainly looks like it. Of course, she did. She wouldn’t make that drive by herself.
Last night I sang my heart out to her, and she was with this schmuck. I throw the phone across the room. I sink to the couch and drop my head in my hands. I have to get over her.