by Kilby Blades
“You got a hammock?”
The freestanding piece of furniture sat on the lowest tier of my terraced backyard, halfway between the back door of my house and the actual beach. The upper terraces held a dining table that seated eight, a circle of Adirondack chairs and a fire pit, and a Jacuzzi. It also had some pretty serious landscaping, that involved trees, bushes and masonry that added both beauty and privacy. It would have been too dark for her to see much of it the night before.
“I like hammocks.” I set the bag and our two shakes down on my glass table. “If memory serves correctly, you do, too.”
The truth was, I’d always fantasized about the two of us, as a couple, lying in it. I hadn’t climbed into any hammock without thinking about Roxy since I was seventeen.
“Wow, just…a hammock on the beach?” She stood there fixated for another few seconds, now with a hand on her hip. “Okay. I admit it. I’m jealous.”
“We could install one in the guest room in New York…have a sand pit put in…” I pretended to muse.
She gave me a look that said “you just would, wouldn’t you?”
“Or…” I continued, eager to plant yet another seed of what I hoped would be our future. “You could move to California, and all of this and more could be yours…”
I spread my arms open like a game show host, as if motioning to things on a stage. When she hip-checked me and went back to setting the table, I reached into the bags and pulled out a fry.
Only after she’d uttered an “Oh God, I miss In ’n Out Burger,” after her first swallow of her Double-Double Animal Style, did she resume non-foodgasm conversation, though her comment was unexpected.
“I think it’s time I grew up.”
“What’s that mean?” I raised my eyebrows as I squeezed the contents of tiny ketchup packets on to my plate.
“I dunno—have my shit a little more together. Kind of like you, I guess. Get my own place. Go for some of the more competitive jobs now that I’ve got a few chops. Cash in on all those dues I’ve paid.”
Where’s she going with this?
“In New York?” I tried to sound casual.
“Probably not.” She’d paused on eating her burger, and looked out at the horizon, which meant she had something on her mind. “One of the projects I’m considering would bring me out here more. It would help me decide whether I might want to move back out west…”
I didn’t even attempt to hide my smile, or the words that spilled from my mouth after that. “You know you miss it,” I claimed boldly. "You can take the girl out of L.A., but you can’t take the L.A. out of the girl.”
Her face flushed, and when she spoke, there was a funny quality to her voice. ”Funny…I was thinking the same thing.”
“So take it,” I practically demanded. “Take the job.”
…at which point I will fully implement my plan to woo you and win you back once and for all. No high school shit and no more fucking around. I’m bringing out the big guns.
“Seriously, Rox—“ I said instead. “We’ll hang out all the time. We’ll see shows. I’ll introduce you to all my friends. You can find a place in Marina Del Rey…”
Or, you could live with me, right here.
“It’s still just a “what if.” I’m in the running, but they haven’t contracted me for the gig yet.”
She took another bite of burger and my mind raced to the possibilities.
”What about you?”
I smirked. “When am I gonna grow up?”
She rolled her eyes. “After this movie wraps…are you gonna stay in L.A.?”
I thought of how to word my answer. I didn’t want to signal that I would rule out any possibility that would involve being with her. With a shrug, I settled on the simplest of statements.
“I’m open.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Open to what?”
“Like you said…I’m ready to cash in on some of those dues I paid and finally do something for myself.”
Roxy looked suspicious. Rightfully so—I was being vague. But talking in code was what we did. I didn’t want to scare the hell out of her, so I had to drop the breadcrumbs one-at-a-time.
“Anything specific?” she wanted to know.
I put down my burger and wiped my hands. “All the things that come next, after you’ve got the career and the house and the car.”
As she studied my face, I knew she was trying again to decode my words.
“So you’re open…” she trailed off.
I thought again of how to say it without spooking her.
“I’m done sitting at home wishing for the things I’m too scared to go after. If I’m ready, I need to put myself out there, for real.”
“And what happens if nothing comes of it?” She knew what I was talking about by then. I saw it in her widened eyes, but I couldn’t tell whether my insinuations filled her with hope or pity.
“If nothing comes, then nothing comes. But at least I’ve got to try.”
19 Before You Walk Out of My Life
I made the choice when you couldn't decide.
I made the choice; I was wrong you were right.
Deep down inside I apologize.
Never meant to cause you no pain.
I just wanna go back to being the same.
Well, I only wanna make things right
Before you walk out of my life.
-Monica, Before You Walk Out of My Life
* * *
Roxy (Six Weeks Later)
1 missed call
I blinked at the alert message that road blocked me on the lock screen of my phone. I hadn’t even heard the thing ring, even though it had been sitting next to my bed all night. Thumbing in my code, I navigated to my text app and saw that the call was from Jagger. Even stranger: he was one of only four people in my life whose calls could cut through my Do Not Disturb, which meant that if he called, I should have at least heard it ring.
The other two people who could get through to me were my dad and Carson, but it was rare for either of them to call. My dad had been schooled and Carson knew the score instinctively: I needed mental space—in the form of peace and quiet—to crank out words.
But I only kept my Do Not Disturb on during working hours anyway—the setting was on a timer. And Jag and I had an understanding about acceptable hours to call. He kept it to before midnight on the east coast if he just wanted to shoot the shit. The call I’d missed from him had come in at two o’clock in the morning.
Shit.
It was with a growing sense of dread that I dialed into my voicemail. I might have called him directly, but what if something horrible had emerged? It wasn’t pleasant to think about, but shit happened. Parents died. If it was anything like that, I wanted to prepare. Better that I get myself together than to force him to process my shock.
But the most shocking thing was an emergency itself. Neither of us ever initiated calls that late. But the message he left offered no satisfaction. If anything, it only set me more on edge.
"Roxy." Jag sounded out of breath—not in danger out of breath. More like euphoric, and maybe a little drunk. “Sorry if this wakes you up—I know it's the middle of the night there, but…” he trailed off and continued to catch his breath. “But something amazing just happened. And you and I need to talk. In person, love. We need to talk in person."
We need to talk in person.
Never in the nearly-seven years since we’d lived in separate cities had Jag made such a request. If he had something to tell me, he told me. If he wanted to hang out, we made plans. Summoning one another for urgent audiences wasn’t something we did.
Now it was I who was out of breath, and not in a pleasant, euphoric way. Jagger had never been so cryptic—or sounded so frantic—and I was scared.
"I know it's short notice,” his rambling message continued. “But could you come to L.A.?” I could picture him running his fingers through his hair as he continued. "I met someone, someone who's changed everything.
”
His message continued, but my mind stuck on his words. My stomach dropped at the words I’d always dreaded to hear.
Oh, God, I said to myself, even as I tried to focus on the rest of his message.
“Something's happened, and I need your blessing…” Please—if you can—just get on a plane."
But he must have reached the message limit length, because it cut off after that. Fifteen minutes later, I was still sitting up in bed, staring at my phone. I’d listened to the message three times more, my sense of dread growing with every new pass. And, now, I wasn't just out of breath—I was shaking.
Something amazing just happened.
I met someone.
I need your blessing.
We need to talk in person.
It terrified me given the thing he’d said the last time I was in L.A.
I want everything that comes after.
I need to put myself out there, for real.
I’m open.
I was sick with comprehension of the one thing this had to be. I finally got my fingers to work and navigated to the right number. I couldn’t call him back, not yet, but my other best friend picked up on the first ring.
"Zoë," I sobbed, "Jag met someone. And I think he wants to propose.”
Part 3
True
20 What's Up?
Twenty-five years and my life is still
Trying to get up that great big hill of hope
For a destination
I realized quickly when I knew I should
That the world was made up of this brotherhood of man
For whatever that means
-4 Non Blondes, What’s Up?
* * *
Zoë
"Jagger’s getting married?" I repeated loudly, throwing Gunther a questioning look. “Since when?” I wanted to know.
As he looked up from the morning paper, my husband looked as baffled as me. He shook his head as he placed his coffee mug back on the table and pointed at my phone.
"Roxy?" he mouthed. I nodded.
“Since yesterday!” Roxy sobbed miserably from the other end of the phone.
“To who?” I wanted to know. Gunther and I were the kind of couple who told each other everything. That meant, if Jagger were serious with anyone, was thinking of proposing, or had even asked Gunther’s advice for how to buy a ring, it was information that I would already know.
“I don’t know,” Roxy wailed, then proceeded to ramble off years’ worth of regret in my ear, about how she’d been there last month and had missed her chance to tell him then. Five minutes into her one-sided diatribe, she’d sailed straight through self-flagellation. She was now whining about how she'd have to pretend to like Jagger's wife.
"Sweetie…" I soothed, but she just kept rambling. I’d tried to talk her down a few times, but it was clear she was far gone on her own trip. At some point, it seemed wise to just put her on mute and have a side conversation with Gunther.
"He told her he's getting married?" he asked once he saw we were muted. "I talked to him last week. He's not even seeing anybody. I gave him shit for being single."
I frowned a little at Gunther. What was he doing playing Cupid with Jagger? Jagger didn't need to find a girlfriend. We all knew he belonged with Roxy. But I’d deal with my husband later. For the time being, I unmuted the phone.
"Sweetie, are you sure?" I said a little louder this time, trying again to get her to slow down. She finally quieted and I seized the opportunity to say the one thing that might talk sense into her. ”He didn't say anything to Gunther, and they talked just last week."
Roxy sniffled loudly, and I heard her blow her nose. Roxy was tough as nails. I could count on one hand the number of times I had witnessed my friend cry. I could hear that she was devastated. I would be too if I thought I’d missed my chance with Gunther. I couldn’t think of anything more tragic than the love of your life finding someone else.
"What exactly did he tell you, Rox? Maybe this is all just one big misunderstanding. Tell me what happened,” I implored. “And start from the beginning.”
So, she did—she told me about the “something big”, and about meeting someone, and about flying to L.A. and telling her he wanted her blessing. He’d never said the words "I'm getting married". But I had to admit—what he did say didn't rule out that possibility at all.
But the rumor could be easily confirmed. One call from Gunther to Jagger, and we'd have the whole story locked down in minutes. At one point, Gunther unpocketed his phone and looked ready to do just that. But I raised my hand to stop him. Because, even if this was a misunderstanding, Roxy being this unhinged was a problem. Her reaction was too strong—her feelings to raw—for her to push them right back under a rock, even if she was wrong and not a word of this was true.
"I thought we were moving toward something…” She was rambling again. “If he's happy, I really do want to support him, I just…I don't know how I'm gonna pull myself together. And I’m, like, a total disaster, but his message made it sound like he wants me to get there soon. He told me to come to L.A., like—now."
She sniffled and said nothing for a long minute. I could sense the wheels turning in Roxy’s head as she concocted a plan to keep running from her feelings. Knowing Roxy, if Jagger really was getting married to someone else, she’d put on her game face and help him plan the wedding. She and Jagger were the two biggest gluttons for punishment I’d ever met.
"You know you have to tell him, right?" I offered gently, certain she wasn't even considering it.
"Yesterday I knew it," she replied between sniffles. “I even had a plan. After last month, I thought…” she took a shaky breath. “I don’t know what I thought. But now that I know he's found someone else, can I really do that to him?"
My jaw might have actually dropped.
"Before this all happened, you were seriously planning to tell him?" I repeated with incredulity, half out of shock, half saying it out loud for Gunther’s benefit.
Gunther abandoned his paper altogether. Both of his eyebrows were now raised.
"I've kind of been shuffling things around on my end,” she mumbled. “Making it so that, if I wanted to, I could move to L.A. I told him I was considering a move. I just didn’t say the reason why I wanted to move in the first place was because of him.”
She sighed dejectedly. Any way you cut this, it was messy.
"Rox, what do you want?"
I already knew the answer.
"I want him to be happy,” she said it without a moment’s pause.
"Sweetie, what do you want?"
This one took her longer to say.
"I just want him."
We were both silent for a long minute. I thought carefully about what I could and couldn’t say. There were secrets that weren't mine to tell. And, even if I were at liberty to say how many times Jagger had admitted to Gunther how much he still loved Roxy, they didn't need a matchmaker—they needed to step up on their own.
"You've been pretending for six years, Rox. Do you really want to sign up for another fifty?"
For another long minute, I only heard her ragged breathing from the other end of the phone.
"If I’m off base, or out of line…it’ll take away what little of him I have left."
Her angst was palpable, and I knew the stakes—losing Jagger was her biggest fear. But she'd lose him anyway if this went unsaid between them.
"Either that, or it could give you all that you lost, back."
More silence. More ragged breathing. More palpable doubt.
"You think he still feels that way about me?" A note of hope shined through the fear in her voice.
“You obviously think he could, or else you wouldn't be considering a move to L.A. Did it occur to you that maybe he's settling for someone else because he thinks he can't have you?"
"Do you know something I don’t?” she came back quickly, with suspicion. “I’m fucking serious, Zoë—now is not the time to hold out
on me." Her voice had risen to a panic. "I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown here. Exactly What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you know Jagger better than anyone in the world, and if your instincts told you the two of you had a chance, you'd be cheating him by not letting him know that he has options."
"I can't go there and throw myself at him…” she argued weakly, but her voice was losing its fight.
"But you can go there and choose to tell him the truth,” I concluded. “And, Roxy—it's not against the law to show up looking fabulous."
21 True
I bought a ticket to the world
But now I've come back again
Why do I find it hard to write the next line
Oh I want the truth to be said
-"True" by Spandau Ballet
* * *
Roxy
Biting my nails wasn't nearly as fun when they tasted like cellulose varnish. I might have thought of that before spending the morning at the spa. I didn't know how, but Zoë had gotten me into The Peninsula at—literally—a moment's notice. I'd been plucked and pedicured until I was clean and tidy, massaged and facialed until I was relaxed and the puffiness was gone from my eyes. My hair had been deep conditioned until it held a frightening shine. By the time I got home to pack my bag, my doorman had deliveries for me from four separate boutiques. And, so I sat on the plane, trying not to lose my luster as I headed to my impending doom.
It had never been lost on me that Jag never introduced me to women he was seeing. He’d never brought anyone he was dating back to Rye. He’d never brought girls he was dating tag along when we hung out together. If Jagger was finally introducing me to a girl, it had to be serious. But Zoe was right: if I thought we had enough of a shot that I’d just cinched a cross-country move, Jagger—more than anyone—had a right to know.
