Chapter 30
Viv
“This is crazy, right? I’m crazy.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Maggie teases, bumping my hip with hers. “Crazy is your whole brand, my love.”
“You’re right. It’s just—”
“You want the truth?” she asks, dragging me over to my bare mattress in my nearly-bare dorm room.
There are some boxes next to my closet that Maddie G and Sierra are picking up later today, and there are two suitcases, a backpack, and a crossbody by the door.
My whole life is in those bags. I’m about to embark on an adventure, and that’s all I can take with me.
We settle onto the thin, plastic-covered mattress. This thing sucks without my memory foam topper. I hope Maddie G appreciates it.
Maggie takes my hands in hers and squeezes them. Shit. She’s got her mom face on, and I know she means business. “This,” she says, pointing toward my suitcases, “is not the craziest thing you’ve ever done. There’s a long list of shenanigans in your past, Viv, and I was around for every single one.”
“Yeah,” I say, wincing. “I don’t think we have the time to rehash all of that. Senior year of high school alone could take an hour.”
“That’s your fault for thinking you were getting a job teaching dance to little kids at a place called The Cherry Pie Pit.”
“It was next to a bakery! How was I supposed to know it was a strip club?”
Maggie just shakes her head because we have had this conversation before. “For the thousandth time, the neon sign wasn’t two cherries. It was a pair of tits. But that is not the point.”
“I still maintain that it was an honest mistake, and I think they should have kept me on staff. They needed a choreographer. But I know, that’s also not the point.
So hit me with it, Mags, because I’m about to leave for the mother-effin airport, and I won’t see you or your sweet baby girl for six months. ”
She hugs me again, and I do my best not to cry. Maggie pats my back and then hands me a tissue.
“I’m not crying,” I protest.
“No, but you will be,” she says, because she can obviously see the future. “I stuck some extra tissues in your carry-on, along with another spray hand sanitizer and some wipes. Planes are germy places. And I packed some of those animal crackers you like. Calla insisted.”
“Oh, my god. Your baby gifted me our favorite snack. You really are going to make me cry.” I fan my eyes and tug at my ponytail, like that will hold the tears back.
Whoever invented waterproof mascara better have won the Nobel Peace Prize because that stuff is amazing, and I might test its limits today.
“Okay, come on. Throw some of that maternal wisdom at me. If this adventure I’m about to embark on isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever done, then what is? ”
“You already know the craziest thing you’ve ever done. It’s denying that you love Mickey.” Maggie’s eyes are kind as she drops the truth bomb that detonates all over my heart. It’s nothing I don’t already know, but the regret I have for the way I hurt us both could eat me alive if I let it.
“You know I’m right,” she says. “You just couldn’t see it then.
Everybody else could, but you had your eyes shut so tight that you couldn’t see what was right in front of you.
But, Viv, your eyes are open now. You get it.
You’re not in the dark any more.You’re not hiding, not pretending, not walking around with your eyes closed and your ears plugged, singing ‘La-la-la-la, we’re just besties,’ anymore. ”
“I am a terrible singer,” I joke, before reality worms its way in, and the conversation turns serious. I voice the fear I’ve been hanging onto since the day of Calla’s birthday party, the day I finally decided to go after what I want. “What if it doesn’t work?”
Maggie gives me a look of disbelief. “It will. Absolutely no one in the world doubts that. But if it doesn’t? You’re Viv McDonald, pint-sized badass extraordinaire. You’ll figure it out. You’ll thrive. It’s what you do. And now, you know you don’t have to do it alone.”
I stand, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles in my yoga pants, and tying my hoodie around my waist. My best friend is right.
I’m fucking fearless. I’m not going to be shy about what I want, and I’m done convincing myself that I don’t deserve it, or that it won’t last. Loving Mickey is my favorite thing to do, and if I get my way, I’m going to spend the rest of my life doing it.
Maggie’s phone pings with a text. She shows me her screen, and I see her man behind the wheel of their minivan. “Your chariot awaits,” she tells me, slinging my backpack over her shoulder, and grabbing the handle of one of the suitcases.
I follow her out, lock the door, and leave the key under the mat so my former cheer girlies can pick up their loot.
I’m not bothering to say goodbye to the room, since I never loved living here anyway.
It was nice having a space all to myself in theory, but I’m not cut out to be a solo artist. I know that now, and I’m not afraid of it any more.
I’m built to be part of a team.
I just hope to hell my partner wants me back.