“George?” Tears fill my eyes.
“You knew him? I know you knew Audrey and JP, but—”
My chin shakes the tears rolling down my face off my jaw.
“Oh, honey, your mascara’s running.” She grabs a napkin and dabs at my makeup—still my mother.
Mark my words, these two are getting married. I hear his dad as clear as the crystal on the table before me.
You will have many loves.
But most of them will be him.
You will only have one.
Why is every day with you perfect?
If I call you at two a.m., please don’t pick up...
The memory of us courses through my mind, making me dizzy with confusion.
“I need to go use the restroom,” I say, standing quickly and shuffling through the tables clad with white linen and prestigious authors. I barely make it to the back of the room before tripping on the hem of my sequin gown, stumbling forward and catching myself. I ignore the gasps behind me and the heat blooming up my neck and escape to the bathrooms outside of the banquet hall. I brace the black countertop, breathing heavily and staring at my reflection.
But I wonder if we’re too late. If all the stars won’t align, and neither of us will be brave enough to admit that for the past five years, we’re all we’ve ever thought about. From the curve of his face to the freckle on his lip. From the wine-stained rug or the chicken egg fortunes. From staring at the stars to the taco tattoos on our wrists. From everything we’ve ever said to each other to everything we need to say now.
The cold water pools into my hand from the faucet, and I splash my neck, cooling the flush on immediate contact. I crack my neck and give myself an immediate pep talk. Calm down, just breathe.
I grip my clutch and escape the bathroom. The ceremony is over, and my gaze searches the crowd for my mother. In the sea of black and white cocktail attire, she’s nowhere to be seen.
But then, the crowd parts like the red sea, and I’m Moses leading my heart to the promised man. His stature, his dark hair, his light green eyes, the freckle perfectly displayed on his lower lip.
You will have many loves...
I hate that the sight of him makes me come undone, and every step closer is like pulling a string, making me unravel until I’m just thread and apologies at his feet.
“Hey,” I say, ignoring the fact that his smile makes my heart rotate in my chest.
“Is this a booty call? Because I don’t do those.” His smile deepens as we both remember our last time.
“Well, history would show that you do, in fact, do those.”
His mouth twists as he considers, then he mentions, “I thought you left this industry behind a long time ago, never to return.”
“I thought you weren’t in it for the fame or the money,” I play back, and he laughs. “It’s really good to see you.” A simple phrase but said in its purest form because good doesn’t even begin to describe
There’s a brief moment—it’s probably only a second, but it feels like nine years—where we just look at each other and soak in all the almosts and could-have-beens.
“Come here.” He pulls me into his arms, and I tuck myself against his chest. I haven’t seen him in over a year, yet all the memories of us run vividly through my mind.
When we pull out of our embrace, he runs his hands down my arms, and just before he takes hold of my hands, his thumb grazes the taco on my wrist.
I smile. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Thank you.” He dips his head, and his lips twitch. God, we have so much to say to each other. Not here, of course. But after years of bad timing and missed opportunities, I’m ready to let it spill out loudly and play out like a telenovela right in front of the world’s most prestigious authors.
“Champagne?” A server with a tray offers us. We each take a glass but we don’t take a sip.
“Uncle JP, can I go talk to—” her voice trails as she recognizes me.
