After
AFTER
The night before I leave, Kate arrives with gifts: a wide-brimmed straw sun hat and a DVD of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin .
In the living room, I grip her in a hard hug, then plop the hat onto my head and examine the movie. “A DVD? Wow. I didn’t know these still existed. I’m not sure I actually have a way to play this.”
Kate shrugs. “No worries. We can always stream it, if not.”
“Okay. But why this one? Didn’t you once tell me that Nicolas Cage looks like a basset hound?”
“Yes. Because he does. But read the back. It’s about two people having lots of sex. In Greece. Basically the exact thing you’ll be doing by this time next week.”
I give the synopsis a skeptical once-over. “You realize this is a war movie, right?”
“Oh,” she says. “Hmm. I guess we can skip to the naked parts, then.”
I snicker. “Works for me.”
Ten minutes later, we’ve established that I definitely do not own a DVD player and are in the midst of googling which streaming service to use when my phone rings. A picture of my mother on a long-ago trip to Idaho flashes on the caller ID.
“Hold on.” I hand the TV remote to Kate. “Hello?”
“Mina?” My mother sounds breathless.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up? Are you okay?”
“Yes, sweetie, I’m fine. I just wanted to know if you’d seen it yet.”
I frown. “Seen what?”
“That Grayson of yours. On TV.”
Grayson . His name lands like a blow to the chest. Kate must notice, because she pauses her scrolling and mouths, What?
I wave away her question and hunker into the couch. “Mom, what’re you talking about?”
“Grayson. He’s on TV. Dad was playing around with the Netflix, and—”
“Just Netflix, Mom. ‘Dad was playing around with Netflix.’ It sounds weird when you put an article in front of it.” I wince when I hear myself. Jesus. Talk about stalling.
She makes an exasperated shut-up-now-dear noise. “Fine. Dad was playing around with Netflix , and we saw a picture of Michael. So we clicked on it, but it was that Grayson of yours. Doing an interview.”
A distant part of me registers surprise. Grayson may have had his stint on TV, but doesn’t do interviews. He’s friendly enough to starstruck girls outside coffee shops, but he doesn’t volunteer anything he doesn’t have to. “Please don’t call him that. He’s not mine. In any sense of the word. And who cares if he was on TV again? You already knew he was famous. It’s nothing new.”
Her voice softens. “No, but I think you should watch this. It’s about you.”
Everything drains away, leaving me with a head full of silver static. “What?”
“It’s about you,” she repeats, her patience infinite. “The whole interview. He didn’t say your name, but... I knew who he meant.”
I glance over at Kate, who’s graduated to frowning with her whole body. She holds up her hands in a WTF? gesture.
“Just watch it, sweetheart,” my mother says. “It’s some show called Celebrity Confessions .”
“Okay. I’ll think about it,” I hear myself say.
The moment we hang up, I ask Kate if she has any idea what my mother’s talking about.
“Celebrity Confessions?” Her nose wrinkles. “Ew. No. That show’s so trashy.”
“No kidding. Did you have any idea Grayson even went on it?”
“None. I’ve been ignoring him. Like you.”
I chew on my lip. I haven’t been ignoring him, exactly. Just trying to move past this, the way he wanted.
“But do you...maybe...want to watch it?” She sounds cautious.
“I think I might have to,” I say slowly. “It’ll only drive me crazy if I don’t.”
“Oh, thank god.” Her tone changes in an instant. “Because I’d never hear the end of it if Tanner caught me watching that garbage at home.”
She jabs a few buttons and brings up Celebrity Confessions . Within seconds, a familiar name pops up in the episode summary.
My heart bucks even before Kate hits Play. She tucks her legs underneath her and leans toward the screen, as if she’s forgotten everything else.
The moment Grayson appears, I forget, too.
God, he’s gorgeous. I hadn’t remembered just how much. He’s wearing his usual fitted T-shirt and leather jacket, and in the soft-focus lighting of the set, his hair throws its own gold-dark glow. It’s grown, too, just enough to notice. He lounges in an armchair with one ankle slung over the opposite knee, and the way his lashes fan across his cheeks when he looks down is nothing short of sultry. And...
I force back a whimper. He’s wearing the puka shell necklace.
“Hot damn.” Kate speaks my innermost thoughts aloud. “It’s like he somehow got even prettier. I can’t believe you slept with that . I think I might actually hate you a little.”
“Don’t bother,” I murmur, though my idiotic brain insists on offering up delirious, rapturous memories of having him inside me. I shiver, then lock the images behind a closed door. “It was a one-time thing.”
Well, a two-time thing. In one night. But I don’t remind her.
The camera pans to the hostess, a naturally pretty, girl-next-door brunette named Desiree. She has a way of getting famous people to open up, disarming them as if she’s everyone’s best friend, until they end up confessing their deepest secrets and crying on camera. It’s practically a rite of passage for Hollywood’s elite— Oh, she went on Celebrity Confessions and didn’t sob? She must be tough as nails.
“We’re here tonight with Grayson Drake, one of America’s most famous—or infamous, depending who you ask—photographers,” Desiree announces. “Many know him as the mountaineer who nearly died on Everest, or the host of World Safari . But tonight, in what will be his first-ever televised interview, we’ll dig deeper, into the life and mind of a man who’s remained a mystery until now. Welcome to the confession booth, Grayson.”
He grins in a way that makes my stomach clamp around a kernel of heat. “Thanks. Glad to be here, Desiree.”
She starts mildly enough, leading him through questions about the avalanche and his eleven minutes spent buried in the snow. No surprise there, because she always starts gently. She boils her frogs slowly, heating the water by degrees, until it’s too late for them to jump out.
Soon enough, she steers the conversation toward a question that feels entirely natural, though I know she must have planned it long beforehand. “Tell us, Grayson. What would you consider your biggest regret in life?”
My entire body tenses. I know what his answer would’ve been three months ago, but by now, it might have changed.
“That,” he says, “is a very long story.”
“Which is exactly why we’re here,” Desiree croons.
His fingers come up to play with the puka shell, flicking it back and forth. “It has to do with a girl.”
“It always does, doesn’t it? Why don’t you tell us about her?”
Grayson casts Desiree a knowing look but doesn’t back away from the question. Not that I’d expect him to. Avoidance was always Michael’s forte, not his.
Still, I don’t quite expect what comes next. His eyes darken to emerald while his voice turns husky. And he tells the whole damn story. Just lays himself bare in front of the world.
He glides over some parts and embellishes others in such a way that no one will ever figure out who I am, but his massaging of the facts does nothing to obscure the underlying truth. He talks about me with reverence. With a tender adoration that nearly topples me.
It’s a story about a woman who swept him off his feet and shaped his life, about how she broke his heart and he deserved it. But he still wouldn’t trade that pain for anything, because it proves they’re still connected. That they always will be.
Halfway through, the unbelievable happens. Desiree reaches for the tissues universally reserved for her guests.
Grayson pauses, uncertain. He reaches over the tiny table between their chairs and pats her arm awkwardly. “Was it something I said?”
“It absolutely was,” she says with a tearful smile. “Although I think I speak for romantics everywhere when I say we all hope to be on the receiving end of that something you said , someday. To be that precious to someone.”
His brows quirk. “That’s a good word, actually. Precious. That’s exactly what she is to me. No matter what went wrong, she’ll never be anything else.”
The feeling in my gut blossoms into an ache. I try to inhale against the pain, but I seem to have stopped breathing a long time ago.
“I have to ask, why now?” Desiree dabs at her somehow still-perfect makeup. “You’ve notoriously avoided interviews ever since National Geographic first launched you into the public eye, so what’s changed?”
Grayson sits back and runs a hand through his hair. “Mostly, I’ve finally made peace with all this. And I’ve decided people should learn from me. From everything I did wrong. The thing is, I should’ve told this woman everything. I’ve thought a lot about why I didn’t, and it’s because deep down, I was afraid. So the moral of the story is, don’t be. Don’t worry about whether you’re enough for someone, or whether you deserve them. Fuck all that. That’s for them to decide, anyway, not you.”
“Wise words,” Desiree says.
“I think so. But I didn’t understand them at twenty-five, and I made a stupid decision, then covered it up with the kind of ridiculous confidence you only have when you’re young. And look where I ended up. Without her. Which is okay, really. For the first time in my life, it’s okay. Mostly because it has to be. And also because I’m happy knowing she’s gotten a chance at the dream she always wanted. But she deserved more from me. She deserved fearlessness. So to everyone watching, be fearless. If you love someone, don’t hide yourself. Throw yourself into it with your whole heart, your whole being. Anything else is a waste of time.”
Desiree sniffles into her tissue. “And if she’s watching right now? What would you tell her?”
His mouth curves. “She’s not watching. Zero percent chance.”
My fingers curl around the cushion and squeeze.
“But if she is?” Desiree presses. “What’s the single most fearless thing you could say to her?”
He gives her a sidelong smile, as if he sees the trap she’s constructed using his own words but doesn’t mind walking into it. His gaze shifts toward the camera.
I lean in so far I nearly swan-dive off the couch. Kate does, too.
“Probably the same thing I wanted to tell her after the avalanche. The thing is, she’s already heard it. She just didn’t know I was talking to her, at the time.” His chest rises and falls as those insanely beautiful eyes stare right into me.
Desiree smooths down her skirt. “Go ahead.”
“I love you like crazy,” Grayson tells me. “Meeting you changed me, and it broke me, but I wouldn’t change it for anything. Because...and here’s the part you don’t know...it healed me, too. Knowing everything turned out okay for you, that helps me sleep at night. And I’ll always have the memories we made together. Not that I don’t wish we could make more. I’d kill to make more. But if this is all we ever get, it’s okay. I’m okay. Even as bad as it hurts, it was worth every minute. You were worth any price.”
Complete silence. Grayson holds my eyes for a flurry of heartbeats, then eases back. For a brief second, I think he’s going to need the tissues after all, but then he winks at Desiree, who laughs.
“I think I’m going to give you my husband’s number,” she jokes.
He laughs. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in fourteen years, not like this. And I see he really does look at ease with himself, his hands slung together in his lap, his smile comfortable.
“Well,” Desiree says, bringing the interview back around, “I think this might be one of the most honest episodes we’ve ever filmed. And after those closing remarks, I’m sure most of the world will be waiting to see what happens with your mystery girl.”
Grayson casually pulls his phone from his pocket. “Probably nothing. But on the off chance that she texts me, I’ll warn you right now that I’m walking off this set and letting you wrap things up on your own.”
They trade a few more lines of banter. Even after the screen flicks back to the home page for Celebrity Confessions , I continue to stare.
He seems different. Maybe because we’ve both come to grips with the truth, or because he’s finally realized his own worth, but whatever the cause, something inside him has untwisted.
Something untwists in me, too. My past cleaves into separate threads no longer intertwined.
Michael and Grayson. Two radically different people who mean entirely different things to me.
The process that has slowly been taking place for months finally reaches stillness, the last shock wave of an earthquake dying away. On one side, there’s my love for Michael, soft and sad and forever broken. On the other, my love for Grayson, a firestorm of depth and possibilities.
Never the twain shall meet.
I open my mouth and turn to Kate. And stop. “Oh my god. You’re crying. Why’re you crying? You didn’t even cry at Pearl Harbor .”
Silent tears pour down her cheeks. “Why’re you not ?”
I blink. “Because that wasn’t sad, Kate. That was the opposite of sad.”
“Maybe for you.”
a stunned moment, I dash to the kitchen for one of those ever-handy linen napkins and come back to fold her in my arms. She blows her nose, her hair tickling my chin. I hang on and rub her back. “What’s going on? Is this about Tanner?”
“Not exactly.” Her tears dry up, but her voice wobbles. “I mean, I don’t want you to think any less of him.”
“It’s okay. I’m your friend. I’m not here to judge, just listen. You can tell me anything.”
She snuggles deeper. “It’s not him, really. It’s just that...as a wife, and a mother, you just give and give and give. To your husband. Your kids. They never see that you’re always pouring yourself out to keep them afloat, because to them, it’s normal. Business as usual. All that effort is invisible to them, and in a way, it makes you invisible, too. But, Mina. To that guy , you’re not invisible. Oh my god. You’re all he freaking sees. And I can’t tell you what I wouldn’t give to be that noticed by someone. To be that significant .”
I try to cram all that into my head.
She pulls back, dragging the napkin across a nose as bright as a cherry. “I swear to god if you don’t text Grayson right now, I’m going to do it for you.”
When I don’t move, she lunges for my phone, but I snatch it off the coffee table and hold it out of reach. “What are you even talking about? Didn’t you say he and I had no future?”
“Yeah. I definitely did.” She eyes the phone as if calculating the best angle to pounce from. “And, listen, I was definitely wrong. Because I’ve never seen a guy be that honest before. I didn’t even know they could be. I mean, you didn’t tell me, Mina. You didn’t tell me he was like that .”
“I’m pretty sure I did. Or tried to. Not that it matters. I’m going to Greece tomorrow, remember? Besides, he’s probably in Namibia right now, or something.”
“Who gives a shit? For once in your life, for once in my life, can we just agree that you should take a chance?”
I hesitate. “But after everything that’s happened...”
“What?” she says combatively. “Is there actually an end to that sentence that’s worth saying out loud?”
I search my mind. My heart. everything that’s happened ...
The completion of my tectonic shift seems to have opened a new path inside me. I chase it down into the black, only to arrive not in darkness, but warmth.
everything that’s happened, Grayson Drake still means more to me than I can measure. He still feels right . And while he may not have been entirely honest at times, he’s been more open with me than anyone else.
While my mother hid her pain, Grayson bared his without hesitation.
Michael told me to go running. Grayson told me to go to Greece.
Kate talked sense into me. But Grayson made me feel again. He gave me the dignity of an apology, an explanation. Another chance at Greece. The list goes on.
“Goddamn it,” I say. “You know what? You’re right. I’m totally, stupidly, ridiculously in love with him and I really don’t care about anything else.”
She eyes my phone. “Then do it.”
I do. I bring up his contact info and fire off a text.
I have something to tell you. And I want to say it to your face.
A minute crawls by. Bubbles pop up, telling me he’s writing back. I suck in an anticipatory breath. Hopefully not in Namibia, then.
I wait. And wait.
“Well?” Kate prompts. “What’d he say?”
“Nothing.” On my screen, the bubbles disappear. I frown. “He didn’t say anything.”
“Did he read it?”
“I think so.”
“Well, he probably passed out. I bet he’s lying on the floor right now, trying to figure out whether he died and went to heaven.”
My frown deepens. Somehow, I don’t think so. Oh, god. What if he’s reconsidered? That episode could have been recorded months ago. Plenty of time for things to change.
“Hey.” Kate tries for lightness, but when my phone remains silent, she can’t mask the tension in her voice. “Come on, let’s have some wine. He’ll answer eventually.”
He doesn’t, though. We drink an entire bottle of Merlot and watch Captain Corelli’s Mandolin while my phone taunts me with utter silence.
By the time two hours have passed, my heart is falling apart at the seams. I can’t accept that now that I’ve finally, finally figured out how to move forward, it’s too late.
“Don’t worry,” Kate says gently. “Maybe he’s asleep. There’s no way he won’t text back.”
I startle, realizing the movie has ended. What even happened? Maybe the guy and the girl ended up together. Maybe everybody died. I have no idea.
“I should go to bed,” I say. What I actually mean is, You should go home to your husband so I can cry alone in the bathtub .
Kate seems to sense as much, but she knows me well enough not to argue. “Okay. But you’ll text me from Greece, right? Let me know you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
She lingers for a few minutes, concern etched between her brows while she helps me tidy up. The whole time, I swallow repeatedly, trying to stave off tears.
I walk Kate to the door, where she gathers her coat. The lines around her eyes tighten.
“What?” I say cautiously.
She hesitates. “I honestly wasn’t sure whether I should give this to you, and now I’m even less sure. But Tanner asked me to.” She fishes a crisp envelope from her jacket pocket. “It’s your email. He said it was like a one-in-a-million chance that he was even able to get it, but here you go. Apparently you owe him a bottle of Riesling.”
I stare, then snatch the thing and rip it open.
“Does it say what Grayson said it did?” Kate asks while I scan the print.
“Exactly,” I breathe. Not a comma out of place. Or a parenthesis.
I almost wad up Michael’s treacherous, life-altering words, but giving in to anger feels like granting him power. Like letting his lies govern my life, still. And I’m better than that.
So I stuff the paper into the envelope and hand it back. “I don’t want this. But tell Tanner thank you. And I’ll buy him that bottle when I get back.”
She pulls me in and squeezes. I rest against her shoulder, stealing a moment of comfort. God, I’ll miss her.
“Have fun out there,” she murmurs into my hair.
A sniffle escapes me. I knew Grayson had told me the truth that night, but the cold, hard evidence makes me wish I’d processed what that meant sooner. Before he’d changed his mind.
“Thanks,” I say roughly. “I will.”
“And have lots and lots of sex,” she tacks on as I turn away.
“Yep. Bye.” I turn away so she won’t see me fall apart. I’m halfway to the kitchen, just pulling out my phone again and shriveling inside when I glimpse the time—eleven eleven, will the universe never quit mocking me?—when Kate says, “Oh. Oh .”
Irrational hope spikes through me. I stash my phone and back up. Kate hovers just inside the open doorway, motionless.
Sure enough, she’s staring at Grayson, who stands on my welcome mat with his hands jammed in his pockets and rain dripping from his hair.