“Maggie, before I lay into you, just know this: it’s a phenomenal single. The song is nothing to be ashamed of. But the timing, unfortunately, couldn’t be worse. I’m trying to do some smoothing here, which is why I need you to start talking. I don’t think Bex is going to want to produce you five seconds after Cole Wyan releases your first studio-recorded single to the world. Fin Bex is the most honest guy in the business, and all he expects in return is transparency. He called me pretty pissed off this morning. Angry I kept this from him, angry you kept this from him. He wants to press pause on recording today.”
Cole Wyan had stifled my career five years ago, and he was about to do it again. Silent tears started to fall, and I wiped them away quickly with the back of my hand.
Shelly let the sniffles linger between the phone lines.
“Maggie, why don’t you call me back later with the full story?”
“Okay,” I finally cracked.
I set the phone down on my lap, my eyes wide with tears, until I clenched them shut. I could feel the panic rising, the walls around my body closing in, my past and present swirling together to suffocate me in this beautiful marble lobby with the paparazzi waiting outside. I took labored breaths in and out, trying to get my heart rate to slow. Instinctively, I pressed hard on Summer’s name on my phone.
For the first time, a call to my best friend went straight to voicemail. Historically, I had never enjoyed sitting by myself with horrible news. Summer was my first phone call, my lifeline, the person who would come over and hold me for a brief moment, and then clap her hands and form a game plan for success. Unlike myself, Summer preferred to sit with her shit quietly—she did not enjoy a group project—which is why her phone was off. Yesterday, she sent an email to all her friends, letting them know that she and Valeria were getting a divorce. It read like a stone-cold PR statement, which was of no surprise to me. Summer turned off her phone after sending the email. She wanted people to know her truth, but she didn’t want to talk about it—especially while untangling it herself.
My rock was crumbling in South Florida—I was without a lifeline, crumbling in New York City. I glanced down at the electronic key fob in my hand—the key to Asher’s loft, a reminder that I actually did have a rock.
I uncurled my limbs from my chest, slowly standing up as dizziness shot behind my eyes. I drew in air, my heart pounding as I watched my scuffed Converses take labored steps forward. I put one foot in front of the other until the balmy morning air was howling inside my lungs and my feet were planted on a cobblestone street in the Meatpacking District. I felt my finger dial a name on my iPhone’s “Favorites.”
47
THIRTY-ONE
I INHALED THE HARD SUN with my eyes closed—the aroma of freshly cut grass swirled with the stench of hot pretzels. It was the first warm day of spring—sixty-two degrees—which after surviving a winter in New York felt like the equivalent of a scalding summer day. I was grateful to have warmth on my pale shoulders—shoulders which were feeling the sun’s rays for the first time since fall’s harsh turn. It was honestly the only thing I was grateful for today.
I opened my eyes on Sheep Meadow, just as a red flat object came spinning toward my face at lightning speed. I slapped my hands together around the Frisbee before it could slice my face in two.
“Heads-up,” Summer said, deadpan.
She stood above a blanket, and I glared at her, throwing the Frisbee back with too much force. It soared over Summer’s straight long bob, landing in the hands of a woman standing a few yards behind Summer. The mystery woman was my age, maybe a little younger, twirling in the breeze, not even bothering to see where the Frisbee had come from. She wasn’t one to question why something fell into her hands—life just did, and you knew it by looking at her, the way the harsh sun bathed her face gently, like a soft light box on a beaming smile. Effortless. Her blond hair was perfectly pinned up to the side, her lips were a matte red, her long legs stood tall in a white linen dress. I swallowed hard as Garrett came into view, his bare torso folding around this mystery woman, swinging her giggling frame into a dipping kiss that made her chin go all the way to the sky.
Over the years, I’d watched Garrett enjoy the company of a handful of other women, but I had never seen him do it so…freely. So openly. They shared a look you could recognize almost anywhere. I had never seen Garrett Scholl in love. Scratch that. I had never seen Garrett Scholl in love with anyone who wasn’t me. It was like a chain saw running down my heart. I pressed my hand to my chest, trying to mend the hot, sharp pain. They held each other’s gazes for a moment, and then Garrett kissed her neck and she danced herself out of his hold.
“Earth to Maggie Vine.”
I broke one-way eye contact with heartache, meeting Summer’s hand waving in my face.
“Are you going to come sit with us, or do you need more time to stand here like a weirdo?”
Yards in front of Summer, I saw Valeria sitting on a blanket, eyes down on her phone. Summer and Valeria had been married for a few years now, and I was trying to warm up to her since my best friend loved her madly. Call me selfish, but while I loved that Summer had found her person, I wished it could be with someone who more than tolerated my presence. I got the sense Valeria was always concentrating on something else when I was around—like I was a person worthy of flicking your eyes at every now and then. I think she understood that Summer and I had our own language, and instead of trying to join in, it was easier to disengage.
I looked back at Garrett, who threw the Frisbee straight into the mystery woman’s arms.
“Who is that?” I asked, eyes on the woman.
“Cecily,” Summer said.
“How long’s that been going on?”
“Four months,” Summer said, confusion on her face as she watched me.
“How’d the showing go yesterday?” Summer asked.
A month after my thirtieth birthday, I’d quit performing altogether. I was stifled every time I got onstage—terrified that I would see Cole’s face in the audience. After bailing on three gigs in a row—bathed in panic attacks behind stage curtains, I threw in the towel. There was no fighting this kind of monster—he stood too tall on my chest, and I didn’t know where to start, or how to pick up a sword against a powerful man who had touched me against my will and threatened my career. It was easier to lock everything up and throw away the key. The music died. I took the real estate license exam, made my mother’s dreams come true, joined her firm, and started making money. Real money. I was phenomenal at selling beautiful places. My soul died, too. I could barely look at myself in the mirror as I got dressed in the morning, I didn’t want Maggie Vine seeing what she’d become.
“The three-three in Gramercy?” I asked, referring to my biggest listing yet.
“Yes…”
“I got an offer. All cash,” I said flatly, my eyes on Cecily and Garrett.
“Shut up!” Summer said, beaming at me.
Cecily’s fingers running up the lines on Garrett’s stomach. His hand wrapping around her waist.
“Maggie.”
Summer’s voice was forceful, and I tore my eyes off Garrett as she stared at me.
“You just made your biggest sale.”
“And?” I said, emotionless with a tiny shrug, my eyes leaving hers.
Garrett tugging Cecily’s body tight against his. Their lips brushing. Matching cackles. Sun on both their smiles.
“And?” I heard Summer say, mocking my indifference.
It was strange, what was happening inside me as I watched Garrett dance his body around a woman, the way he’d danced his body around mine. I brought my attention back to Summer. Her eyes widened, taking in my face, which had darkened to something angry. I felt spite, the spite I housed for myself, come barreling out my throat, burning my tongue on its way out.
“I don’t give a shit about anything,” I said, the words caked in venom.
Or, I think I said that.