He heard Mona at the front door, her voice low, and exhaled to possibly slow his pulse. He had limited time to refute Birdie’s accusation, and he had to do it crisply, sharply, with no room for doubt.
“Why would I send you a love letter?” he finally whispered back. “Why would I possibly concoct such a thing? You know that I only deal in facts, not fantasy.”
Birdie pursed her lips, prepping a reply, but then there were footsteps approaching in the hallway, and then Andie burst into the kitchen. Flushed and fists on her hips like she was aiming for a brawl.
“You realize I have better things to do than be your private escort down the block, right? The photographers are gone. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Hey, Andie,” Elliot said, lifting a hand. She was a welcomedistraction, he realized. A diversion that gave him time to think up an alibi.
“I didn’t text you,” Birdie said. “I didn’t ask for an escort. I’m capable of walking down the block by myself, my god, Andie.”
“I did,” Mona replied. Then, to Andie: “Birdie got another letter.”
Andie looked from Birdie to Mona to Elliot and back to Birdie again. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Mona ignored Andie’s irritation. “That time in LA when you lived with her. I thought we could use some perspective,” she said. “We need all hands on deck to connect the dots.”
Andie raised her eyebrows, and so, too, did Elliot. Despite being an intrepid reporter, he’d forgotten about that, and he thought he’d remembered everything when it came to Birdie.
He half listened to the three of them bicker, Birdie’s hands flying around as she argued, the tips of her fingers still orange, and he suddenly remembered something else he’d forgotten: that evening in high school, when she was rehearsing for that show,Little Shop of Horrors. That night, he hadn’t needed to do a workout after swim practice but he knew she’d need a ride after rehearsal. He loitered by the auditorium, and when she emerged, she had that vibrant heady glow that she always had when she was in her element. He had a girlfriend then, AnnaMarie Baker, whom he mostly genuinely liked, and Birdie was off-limits anyway. But still. She walked out of the auditorium, and she didn’t see him at first, so he had time—seconds that felt like they stretched for eternity—to simply watch her, to indulge in that fantasy he found himself playing in his mind at night when he couldn’t sleep and stared at the ceiling instead.What if Birdie had been mine instead of Mona’s?
Finally, she glanced in his direction and gave him that crooked smile that he could get high off of.
“Need a ride?” he asked, trying to keep it casual.
“Yeah, but I’m so hungry that I might actually chew your arm off.”
Elliot honestly wouldn’t have minded, nearly offered it up as a snack. But he proposed they try the cafeteria, and when that was locked, they ransacked the vending machines. God, they were desperate for the Doritos. He remembered now how she threw herself against the machine with a commitment that honestly daunted him, and then she raised her arms in triumph when the contents spilled forth, like a broken slot machine in Vegas. They sat on the floor and made a dinner out of stolen junk food, and he watched her lick the tips of her fingers after inhaling those Doritos and thought that she was perfect. That he didn’t have to be anyone else for her: not the star swimmer, not the intrepid editor of the paper, not the straight-A honors student. Just him. Just her.
Doritos. Something clanged in Elliot. Maybe that’s what she’d meant in the RV earlier. Maybe she’d gotten mixed up or maybe he was now mixed up and it had been Cheetos. He eyed her and wondered which one of them had it wrong, and if it really mattered anyway. But this is what Birdie Maxwell did to him, made him debate ridiculous things like which processed snack food they’d looted that night from the Barton High vending machine.
“Look,” he heard Andie say as he tuned back in. “Will someone just read me this second letter? Wasn’t that the point of calling me here? I know this is a huge shocker, but I actually have better places to be than solving my sister’s PR crisis.”
“I didn’t ask you—” Birdie started.
Andie held up a rigid hand as if to say,Do you ever shut thehell up?, and surprisingly, Birdie did. She passed Andie her phone and grumbled, like she was doing her little sister a favor.
“From [email protected],” Andie read aloud and rolled her eyes. “ ‘Dear Birdie.’ ”
It seems that you are by now well versed in the art of anonymous love letters. So I thought I’d roll the dice, play my hand, see if the signs lead us back together. I’ve always wondered if I gave up at exactly the wrong moment or if you did. But either way, I’ve also always thought that we each deserved better—not from someone else, but from each other, and if we’d been a bit better, maybe it could have lasted forever. So I thought I’d put that out into the world and see if we maybe, possibly, could have a chance for a sequel.
Xx
Andie handed the phone back to Birdie and looked toward Mona. “I mean, this is all so intriguing, but again, I’m here why?”
“I wanted your insights on LA. You’re the one who spent real time with her since she left,” Mona said. “Though I have to say, I’m really not a fan of a bandwagoner. So unoriginal, right? But still, we need to consider him.”
“I’m notconsideringany of them,” Birdie said. “I’m doing this because the world hates me. Actually, I’m not doing it at all anymore. I quit.”
“So now you quit?” Andie asked. “Just because it got tough?”
Birdie flared her nostrils and looked like if they had been alone, she would have escalated this into a wrestling match in the front yard.
Andie rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I only worked for her for about a year.”
Elliot furrowed his brow. “When was this?”
Andie shrugged. Looked at Birdie. “After she moved to LA the second time. That ridiculously large house that wasn’t necessary.”
