On a Wednesday

by G. , Whitney

  R.S.V.P. via my direct messages & don’t tell her anything about this!

  See you there!

  * * *

  I reread the caption for several minutes, wondering if this new friend, Alonna, knew that Courtney hated surprises.

  I doubted that had changed in the months since we’d last spoken, and I also knew better than to RSVP just to see her again. I was certain she’d told anyone willing to listen how we’d fallen apart, how our once-in-a-lifetime friendship had cracked at the seams.

  Then again, I wanted to believe that her birthday comment was a sign that we could finally fix things between us. That maybe—just maybe, the promises we made during our senior year had been on her mind lately as much as they’d been on mine.

  Does she remember?

  Standing to my feet, I stepped into the hallway and weighed my options.

  One: I fly to Seattle to surprise her at an event she’ll probably hate. Then I’ll ask if we can talk in private.

  Two: I stay in town and wait until after the playoffs to send her a request for dinner.

  As I walked toward the elevators, I heard a familiar sound.

  “Sucks. Sucks. Sucks!”

  What the hell?

  Two camouflaged men—the guys who lived on the floor above me, suddenly moved from behind the hallway statue.

  “Kyle Stanton sucks! Kyle Stanton sucks!” They screamed in unison. “Middle fingers up, he doesn’t care about us!”

  Okay, fuck this. I’m going to Seattle.

  Courtney: Now

  Seattle, Washington

  This is not your real life, Court. This is all a sucky simulation, and you’re going to wake up in thirty seconds.

  “Order of five frosted bagels and two deluxe tai teas for a Courtney Johnson?” A high-pitched voice interrupted my thoughts, instantly drowning my hopes. “Is there a Courtney Johnson in here?”

  “That’s me.” I grabbed the order and slipped out of the cafe, making my way back to The Fine Print Publishing.

  Taking the elevator to the top floor, I walked into my boss’s office and bit my tongue before setting down the bag.

  “Thank you so much for bringing that in for me, Courtney,” he said. “I’ve got a long day of work ahead of me, and I’m always in awe that you come into work so early. You’re like one of the interns.”

  It’s honestly starting to feel that way … “Glad I could do you a quick favor, Mr. Bruce.”

  “I’ve heard that your supervisor, Michael Router, is working on one hell of a piece. Aren’t you glad that you’re getting the opportunity to work under someone with that level of writing talent?”

  “You mean that level of plagiarism?”

  “Huh?” He raised his eyebrow. “What did you say?”

  “I said, yes. It’s a total honor.” I forced a smile. “Am I good to leave now? I requested the afternoon off for my birthday.”

  “Oh, of course.” He smiled. “You know, one day, with your level of work ethic, you could be the next Michael Router. You could be bringing the sports department tons of those.”

  He pointed to the plaques that lined his left wall, and my blood began to boil.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Bruce,” I said.

  “Goodbye, Miss Johnson. Be sure to check to see if Michael needs anything before you leave, okay?”

  I didn’t bother responding to that; I simply walked away.

  To everyone who worked on this side of the building, Michael Router was the best thing to happen to sports journalism since the internet.

  His words were universally revered, instantly read upon release, and highly sought after whenever it took him more than a month to publish his next “jaw-dropping masterpiece.” Even million-dollar athletes were in awe of how he wrote the long, in-depth profiles that graced the pages of Time, GQ, and Infinity magazines.

  The problem was, he wasn’t the one really writing them.

  It’d been sixteen months since I started here, and no one else knew that this self-proclaimed “best sports-journalist alive” asshat couldn’t write his way out of a paper bag.

  I was the puppet master holding the strings, and he was the stuffed suit who danced below—taking all of the credit and lining his shelf with awards that belonged to me.

  There was only one reason why I had yet to blow the whistle, but with each day that passed, I stepped closer to the edge.

  Grabbing a coat from my cubicle, I pulled the phone from its pocket and noticed a text from my friend, Alonna.

  * * *

  Alonna: Birthday drinks at Savoy this afternoon? Your boyfriend said he’ll pay for it. Please say yes. Please say yes!

  Me: Sure. I’ll go ahead and head there now. (Just because he’s a successful guy doesn’t mean he should have to pay for everything, Alonna.)

  Alonna: Ha! Like hell it doesn’t. See you there.

  * * *

  I wrapped a scarf around my neck and made sure I had everything before heading outside. Then, taking the long way to Pike Place, I walked along the pier and stared at all of the things that I swore I once wanted.

  Sure, I’d asked for a new life with a hot guy, great friends, and a fantastic job, but none of it was enough to fill the vast void I was still trying to handle.

  Shaking away the thought, I waited several minutes before heading inside The Savoy Bar.

  For some reason, the entire bottom floor was empty. All of the chairs were pushed against the walls; the tables were stacked in the corners.

  “Upstairs, Miss.” The bartender smiled at me. “You’re Courtney, right?”

  “Right.” I paused. “Is my friend already here?”

  He nodded, sliding me a cup of coffee. “You’ll find her upstairs on the roof top level.”

  “Thank you.” I glanced over at the elevator, holding back a sigh once I saw the “Temporarily out of order” sign.

  Steps, it is.

  When I made it onto the final flight, I stopped dead in my tracks at what had to be a hallucination.

  My coffee hit the floor, and my knees went weak at the sight of a smile I hadn’t seen in forever.

  Kyle?

  “Hello, Courtney,” he said, his green-eyed gaze pinning me to the spot. “How are you?”

  I pressed my hand against the concrete wall, quite sure that today was a simulation after all. There was no way that this man had somehow become ten times more gorgeous since our last encounter.

  Even the images and videos I’d caught of him onscreen failed to paint how beautiful he was.

  He stared at me, and I stared back, and I couldn’t help but notice a palpable tension filling the hallway.

  “What are you doing here?” I managed.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Oh?” I swallowed. “I vividly remember us saying everything we wanted to say—including ‘Goodbye,’ two years ago.”

  “It was sixteen months ago,” he said, correcting me. “Can I talk to you after this?”

  “This?”

  Before I could ask him what the hell “this” meant, the door to the roof swung open, and Alonna’s red-colored curls slapped me in the face.

  “Well, there you are!” She looped her hand in mine, pulling me onto the roof. “Surprise!”

  In an instant, silver streamers and pink glitter fell over me. Loudspeakers began blaring a hip-hop version of the birthday song.

  No, no, no …

  I placed a hand on my chest as my heart raced into overdrive. My stomach churned, giving me the onset of a panic attack.

  Bright flashes blurred my vision, loud applause sounded from every angle, and before I could make sense of all this, a giant, six-layer cake with “2-8” rolled in front of me.

  Someone handed me a paper bag from my left, but he disappeared before I could see who it was.

  Hyperventilating for several seconds, I tried to believe that this was a joke. None of my true friends would ever do something like this.

  “Happy birthday to my favorite person in t
he entire world,” my boyfriend, Graham, was suddenly stepping in front of me.

  “Here.” He moved the paper bag away from my mouth and kissed my lips. Then he handed me a small stress ball instead.

  I squeezed it like I planned to squeeze the neck of whoever planned this event.

  Looking around, I noticed my coworkers, Graham’s fellow executives, and several members of his family.

  And Kyle.

  Kyle really is here …

  “Are you surprised?” Graham asked.

  “I’m something.”

  Everyone laughed.

  I clung to the ball.

  “I know that you’re not a big fan of parties or events like this,” he said. “And I hope you won’t mind that Alonna and I wanted to throw you something to make you happy, since it’s been a rough year for you.”

  I nodded.

  “I also hope you won’t mind that I couldn’t think of any other way to do this, since I also feel that I should’ve done it long ago.” He looked into my eyes. “Probably the first night we met.”

  “Huh?” I raised my eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Graham?”

  “This.” He gently grabbed my wrists and got down on one knee.

  A chorus of gasps followed.

  “I know that we’ve only known each other for six months, and that I’ve been the one insistent on taking things slow, but I want you to know that it’s because I fell pretty hard for you on day one.”

  The rooftop was utterly silent now, save for the wind and a few squawking seagulls in the distance.

  “I’m in love with you, and I want you to be mine for the rest of my life,” he said. “Courtney Nicole Johnson, will you marry me?”

  I looked around the roof, and my eyes immediately met Kyle’s. His eyes were narrowed, and he was glaring at me, almost daring me to say yes right in front of him.

  His lips parted as the seconds passed, and he looked as if he was about to rush over and pummel Graham into the concrete.

  “Courtney?” Graham squeezed my hand again. “Courtney, what do you say?”

  “Yes,” I said, looking at him again. “Yes, Graham. I’ll marry you.”

  The rooftop erupted in cheers and applause, and Graham stood to his feet and pulled me into a hug.

  Kissing me, he lowered his voice, “Should we wait until the honeymoon, or break our celibacy pact tonight?”

  He didn’t give me a chance to answer that. Instead, he pressed his lips against mine, and I tried to get lost in his kiss.

  Thankfully, music began to play as he let me go. I was saved from having to come up with anything to say.

  “Congratulations!” “Can’t wait for the wedding!” “You’re so damn lucky to land Graham Callahan, girl!” The guests wished me well one by one.

  “I have a present waiting for you downstairs,” Graham whispered into my ear. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Oh my god! Oh my god!” Alonna rushed over to me. “So? What do you think about the party?”

  “I think you should protect your neck before I get ahold of my keys.”

  “Allow me to enjoy one final spin, then.” She laughed and started to twirl in front of me. Then, suddenly stopping, she sucked in a breath the moment she caught sight of Kyle.

  “Oh my god … I swear, I didn’t invite him here, Court. I swear.”

  “Someone did.” I whispered. “Why would they do that?”

  As if on cue, Kyle strode toward me. “I need to talk to you in private.”

  “Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait.”

  “It’ll have to be now.” He glared at me. “Unless you want me to make a scene.”

  A part of me wanted to tell him to go back to wherever he came from, but another part of me was grateful to have a reason to get away from this cluster-fuck of an event.

  “I’ll be right back.” I whispered to Alonna.

  Kyle led the way, and I followed him to the other side of the roof, where there were only stacks of white-covered chairs and a table for two.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the playoffs right now?” I asked. “Like—”

  “Do you love that guy?” He interrupted me.

  “You mean, that guy I just agreed to marry?”

  “Yes,” he said. “That guy.”

  “Well, clearly, Kyle.”

  “I could’ve sworn that you and I had a certain deal about our twenty-eighth birthdays.”

  “We agreed that since they’re only four days apart, there’s never a reason for you to miss mine,” I said. “I don’t recall hearing from you last year.”

  “You didn’t call for mine either,” he said. “You haven’t called and told me shit.”

  “And whose fault is that?”

  Silence.

  “I’m not sure how you found out about this, but …” I sucked in a breath as he closed the gap between us, forcing my heart into a rhythm it hadn’t played since college. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “I beg to differ,” he said, pushing a few strands of hair away from my face. “You’re more beautiful now than you were in college.”

  “Thanks. My fiancé seems to think the same thing.”

  His jaw clenched at the words ‘fiancé,’ but he kept his eyes on mine. “I overheard him say that you’ve only been dating for six months. Is that true?”

  I said nothing.

  He didn’t deserve to know that Graham and I were close friends first, that we’d actually become friends after Kyle shattered me to pieces.

  “Six months isn’t long enough to deserve a chance with someone like you,” he said. “I mean, even if we were still talking, I would never let you agree to marry a guy within that short of a timeframe.”

  “Well, good thing that we’re not talking,” I said. “Graham Callahan is one of the top bachelors in this entire city and he’s a complete and utter gentleman.”

  “I’m sure he is.” His forehead brushed against mine, and that mere touch was enough to set every nerve in my body on fire. “Don’t you remember what we had, though?”

  My breathing slowed. “Kyle …”

  “Does your fiancé know?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “So, you don’t remember?”

  “Whatever it was, it was years ago, Kyle. So, no, I don’t remember.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?” His hand grazed my waist, and the scent of his cologne made me lean toward him.

  “Stop.” I shook my head and stepped out of his way before I made a huge mistake. “I’m sorry that someone with a twisted sense of humor invited you to this party, Kyle. You’re not supposed to be here, and you know that.”

  “I came because you commented on my Instagram post.”

  “I commented on it along with twenty-thousand other people.”

  “I couldn’t help but notice the ones that weren’t saying, ‘I hate you.’”

  “Funny,” I said. “That’s what I meant to say.”

  Completely unfazed by what I’d said, he stared at me as if no time had passed, as if the ugly words from our past had never ripped us apart. Looking torn between pinning me against the railing and kissing me to make up for lost time and storming away to never speak to me again, he stood still.

  “I think you should leave now.” I managed. “I want to enjoy myself for the rest of this party—preferably with the people who are here for the occasion.”

  “What occasion?” He glanced at my ring finger. “I don’t see anything worthy of celebrating.”

  “Leave, Kyle.” I couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. “Please.”

  “Is there a problem over here?” Graham stepped onto our side of the landing.

  “No.” I stepped back. “Kyle was just dropping by to say hello. Now, he’s leaving.”

  “Congratulations on all of your success with the Falcons.” Graham slipped his arm around my waist, and Kyle’s face reddened. “Will you be joining us for the fireworks? I spent
over ten thousand to create a special show for my future wife.”

  “No.” Kyle shook his head. “Like Courtney said, I was just dropping by to say hello, to see if she remembered a few things.”

  He moved past us, and I watched as a few of my colleagues asked him for autographs and selfies.

  To my surprise, he put on his best showman smile and obliged. Then he left—dragging the pieces of my heart that he still owned right behind him.

  I spent the rest of the party in a dizzy haze, and by the time Graham’s glitzy fireworks lit up the night sky—when the colors flashed my alma mater’s trademark blue and gold—all I could see were college memories.

  The college memories I’d made with Kyle.

  As much as I wanted to deny it, I remembered everything.

  Every fucking thing …

  Courtney: Then

  Senior Year

  Pittsburgh

  I wasn’t sure who designed the University of Pittsburgh’s campus, but I was willing to bet that part of the notes said, “Make it damn near impossible for them to get anywhere in less than ten minutes.”

  A typical route from my dorm to the student union called for a ride on the campus shuttle, a transfer via city bus, and a half-block’s walk through an assortment of black, marble panther statues.

  It’s as if, the school officials added, “Never let them forget what our mascot is,” at the bottom of the campus’s initial blueprint.

  As a freshman, I’d reveled in the fact that our campus was more like a mini-city with local businesses, hospitals, and an array of restaurants wherever there wasn’t a dorm, campus eatery, or a lecture hall.

  But after becoming a senior with an off-campus dating life and a never-ending events calendar? I’d broken five Fitbit watches from the constant rushing around.

  Clutching a leather bag against my chest, I hopped off the 61D bus and trekked my way up the hill that led to the Peterson Events Center.

  Since today was the day of our school’s annual Student Activities Fair, the fluffy panther mascot was dancing on the grass and performing cartwheels for tons of onlookers.