by Holly Bourne
Reese, that was the night you said you loved me.
I smile, despite myself, when I think about the weird rituals and etiquette that surround saying “I love you” to someone for the first time. The invisible barriers a couple has to cross – one being the brave individual for each terrifying step, calling for the other one to follow with no guarantee that they will. You and I didn’t dilly-dally around the topic for very long. Compared to most couples, we pounded through the steps. What usually takes months, took only a few weeks.
1. Everything’s going swimmingly. You really like them, they seem to really like you. You hang out a lot, and it’s grand.
2. You find yourself incapable of thinking about anything other than them. Your favourite thing to do is either stare out the window or go through every message they’ve sent, smiling from the very depths of your stomach.
3. One day, they’ll suddenly do something or say something – usually completely unremarkable – yet you find it totally adorable. You get your first hiccup of love. I love you, your brain will whisper.
4. The love hiccups get louder and more frequent, like a delirious form of indigestion. They’ll tell a stupid joke and, HICCUP, I love you! Or maybe you just watch their face as they’re talking and, HICCUP, I love you! You try and contain the hiccups, but sometimes they leak out in other ways. You get an urge to just grab their hand and squeeze it hard, or you just stare at them gooily. They start to pick up on it. “What? What is it?” they ask. You shake your head and say “Nothing”. It’s the greatest, most brilliant feeling in the whole darn world. Because you’re falling in love. YOU are falling in love! That magical thing that so many people dream about – it’s happening to you! You’ve found this perfect person, and this is totally, without a doubt, the most amazing thing in the world. Until…until you think…
5. HOLY MOTHER OF BALLSACKS. WHAT IF THEY DON’T LOVE ME BACK? AM I THE ONLY ONE JUMPING OFF THIS CLIFF?
6. Every time you’re with them, you’re now analysing them for signs you’re not jumping off the cliff alone. The love hiccups get worse. They totally get off on this sense the love may be unrequited and it makes you love them harder.
7. There are moments, gorgeous moments, when, sometimes, you’ll catch them looking at you all gooey-eyed. “What?” you ask. They blush. “Nothing,” they say.
8. You take it in turns to say some of the following, on an ascending scale:
I like you
I really like you
You make me really happy
I think I might be falling for you
I’m falling for you
I think I could fall in love with you
I think I’m falling in love with you
9. None of them are The Big L, however. One of you has got to take the plunge first. It’s not even that you’re considering it, more that your body is determined to blurt it out. There’s a demented troll lurking in your stomach, ripping open your vocal cords, shouting “I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU” up your windpipe, and you keep having to swallow the troll down.
10. …Because what if they don’t say it back? What if this is a one-way thing? What if they’re still on number one?! They seem chiller than you. Apart from the occasional gooey eye, you’re CONVINCED you’re more into them than they are into you. And maybe you misinterpreted that gooey eye anyway. Maybe their gooey eye was just wishful thinking or…I dunno…conjunctivitis or something. Maybe you only thought they were thinking I love you because that’s all you’re thinking, all the goddamned time.
11. It keeps going, and you feel like you’re getting madder and madder, and the anxiety is getting worse and worse, and you swear people say falling in love is supposed to feel good, but this anxiety is INTOLERABLE, but you keep going and they keep going until…one of you goes and finally damn well says it…
And you went first, Reese. Didn’t you? Boy, how you went first.
It was pretty surreal, but also pretty damn great, drinking whisky backstage with the Contenders. Well, it was one of those on-reflection-it-was-great moments you get when you’re anxious. At the time, I was terrified and giddy and hardly spoke. But, now the moment’s passed, I can look back and think, Wow, I sat and drank with the Contenders. I didn’t need to chat much though, as Reese was chatting for all four of us.
“So, where you touring next?” he asked them. “Oh, Brighton? That place has such a great vibe, doesn’t it? I’ve played there a few times. Can’t beat it.”
Reese’s ability to charm just about anyone was madness. The gigs he’d played in Brighton were teeny compared to where they’d played – the back end of grotty pubs, compared to the sold-out arena. Yet, the way he spoke – with casual arrogance – the entire band nodded, agreeing with him, and they even parroted back things he’d said, like, “great vibe”.
I drank my tumbler slowly, marvelling, and not sure if alcohol was my kill or cure. My stomach was tangled in new levels of knots. I couldn’t tell if my throat was burning from whisky or from bile.
Hannah was unusually quiet next to me, sipping her drink in equal silence. And Jack, the biggest Contenders fan, was rendered incapable. He just stood next to Reese with his mouth open.
Mike knocked back the rest of his glass, glanced over, and noticed my shaking hands. “You scared?” he asked.
“I’m terrified,” I admitted. “I’m going to try really hard not to mess things up for you, but…well…”
“You won’t mess things up, girl! We’ve heard your demo. If anything, worry about showing us up.”
Overhearing, Reese nudged closer to me and wrapped an arm around my back, kissing the top of my head. “She always gets such bad stage fright,” he told everyone. “I try to convince her she’s amazing, but she never listens.”
“Stage fright is good though,” Mike said, replenishing his glass. “The adrenaline makes you perform better. The day I stop being nervous before a gig, that’s the day I really have something to be nervous about.”
I can’t be sure, but I think I felt Reese’s hand squeeze me a bit too hard. “Yeah, of course,” he said, leaning back and puffing out his chest a little. “That’s what I’m always telling her too.”
All the talk of stage fright made it hit harder and my lungs shrivelled in my ribcage and started to to go on strike. A roadie popped his head around the door. “You almost ready?” he asked me. “I’ll come and get you in ten. There’s a good crowd out there for so early. Lots of friends must’ve come out to support you.”
“Oh god.” I ducked out from under Reese’s arm, apologized, and then dashed to the loo. I retched up all the whisky – my third puke of the day. When I’d finished, I stared into the murky depths of the toilet bowl, clutching the sides, panicking that this nausea wouldn’t pass before I had to go on. As I clutched the porcelain, I got a very small, but very urgent, pang for Alfie. He’d always been so great at handling me and my nerves – wiping my hair away from my damp forehead, lending me his jacket if the nausea made me shivery. Whereas Reese hadn’t even checked on me since I ran out the dressing room. I could hear his voice booming from next door, explaining his songs to Mike.
There was a gentle knock at the door and my stomach soared, hoping it was him after all.
“Yes?” I called out, still gripping the toilet bowl.
“It’s Hannah. Are you okay in there?”
Disappointment blodged through me. “Sort of.”
“Do you want me to come in?”
I stumbled up, fiddled with the lock and held open the door.
“Oh dear,” she said upon seeing me. “Let’s put some red lipstick on that face to cheer it up a bit.”
“Do I look that bad?” I twisted to the mirror above the sink. “Oh…okay. Yikes.”
Hannah laughed and she rummaged in her clutch bag. “I do find your combination of talent, ambition and crippling stage fright rather amusing. In a kind sort of way.” She uncapped her lipstick, assertively pulled my face to hers and instructed me to spread my bottom lip out. �
�I mean, you’re acting like you’re about to get publicly hanged.”
“Aren’t I?” I asked, only half-joking, and Hannah rolled her eyes.
“No chance. I heard you at the talent show. You’re going to be amazing.” She leaned away from me and examined her handiwork. “And, like Mike said, nerves are fine. They’ll help you perform. Now, make a face like this… Yeah, that’s right. I need to fill in your cupid’s bow.”
There was another knock at the toilet door. Another knock not from Reese. “Five minute warning,” the roadie yelled through the wood.
“She’s coming,” Hannah called back. “There – voila!” She put her lipstick back into her bag. “Now your lips distract from the paleness of your face.”
I turned to see what she’d achieved and my eyes bulged out. I never really wore any make-up, let alone a stark red lip. I didn’t look like me at all. I felt very aware of my RED lips – like when you’re wearing new shoes and they’re a bit too clean. But it did make my face look less ill. In fact, I looked…good.
Hannah noticed me turning to and fro. “And we’re pleased to welcome Amelie as our newest member to the Red Lipstick Convert Club.”
“This is so strange,” I admitted.
“Strange enough that it’s distracted you from your gig for one whole minute.”
As if on cue, a final thumping thudded on the door. “Amelie, you’re up!”
“Oh god.” I started flapping my hands. “Oh Jesus Christ and Gandhi and God and Moses and Ganesh and holy fucking fuckity!”
Hannah burst out laughing. “That’s quite the collection of blaspheming.”
“I can’t do this,” I told her.
“You can, you can. Come on, let’s get you out of this bathroom.” She gave me a quick hug and a shake for good measure.
We pushed out into the corridor to see the sound guy looking a bit panicked. “I was worried you wouldn’t come out of there,” he said.
“Sorry. I was…vomiting.”
He smiled. “Seen it all before, but we do need you now.”
Hannah gave me another hard hug. “Jack’s just messaged to say he’s slipped into the front row. I’m going to go meet him. We’ll be cheering you on throughout. See you on the other side.”
I squeezed her back, looking over her shoulder to try and spot Reese. No boyfriend to be found. The band’s dressing room was empty and quiet. They were probably out for another group smoke, which they’d been doing all afternoon.
“Come on,” the sound guy said. “Your audience awaits.”
My legs felt all strange as I wobbled behind him to the side of the stage and picked up my guitar. I tried to breathe properly, telling myself that nobody really cared how I did, and using all my other coping strategies – clenching and unclenching my fists, counting to ten and back down again. But it was a bit like using a water pistol to put out a burning inferno. This gig was a bigger deal than other gigs. The stakes were higher.
I imagined Alfie’s voice in my head, thinking through what he might say. “So, the stakes are high, Ammy. So what? Since when did you like steak?” I smiled as his imaginary words temporarily dissolved some of my nerves, until I remembered he didn’t even know about this gig. I’d not even told Jessa back home. I don’t know why. I guess I’d been so wrapped up in everything.
“Amelie!”
Reese appeared like magic, like he knew I’d been thinking about my ex. He flung me into his arms. “How are you feeling, little thing?”
“Reese! Where did you go?”
His breath smelled of alcohol and his T-shirt was already sticky from sweat. But I loved the smell of his sweat. I was so obsessed, that if he’d peed on the ground, I’d probably have tried to scoop it up with a mason jar or something.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Reese replied, even though he’d known I was in the loo. “Are you excited?”
“Umm, no. I’ve just been sick.”
“I had a peek around the curtain. It’s pretty packed out there, Amelie.”
“That’s not helping, Reese.”
“Amelie?” the sound guy interrupted. “It’s time.”
“Oh god!”
Reese squeezed me into another hug, and I remember feeling a tiny bit irked that he hadn’t really made me feel better. Then he gave me a sloppy kiss on the lips and whispered, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I blinked and he’d vanished and I had no time to contemplate what he’d meant. The sound guy put my guitar over me, gave me a thumbs up, and then pushed me – actually pushed me – out onto the stage.
Lights. Heat. Sweat pouring from every gland in my body. I told myself to just worry about walking across the stage to the microphone. Once I made it to the microphone, I worried about getting it adjusted. Little steps – breaking the terror down into digestible chunks. The next chunk was to look up at the audience.
I looked up.
Whoa. There were more people than I expected, and so many faces I recognized from college. I was so scared, that, for a moment, I considered turning and running away. Yet, as always, I strummed the opening chord and I opened my sicky-tasting mouth, and, as always, once I’d started, it was all okay again.
I’m not going to pretend it was cinematically brilliant, that the whole audience were in tears and demanded an encore. I could sense my songs landing though. There were no boos, most importantly, and there was applause between numbers. I started to smile and relax into it and felt energy float off the audience and sink into my soul. Happiness bloomed in my gut and I had that thought you only get in truly brilliant moments. That thought that you know this moment is special and you want to make sure you get it all down properly in your memory – because it will most certainly become a good memory – but then you panic so much about not taking it in enough that you kind of lose the moment anyway. So, that, that happened. Much too soon, I’d sung my last song. There was a hearty amount of applause and I caught my parents’ faces in the darkness – Mum literally crying with pride. Relief and joy erupted through me and I grinned and grinned at the crowd. I shrugged off my guitar to more applause. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the show,” I said, then…
Then.
I heard the audience react before I saw him.
Reese.
There was a gasp, and I didn’t know why everyone was gasping.
“Amelie?”
I turned to his voice, and there – walking onto the stage, holding his own guitar – there was my boyfriend.
“Reese?”
He leaned over and kissed me, our guitars crashing into each other. “Surprise,” he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows. A chair appeared out of nowhere and he nodded at me to sit on it.
“What’s going on?” I asked, struggling to make sense of what was happening.
“Just sit.”
My audience, sensing a whiff of romance, started clapping and cheering. And I found when you’re onstage and your new boyfriend is telling you to sit down in front of hundreds of people, there’s very little else you can do. So I sat down.
Reese pulled the mike up to his height, then he turned, winked at me, tipped his hat and twisted back to the audience.
“Sorry for interrupting, folks,” he said, like someone who’s never considered having stage fright in their entire lives. “The Contenders will be on shortly. First, can we get another round of applause for my talented girlfriend here?”
Heat shot through every limb of my body. The applause he’d commanded was slightly lacklustre but he didn’t seem to notice. I wrapped my arms around myself, not enjoying staying the centre of attention. The good feeling from the gig was trickling into confusion.
What was he doing? What was going on?
“Anyway, you’re probably wondering why I’m gatecrashing, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to say and I thought this was the best place to say it. Amelie?”
He turned back to me, and, oh, the way he smiled, it was all forgiven. I stared and smiled back at him.
“…I love you, Amelie,” he told a massive audience of people.
There are so many clichés I could use here about how that moment felt. How everything went fuzzy or in slow motion. I could say it was the most perfect moment of my entire life. Or that I got tingles, or I went shaky, or my stomach filled with butterflies, or generally just had “some feels”. But I can’t remember anything really, apart from crying.
Reese came over to kiss me and the crowd loved it. He wiped the tears from my face, cupped it in his hands, and kissed me as the cheers amplified. My crying made the moment even more dramatic, giving the viewers exactly what they wanted. Giving Reese what he wanted. Which was a show. One where he was the star. The best boyfriend of all boyfriends. We kissed tenderly, my tears melting into his face. Then we hugged, clasped together so tight, shaking in one another’s arms.
“I really do love you, Amelie,” he said again, just to me, into only my ear this time.
A guttural sob worked its way up my throat. “I love you too.” And I did. I really, truly, did.
I still do.
He brought me in for another perfect kiss in front of loads of our not-really-closest friends, put his forehead against my forehead, whispered “I love you” again, then made his way back to the microphone.
“You hear that, everyone?” Reese told the crowd. “She said it back!”
More cheering. It could’ve been in a movie, I guess. Apart from all the snot I was producing. People don’t tend to snot on one another in romantic scenes in movies.
“And, just to finish things off… Amelie, I’ve written a song. Just for you.”
Reese strummed his acoustic guitar and started to sing.
