Mr Right Now: A Romantic Comedy Standalone

by Lila Monroe

  My back stiffens. “Shit. My parents are home. Come on, upstairs, quick.”

  I stuff the ice cream tub into the freezer, shove the bottle of rum under my arm, and grab my glass and bowl. McKenna gathers hers and hustles after me to the stairs.

  “Why are we running away from your parents?”

  “They thought I was going to be out with Drew all night. As soon as they see me here, they’ll know something went wrong.” The last thing I want to do right now is hash out my latest romantic disaster with my mom.

  We dash into my bedroom just as the front door swings open. I tug the bedroom door shut and flick off the light. The glow under the door would be enough to give me away.

  McKenna giggles. “Why do I feel like we’re kids again—ouch!”

  There’s a faint thump as she bumps against the chair by my desk.

  “Shh.” I wade through the darkness to set my dishes on the bedside table.

  “You know, I think I still have …” I whisper, and reach my hand under the bed. My fingers close around the handle of a flashlight. I pull it out and try the switch. A yellow beam bounces off the wall. Too faint to spill all the way to the door.

  I set the flashlight on the floor, standing on its end so it points at the ceiling, and sit down with my back against the side of the bed. McKenna hunkers down on the other side of the room by my desk. The thin glow lights up her wry smile.

  “Like one of those old sleepovers,” she murmurs. “Seeing how late we can stay up talking without your mom realizing we’re still not asleep. But with better refreshments.” She raises her glass and takes another sip from it. Her gaze wanders through the room—and stops on the poster over my bed. Her smile grows.

  “Don’t even start,” I say under my breath, pointing at her. “I moved out when I was eighteen. And I didn’t think I’d be sticking around long enough now for it to be worth redecorating.”

  “Has Drew seen that?” she says, sounding amused.

  I give a sort of half nod, half shrug to the affirmative. The memory swims up of him sneaking in, catching me dancing to his song. He was so sweet and playful about it. And then …

  The knot in my stomach tightens. I grab my glass, but not quickly enough. McKenna’s expression softens.

  “Oh, Maggie …”

  The stairs creak. I jam my finger against my lips, and McKenna’s mouth snaps shut. We sit there in silence in the eerie flashlight glow as my parents reach the second floor. Muted murmurs pass through the wall. The pipes hum. Finally, their bedroom door thumps shut behind them. I lower my hand. With Lulu’s old room between theirs and mine, they won’t be able to hear us talking now, as long as we keep it down.

  “Do you think we can risk turning on the light now?” McKenna asks.

  I grimace. “Let’s not. Anyway, this ambiance suits my mood just fine.” I drain the rest of my rum and open the bottle to pour in another measure.

  McKenna holds out her hand. I pass her the bottle, and she tops her glass up too. But then she just looks at it, swirling the amber liquid. She raises her head to fix her gaze on me.

  “You really like him, don’t you?”

  I make a dismissive gesture, but I can feel my throat closing up again. “I should have known better. I mean, we never talked about the future. We never made any promises. We never even agreed we were exclusive!” I exclaim. “But somehow, I still wound up falling for him. Like, really falling—”

  Oh, shit. I’m tearing up again. I wipe at my eyes, feeling like an idiot.

  “Oh, babe …” McKenna scoots across the floor to sit beside me and puts her arm around me. I lean into her, swallowing a sob.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t— I didn’t have the right to expect any kind of commitment, or whatever. But it still hurts, that I didn’t even factor into his plans. I can’t remember the last time I felt that way about someone. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like this before.” I pause. “I know it was just a few weeks, but I’m in love with him.”

  “Did you tell him that?” McKenna asks.

  Just the thought of admitting it to him after tonight makes my entire body tense up. He’d think I was ridiculous.

  “It doesn’t matter. Obviously what he loves is the spotlight, or he wouldn’t be chasing back after it. The two of us together, it would never work out. He’ll be out there soaking up the fame, a new city every night, new girls throwing themselves at him … That story has only one ending.”

  McKenna cocks her head. “Do you really think so? Even when he’s older and wiser now? Well, wiser being somewhat up for debate.”

  My mouth twitches despite myself, but that doesn’t change my answer. “It doesn’t matter. He didn’t ask me if I wanted to make it work. He didn’t involve me at all. So he’ll go have his career, and I’ll go have mine, and that’s where we’re meant to leave this.”

  “That sounds pretty depressing to me.”

  “Only because I let myself think it was going to be more,” I say sadly. “But it was always just temporary. There’s nothing wrong with that. We had fun together, and now that’s over.”

  “You’re not really okay with that.”

  “I can be,” I say. “I will be. I’ve got lots of other stuff going on in my life.”

  But the words ring hollow. Because for the first time, I had a dream other than total baking world domination. I had a glimpse of something more.

  A man who supported me, and cheered me on, and who was even willing to make a damn fool of himself to help me out.

  And now he’s gone.

  From “Better Than A Dream” by Category 5

  Everyone’s always asking for more, more, more

  But I look and I see how much I have

  Couldn’t make anyone more perfect for me than you

  From the way you sigh to the way you laugh

  I don’t want no dream girl

  Don’t need no dream life

  When I love it’s going to be real and true

  So it can’t be anyone but you

  Better than a dream, yeah

  You’re better than a dream

  26

  Drew

  It’s always been about the music for me.

  Don’t get me wrong—I know better than anyone that Category 5 was a manufactured marketing ploy of a band. Our looks, our songs, our dance moves all chosen for maximum public appeal. I’m not going to claim I was making some kind of high art there. But even those days, the good ones and probably even more the bad ones, the best moments were when I was singing my heart out into a microphone. It’d take more than cheesy lyrics and generic beats to stop me from getting caught up in it.

  Music was my escape, from before the band even existed. Had an argument with the ’rents? Hole up in my room with my headphones blaring. Got a shitty grade on a paper? Belt out my frustration in sync with the radio. Some girl I liked hooked up with a different guy? Strum my guitar until my fingertips were raw.

  Finding out the best relationship I’ve had in years—okay, possibly in forever—didn’t count as a relationship at all? There’s only one thing for it. Bury myself in a new track in the studio until I can’t think about anything except the layers of sound.

  In theory, it should work. In practice, between the flicked switches and pushed levers, memories keep trickling in. Like the first time Maggie came down here with her cupcakes of apology, bold and shy at the same time. That was all it took. I knew right then I did not want to fuck this up.

  But I did. Same as always—same as I did with the band. I take a good thing, and I find a way to blow it all apart.

  My hand tenses. I push the bass level a little too high. I shake my head and try to re-focus on the work at hand. I’ve got the music. It’s never taken off on me.

  I almost get back in the groove for a few minutes. Then the buzzer for the front door sounds. I grimace and get up to see who’s come by to hassle me.

  I’m not particularly surprised to hear my little sister’s voice crackle
through the intercom. “Don’t tell me you’re too busy,” McKenna says. “You’ve got to talk sometime.”

  “Fine. Come on in.” I let her in and brace myself for a talking-to. It’s not as if I don’t know what she wants to talk about.

  “So, you’re moping.” She looks around the studio.

  “No, I’m working.” I sink onto one of the leather sofas, and she sits down across from me.

  “Same thing.”

  “Did you come here just to bug me?” I challenge her.

  “I wouldn’t have to drop in like this if you hadn’t spent the last three days avoiding me.” She fixes me with that sharp gaze. “I know you haven’t really been that busy.”

  I shrug, noncommittal. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to wrap up if this reunion thing is happening. I don’t want to leave anyone hanging.”

  “You’re still saying if? You broke up with Maggie over it and you’re still not even sure you’re doing it?”

  “I didn’t ‘break up’ with Maggie,” I say with a sudden surge of anger. I don’t know who I’m angry at. Maybe just myself. Maybe this whole screwed-up situation.

  “As far as I can tell, there wasn’t anything to break up,” I go on, keeping my voice even. “We were just fooling around, a little fun while it lasted. She’s got her big plans in New York. I’ll see where I end up as far as the reunion goes. It’s no big deal.”

  “Right.” McKenna makes a skeptical sound. “That’s why you’ve been hiding out down here for days on end. Because it’s so not important to you. Honestly, I don’t know who’s the bigger dumbass between the two of you. Do you have any idea how hard most people work to find something as good as you had? I’ve got people lining up waving cash at me to get in on my matchmaker app, and it’s not even proven yet. You already had it, that perfect click, and you don’t even see it.”

  My shoulders stiffen. I look away. “Did you come over just to vent about my stupidity? Because I’ll get back to work if that’s all you’ve got to say.”

  My sister pauses, and her voice softens. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing how miserable you are. You were crazy about her, Drew. It was obvious. Isn’t there some way you can work this out?”

  I shrug, defeated. “She made it pretty clear she doesn’t see any future with me. Especially with the touring and all.”

  “I don’t think that’s what she meant. You kind of blindsided her with the whole reunion thing. You blindsided me.” She tilts her head to the side, studying me. “Is getting the band back together really what you want? Are you actually looking forward to all the running around and the arguing and not knowing where you’re going to be spending the night half the time, or is this some kind of midlife crisis thing, trying to recapture your youth?”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” I mutter, but the questions have drawn an ache into my chest. “I don’t know, okay? It’s not as if being in the band before was all bad. Not even close.”

  “Yeah, but you were completely ready to be done with them by the end of it. What makes you think this time is going to be any different? I thought you’d moved on from all that—you’ve always talked about how you wanted to get away from the Hollywood chaos. Aren’t you happy here?” She sweeps her arm to indicate the studio, the city beyond it.

  I swallow thickly. I don’t even need to think about that question to answer it honestly. “I am. And I did want to get away. But it’s not that simple, Mac. It’s not just for me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You have no idea how badly Charlie wants this. And the other guys will probably jump on it too. But they can’t do it if I’m not in. It’s easy for me to sit back and relax here, but they haven’t had the same money coming in, I’ve got royalties way beyond anything they got back from the band.”

  “So you’re doing it because you feel guilty?” She shakes her head. “Drew, you earned that money. You don’t owe them anything.”

  I rub the back of my neck. “Maybe not, but if I can help them out—and relive a little of the good old days, which could have its moments— If it’s just a year or two—”

  “Just putting the career you’re building here on hold. Just ditching Maggie.”

  “She’s going to New York!” I explode.

  “She hadn’t decided that for sure until she found out you weren’t sticking around,” McKenna retorts. “And come on, Drew, even if she had, it’s less than two hours away, the way you drive. That’s hardly the same as jetting off to Europe and Asia and wherever else you’d end up for who knows how long.”

  I grimace. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for everyone.”

  “I get it. I just wish you’d worry more about what’s best for you.” She gets up. “I’ll stop bugging you about it. I hope you really think about the decision you’re making. Like, are you really going to feel the same choice is the ‘best’ when you’re coming off of your tenth show in a week in Japan and you’ve seen nothing but airports and hotel rooms in between? Is that really what you want your life to go back to?”

  No.

  The answer is instinctive, but it’s not as simple as that.

  I walk her to the door. “Thanks for … For giving me a piece of your mind, I guess.”

  “It’s what I do best.” She gives me a wry smile that looks a little sad. “It only counts if you actually listened.”

  I did. And I don’t know if my answer has gotten any clearer. But as I watch her head out, all I can feel is my heart slowly sinking with the suspicion that no matter what I do, I’m going to be letting down someone.

  After another twenty-four hours staring at my mixing board, I let Charlie take me out on the town. I figure drowning my sorrows is about the only thing I’ve got left to numb the hurt inside, but I’ve barely walked through the door when I see this is the last thing I need. The bar he’s dragged me out to is full of early-twenty-somethings dressed like they’re ready to go clubbing. The music thumping through the room has an aimless techno beat. Based on the stylish ultra-modern glasses and the biting taste of the alcohol in them, I’m pretty sure I’m paying more for how I look drinking than the actual drinks.

  Of course, that hasn’t stopped me from downing two Jack and Cokes in the last hour. The bartender sets my third on the counter, and I immediately take another gulp. The uneasiness McKenna’s questions brought on is just starting to fade behind my buzz.

  The vibe of the place is obviously a plus to Charlie. He’s been working the room since the second we walked in. Bouncing from woman to woman, grinning from ear to ear, gesturing with extravagant glee. He’s at least ten years older than everyone he’s chatting up, but you couldn’t tell that he knows it.

  Is this the kind of place we’d have hung out ten years ago? I don’t remember any of those nights feeling this depressing. But maybe that’s just my present mood talking. I raise my glass to my lips.

  Charlie saunters over with two of the ladies—both slim but curvy and blonde. “You’ve never seen a comeback like this one,” he’s saying. “We’re going to hit the charts so high, people will forget we ever left!”

  If he lays it on any thicker, he’s going to start smothering people with bullshit. My mouth twists. I down the rest of my drink, but it doesn’t numb the ache.

  Charlie grabs the women’s numbers and plops into the seat next to me. “Man, if I’m getting this much pull just from the announcement, imagine what it’s going to be like when we’re actually on tour!”

  I eye him. “Is that why you want to get the band back together? So you can score?”

  He chuckles. “Of course not. That’s just a very excellent side benefit. Why don’t you get out there and make the rounds? You know they’ll be even more excited to have the chance to hang on Drew Delaney’s every word?”

  “Right.” I spin my glass on the countertop, wondering whether another would do me any good. Or just tip me over the line between buzzed and falling down drunk.

  That question makes me think of Maggie—that first nig
ht in the bar, doing shots in memory of our past failures. My arm around her as I helped her to the cab. How sweet and yet sexy she looked curled up under my covers. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. Cut it out. I need her out of my mind, not even more etched in.

  “I’m not interested in hooking up tonight,” I say to Charlie.

  “No one says you’ve got to seal the deal immediately.” He leans back against the bar on his elbows. “Archive for future reference. That’s the way to go. Maybe soaking up a little of the attention will cheer you up.”

  The sharp, hot anger that sparked in me this afternoon with McKenna flares up again, but this time I know exactly who it’s meant for.

  “I’m sorry, am I bringing you down? I’m upheaving my entire life because you asked, but I’ve got to act like I’m overjoyed about it too?”

  Charlie shoots me a startled look. “Calm down, man. It was just a suggestion. If you want to stay here all gloomy, that’s up to you. But I don’t see what you’ve got to be upset about.”

  “No? No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? We’re on the verge of reclaiming our superstardom, Drew. What about that isn’t fantastic?”

  I stare at him. “I don’t know, maybe the fact that we’re trying to rewind the clock by fifteen years? Do you really think it’s going to be exactly like it was when we first started out? We’re not teenagers anymore. But we’re going to be up there going through the same old moves, singing the same old songs, like we think we are. Doesn’t that sound at all pathetic to you, Charlie? Don’t you ever want to make something new of yourself instead of chasing after glory that died more than a decade ago?”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Charlie holds up his hands. The playful light in his eyes is completely gone. “I’ve jumped on every opportunity I could get. I’ve worked for this. Some of us didn’t have a whole new career just handed to us.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I hear my voice rising and manage to bring it back down. It still comes out harsh. “I worked my ass off to get where I am. No one handed the producer gig to me. And you know what? I worked writing those old lyrics too, so don’t bring up that guilt trip about who’s getting the royalties. I should never have let you use that to talk me into this.”