I catch Kristen and Steph exchanging a glance. They’re the only ones around this table that have known me that long, but we didn’t become close friends until adulthood.
Steph’s eyes grow wide. “Do you…want to tell us?” she asks carefully.
“Not before he and I talk,” I say, wiping my eyes abruptly, as the door to Liam’s workshop opens.
Josh and Miles come striding out, headed straight for the deck. A slight look of concern crosses over Josh’s face when our eyes meet but I offer him a smile, and he relaxes.
When he gets to me, he kisses the side of my head. “Ready to head out, birthday girl?” he murmurs in my ear. His breath sends a shiver down my spine. “I still have more to give you.”
I give him a sly smile, figuring he wants to carry me to bed. “Oh yeah?”
Josh catches his lip in his teeth. “I’m serious,” he says. “I haven’t given you your gift yet.”
“Josh, don’t be silly. This whole night is my gift.” I turn to face him, catching his lips in a gentle kiss.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, tangling his fingers in my hair and leaning his forehead into mine.
I force a smile, holding back everything I want—need—to say to him. “I’m better than okay,” I say softly. “Let’s go home.”
Josh shakes his head. “I’m taking you to our beach.”
* * *
We say our goodbyes,thanking everyone for making the night special, and head out to Higbee Beach. Josh has a carefully wrapped birthday gift in one hand and a beach blanket in the other. He treks down the path, me trailing behind, wondering how the hell I’m going to broach the difficult topics. I’ve thought an awful lot about what my dad said—about Josh deserving to know everything that happened back then. I think he’s right and I want to share it with Josh, but it’s still so painful to this day. I’m not sure how I’d even do it. He’s so happy and content lately. We’ve really hit our stride. This will mess everything up.
“For someone who just had a great birthday, you’re awfully quiet,” Josh says, looking over his shoulder. “You sure you’re all right? You’re making me nervous.”
I don’t immediately reply because we reach our spot. Instead, I help Josh spread out the blanket. Kicking off my sandals, I sit down. Josh sits next to me, and his hand naturally finds mine, just like it always does. The ocean is uncharacteristically calm tonight. The sun is beginning to set in the almost-August sky, and the pinks and yellows reflecting ripple like petals floating on glass.
“I’m sorry, I’m good.” I look over at him, taking in his honey blond hair and five o’clock shadow, both speckled with gray. It’s hard for me to believe that the first boy I ever loved is sitting here next to me, gray peppering his hair, soft creases around his eyes from years of laughter and a life well-lived. “Thank you for tonight,” I add.
“It was my pleasure,” Josh says, tipping my mouth to his with nothing more than his index finger. He reaches behind him and picks up the gift. It’s wrapped in brown paper with a pale pink satin ribbon tied around it. “Mel” is written in the corner in black Sharpie. “I didn’t want to give this to you in front of everyone else. This is…this is just for us.” He licks his lips. “I hope you love it.”
He hands me the box, and I take it, running my fingers over my name in his familiar handwriting. I finger the soft satin ribbon, enjoying the silky feel of it, before gently pulling it off. Instead of tearing the paper, I gently undo the tape, careful not to rip it. Then, I lift the lid on the box and a gasp escapes me.
Blown up and made to look like a piece of art in a black frame is our map. The one Josh drew for me in our crappy little composition book all those years ago—but better. Josh recreated it on tea-stained, cold-pressed paper in black ink. In the middle, it says “When the world gets too loud, find me here” and he replicated his original drawing. My eyes immediately fill with tears.
“As soon as I saw it in the notebook, I knew I had to recreate it for you,” he croaks.
I trace my fingers over the glass of the frame to each place he drew, and then I see it. A new place. Josh drew a heart and labeled it “Your Heart.” A small sob escapes me, and I turn to meet his gaze. He cups my face, brushing a tear away.
“I know, it’s cheesy. But Mel, I need you to know—I’m in this. I amallin. I’m not letting you go. I will not make that mistake again. I was young and dumb back then but I know enough now to know, second chances like this don’t come around twice. You’re it for me, okay?” Josh’s voice is husky, thick with emotion.
I nod into his hand, sniffling, not bothering to hold back the tears. “Me too,” I whisper.
“Good.” Josh tugs me into the crook of his arm. “It’s you and me now, baby.”
28
JOSH
It’s been a week since Melanie’s birthday, and despite my telling her that I’m all in, I feel like she’s pulling back. I’m trying not to read into it too much. She’s told me repeatedly that she needs a change, she’s tired of tending bar, she wants to do something different. When I ask what’s eating at her, she says it’s that. But I’m not so sure.
I’ve been playing at Fin’s every Wednesday and Saturday night. It was supposed to just be mid-week but when the owner, Mike, saw the crowd I drew, he asked for standing Saturdays as well. It works out nicely since Melanie is often at work on Saturdays, but it means less time for us to rehearse together. Summer is flying by. Labor Day weekend is only a few weeks away, and it’ll be here before we know it. I’m anxious because I worry that we won’t have enough songs for the EP. It’s not the concert I’m worried about. Melanie knows all my songs. We can play “Every Song” and I’m almost finished with “The Sound of Her Name.” I just know I’ll be letting Gary and the record company down if I don’t follow through.
The crazy part is, I almost don’t care anymore. I’ve spent years chasing fame—the high that comes along with a crowd singing along with your words. And once I got it, it didn’t fill the void that seems to exist permanently in my chest the way I thought it would. What do I care about now? Melanie. I want a life with her, and I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been all these years to not come and get her.
Back when we were kids, I used to dream about Nashville, but never once did I picture going without her. In my mind, it was always the two of us—loading up her beat-up old Buick, guitars in the backseat, chasing songs and neon lights together. Somewhere along the way, I let that dream twist into something lonelier. I went, and she stayed. And it never felt right, not once. Maybe that’s why it never filled the hole inside me. Because the truth is, Nashville was never the dream. She was.
