Cassie
Alaska, 2024
Okay,”
Cherry said.
Wesley was sitting at the girl’s feet, resting his head against her leg, looking up at her adoringly when she petted him and beseechingly when she stopped.
“So, you and Russell were into each other, and then you went to New York for SNL, and he and my mom got engaged.”
nodded.
She wanted to tell Cherry more; something like, You say it like it’s nothing, like it’s ancient history, like it’s something you read in a book.
It hurt me to breathe, she wanted to say.
It hurt me to be alive.
“So what did you do?”
Cherry asked.
Her voice was hoarse, and there was something in her expression that recognized—that raw yearning for connection. For love.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did you say anything to Russell? Or my mom? Did you tell Russell that you had feelings for him? Did you ask him not to marry someone else?”
You say that, thought, like it’s possible.
Like I would have been able to come up with those words and put them together and say them out loud.
“I didn’t know what I wanted,”
she said slowly.
“And, even if I had known, I wouldn’t have known how to ask for it.
Or make it happen.”
She wanted to explain, to tell Cherry that she was a tool, built for only one purpose.
She could sing, could write songs and perform them.
Asking her to do anything else, like actively participate in her own love life, or have difficult conversations with family members or bandmates, was like asking a spoon to take someone’s temperature, or thinking a hammer could iron your dress.
Grossberg-turned-Griffin wasn’t built to do those things.
And the person she’d once depended upon, the one person who’d helped her through the hostile, puzzling world, had become her adversary.
Her romantic rival.
Somehow, that was a thing that was true.
“What did I do?”
said, repeating Cherry’s question.
“I congratulated them.”
She hadn’t thought of it in so long, but now all the details of that terrible night came flooding back, overwhelming her.
After the whirlwind of December and the New Year, they’d been given a few days off.
Zoe had gone to the Bahamas, with Russell and some of her girlfriends.
had seen pictures of him with her sister, on the beach: Zoe, perfect in her black bikini; Russell’s chest glistening from the water, dark hair clinging to his calves.
Tommy had gone to Australia.
Cam and Wendy had gone to Jackson Hole.
had gone home, back to the rowhouse where her parents still lived, to the bedroom she and Zoe had once shared.
And then, five days into the New Year, Russell had left the resort and flown to Philadelphia, to her, so that they could work on a song.
She remembered how stupidly hopeful she’d been, how she’d told herself a fairy tale, one in which he’d arrive and say he and Zoe weren’t really getting married after all.
In her fantasy, Russell would walk through the door, windblown and dashing in his navy-blue coat, and say, I want to be with you.
And then he’d reach for her, and would let him, and, somehow, magically, she would know what to say and what to do.
But when he’d gotten to their house, with his face tanned from the tropical sunshine, wheeling a suitcase behind him, he’d been quiet, his lips pressed together tightly.
had greeted him, like always.
He’d opened his guitar case, like usual.
Except could already tell that this wasn’t an ordinary day.
Russell could never hold still when they were writing.
He’d sit down, then get up to pace for a bit, then sit down somewhere else.
His knee would bounce, or he’d drum his fingers on some surface, like the song was moving inside of him.
He’d always been that way, restless, antsy, but that afternoon, in her parents’ living room, he’d seemed almost tormented, as if staying in one place would have hurt him.
wasn’t good about noticing other people’s feelings, but even she had picked up on that.
Finally, she had made herself ask him, “Is everything okay?”
He’d stopped pacing.
He’d put his hands against his scalp and given his hair a tug that looked painful.
And then, low-voiced, his face stormy, he’d said, “The wedding’s going to be in May.”
felt her insides crumple, her heartbeat judder to a stop. “Oh,”
she said, very softly. “Oh.”
And maybe she was imagining it, maybe she was lying to herself, but she didn’t think he looked happy.
“Jerry has the whole thing set up.
We’re going to do it in Miami.
On the beach.
People’s going to do a big story, and Access Hollywood and Entertainment Tonight both want to cover it, and there’s a hotel out there that’s going to host the whole reception.
Food and flowers and everything.”
He gave a rueful smile.
“As long as their name’s in the pictures.”
“Oh,”
said again.
She thought what he was describing sounded like an advertisement, a promotional stunt, and not two people in love pledging their lives to each other.
She made herself step back from him and made herself smile.
In her head, she heard herself say Congratulations and I hope you’ll be happy.
All of the correct, expected words and phrases—the things Zoe would have told her to say.
But she couldn’t make herself do it, couldn’t force her lips to form the right shapes, couldn’t get her lungs to gather enough breath.
Russell rubbed at his eyes.
“It’ll be good for the band,”
he finally said.
“That’s what Jerry says.
The timing ...
the timing’s good.
Lots of publicity.”
“Yes,”
she said, a little faintly.
“That’s...yes. Good.”
“And that was it?”
Cherry was looking at her skeptically.
Wesley, saw, was looking at her too.
His head was tilted, and his eyes looked disappointed, like he’d expected better from her.
Which was crazy, told herself.
Her dog was not judging her, no matter how it looked.
“You didn’t fight for him? You didn’t tell him how you felt?”
thought about trying to explain herself.
How she’d never been in love, had never even liked a guy before Russell, how, not only was she a virgin, she’d never been kissed.
How she was a spoon, and a spoon could not take someone’s temperature, how she was a hammer, and a hammer could not say I’m in love with you, and Don’t marry Zoe, marry me.
“I couldn’t,”
said, acknowledging her failure, her own responsibility in everything that came after.
“So what did you say?”
“I said, ‘We should work on the song.’ And we did.
And, after that, I tried not to feel anything for him anymore.”
Cherry snorted, sounding bitter as she asked, “How’d that work out?”
Without looking at the girl, said, “About as well as you’d think.”