Food’s taking forever, sorry,read her next text.
The pizza soaked up some of the alcohol, enough for AJ to realize that it was after nine-thirty, and she was officially being a dick.
She should want to plan her wedding, to discuss it with Brian, to forge a life with him. She should not be sitting in a Hell’s Kitchen sports bar, mouthing a pizza that could double as a hockey puck, longing for a movie star who did not want her.
And yet she could not move herself off the barstool.
She powered off her phone and downed three more beers as she waited for Noah’s category. AJ hadn’t marked time like this since the night of Patrick’s accident. Because she knew the stakes and they were huge. Noah couldn’t have kids. This was his legacy. And no matter how she tried to reason with herself, she could not turn away.
It was after elevenp.m.when Best Actor was finally presented. AJ tilted forward on her stool as a clip fromByronfilled the screen.
She had wanted to see the film, but she hadn’t dared; so many images of Noah would inevitably take on a life inside her head. Perhaps, a long time from now, that would no longer be a danger.
But even based on this small sample, she knew instinctively Noah had it. And she was right.
“The Oscar goes to…Noah Drew.”
He didn’t stand at first, reaching around and hugging Eudora. Then he kissed Allison’s cheek and rose to congratulate their director. With a tug on his jacket, he strode toward the stage.
The creepiest aspect of fame was how it gave away a person’s physicality. AJknewNoah. She knew him by his movements, the long gait, the gliding hands.
And so did every other person in the world.
Noah dwarfed the podium. His face was serious, but as he felt around for his speech, he cracked a smile that changed the temperature of the dive bar where AJ was sitting.
He thanked his colleagues and team. AJ wasn’t listening to their names so much as the low, musical quality of his voice. He was everything he ought to be—humble and handsome and quietly triumphant.
“I think it goes without saying that I had a leg up in this business,” he said. “To my uncle Ezell and my aunt Dorie, for teaching me to play and for your fierce, unwavering support.” He looked up from the podium and smiled at Eudora. “Thank you.”
The camera panned to the grande dame. What a face. Her eyes glistened as she blew Noah two kisses from the audience. Back onstage, Noah folded the paper and looked into the camera.
“And to the woman in my life—you know who you are. Hopefully.” The crowd laughed. “I love you. Thank you.”
The camera cut to Allison, radiant with pride. AJ reached for her beer.
As Noah left the stage, hot tears filled her eyes, making the bottles behind the bar crinkle and fold into a skyline. She sat in suspension, awash in grief. Then she blinked and looked down at the dark polished surface of her phone screen.
Not everyone found happiness in love. This wasn’t news. Life wasn’t fair.
Even if two people did, by some miracle, reciprocate each other’s feelings—look what had happened to Patrick and Elle. Life was cruel, and random, and why should AJ expect more?
Brian was good for her. He was. Wasn’t he? AJ felt the drink grow heavy in her hand, suddenly aware that she was heading for a blackout.
Lock him down,Libby had said. She had been sosure.But did AJ want her sister’s life?
Look atEmily.Emily might never know this particular kind of closeness. AJ should be grateful.
But in that moment, AJ saw that it was Emily she most envied. Emily didn’t know what it was to deny herself. When she was sad, she cried. When she was happy, she smiled. If Emily wanted to sit in a bar and weep over someone she’d loved since she was seventeen, she damn well would.
Maybe it wasn’t even Noah AJ was crying over, but that unbroken seventeen-year-old who refused to open herself to anyone other than the person she most loved and trusted.
AJ had been coercing herself to do just that ever since, out of a desire to keep up with societal expectations and the half-articulated awareness that if she didn’t force herself to move on, she never would—because as long as there was a chance Noah might return, she would wait for him. Brian was nothing if not a wall between her and that sad fate.
But now Noah was gone. He wasn’t coming back.
Leaving AJ truly alone with Brian. There were no clocks here, but that no longer felt hopeful. It felt empty, endless, a lifetime made of other people’s benchmarks, stretching on and on and on.
As AJ stared into her blackened phone screen, an image of her seventeen-year-old self stared back. All at once, AJ knew that if she switched on the device, that girl would vanish forever.
