by Holly Rayner
“Don’t pretend you didn’t see this coming,” I said dourly. “You’ve been warning me this was going to happen since day one.”
“Well, I won’t pretend I’m surprised, but I was hoping you’d find a way to work it out. I didn’t want to see the relationship broken over it.”
“Well, it’s broken. And I really wish I could pin the whole blame on Katie and her little reporter friend, but this was entirely my own doing.”
“What happened, exactly?”
Realizing I couldn’t keep putting off talking about it, I told her the whole mortifying story: how we had given into our longings and slept together the night before; how I’d briefly forgotten that I was supposed to be writing a song for a major Hollywood film; and how I had come downstairs the following morning to find him furiously pacing the sitting room.
“I think the worst part was having to sit there listening to his accusations and knowing that almost every word was true. I felt this burning shame deep in the pit of my stomach when he held up the phone—and I knew, I knew what he had seen without him even having to tell me.”
“You could just explain to him that Katie is a liar,” said Ginger, “and that she’s been trying to sabotage and murder your reputation with Count-of-Monte-Cristo-like fury.”
“I tried to tell him that,” I said, feeling a little annoyed. “I told him that over and over. But the thing is, nothing Katie said in that article is a lie. She might have had horrible motives for printing it, I know she did, but she got all her facts straight.”
“It’s my fault,” muttered Ginger. “If she hadn’t overheard us talking about it—if I had been paying more attention to who was sitting next to us—”
“Hey, don’t blame yourself for this.” I placed a firm hand on her wrist. “You tried to warn me. I just wish I’d listened.”
Ginger nodded as if to concede the point. I could sense that she was trying to think of something to say that would comfort me, but what could she possibly say? It was my mistake and I had to own that. I had ignored my dad’s advice, I had ignored hers, and I had persisted even when it was obvious that this wasn’t going to end well. How could it? As soon as Umar and I had agreed to be together, we were doomed, because the truth was bound to come out. Looking back, I could see I had always known that, but I had brushed it away, telling myself I could worry about it tomorrow or the next day. So, I kept postponing the day of reckoning until it couldn’t be postponed anymore.
“Are you getting hungry?” she asked. “Do you want me to bring you your food now?”
“Yes? I think?” It was impossible to tell. My body felt ravenously hungry and yet somehow I had no appetite.
“When is the last time you ate?” Ginger moved my legs and rose from the couch. “I thought I heard your stomach rumbling, or was that Eva?”
“That was me. I have a stomachache, but I don’t mind, it’s a nice distraction.”
“Shanny…” Ginger clucked her tongue disapprovingly. She went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a plate of nachos and tacos.
I grabbed a handful, taking care not to drop sour cream on the carpet. Smelling the food, Eva came up and rubbed her nose against the back of my hand. “How long has it been since she was fed?” I asked.
“I actually fed her just before we left the house. I ran straight home from the diner, picked her up and brought her here.”
“She’ll survive, then.” Eva scowled at me as if sensing that she was being refused food. “Don’t you get mad at me, too! Honestly she’s like a dog, the way she begs sometimes.”
“I admit I did a lot of feeding her under the table while she was staying with me,” said Ginger, motioning her over. “I’m an absolute pushover when it comes to cats.”
“I was walking into the apartment,” I said, “and the neighbors were all glaring at me, as if Umar had told them what I had done. Maybe they read the Beacon.”
“Oh, honey,” said Ginger, “I think you’re just feeling really sensitive. It must feel like hatred is pouring down from all over.”
“It does.” Embarrassingly, a tear welled up at the corner of one eye. “And I tried texting Brian to see if he could come over, but he was busy with his girlfriend. They’re working on some new business venture, trying to monetize his social media account. I just wish he was here. I feel like he and Dad are probably off somewhere gloating because they tried to warn me and I wouldn’t listen.”
“Shh.” Ginger reached over and began stroking my back. “I know you’re not feeling great right now, but not everyone hates you.”
“That’s because hardly anyone knows me,” I said miserably. “I think the thing that horrified Umar the most was when he found out I busk sometimes outside the diner.”
“Well, he can get over it,” Ginger said matter-of-factly.
“I kind of want to go home and sit in my room and play piano until midnight. But I don’t know if I want to see my parents looking like this.”
“You look fine.”
“You know what I mean.”
By now, it was late afternoon and a dusky rose sunset gilded the window ledges. Downstairs, I could hear some of the neighbor boys playing basketball and trash-talking each other.
It was hard to believe that at around this time yesterday, Umar and I had been settling down for dinner at a local Italian restaurant—one I had never been to and didn’t even especially like. We had planning on going out again tonight with Ginger and the rest of the family. I had already texted Dad to tell him that plans were cancelled, but still hadn’t explained why.
“So, here’s what I think you should do,” said Ginger. Outside, a trashcan rattled with a hollow metallic sound. “I think you ought to try emailing Umar again. You should apologize again and ask if you could make it up to him.”
“Make it up to him how?” I asked. “I already offered to pay him back the money—I’ve spent hardly any of it—but he wouldn’t let me. He said a deal was a deal and I think he took a certain pride in keeping his word even when I hadn’t kept mine.”
“It would have to be something big, I think, to get his attention. Don’t just send him a CD—”
“It’s nice that you think we’re living in 2002.”
“No, it has to be bigger than that,” said Ginger, ignoring me. “I’m not talking some big romantic gesture, but something that at least lets him know you’re serious about making it up to him.”
“I could send him the rest of the pies.” We still had about fifty pies in the deep freezer. “Kalilah loves pies.”
“It’s not Kalilah whose approval you’re trying to win here.”
No, and winning back Umar’s approval seemed about as likely as singing at the Super Bowl half-time show. But I appreciated Ginger’s commitment to the idea: it was invigorating, somehow, to think that we had the power to change our fortunes.
“Why don’t you offer to throw a live concert?” she asked.
I gave her a hard stare. “You mean at his house? I’ve already done that once, and I’d be amazed if I’m even still allowed in that country. He probably has me on some no-fly list.”
“No, not at his house. Here, at the Slater-McCall Pavilion. It would be perfect.” Ginger’s eyes glowed with an irrepressible enthusiasm. “Announce that you’re hosting a free concert in the park and that anyone who wants to come is invited. That would go a long way toward restoring your reputation among anyone who’s been reading Adele’s poison-pen columns. No one can argue that you think you’re too good for this town if you’re out there performing for us.”
“But what does that have to do with Umar?” I asked. “Why would he fly all the way back out here just to see a two-hour performance by someone he probably hates now?”
Ginger didn’t seem to have thought this far yet. She sat on the edge of the couch looking deep in thought.
“Because,” she said finally, “he’ll remember what a fantastic musician you are and how much he loved you. And that even if you aren’t as
famous as you claimed to be, you should be. And that it’s only a matter of time until you are.”
“I’m glad you have such faith in me, Ginger.” I wished I had that much faith in myself.
“This might be your best shot, honestly.” Ginger’s voice vibrated with the fervor of a fanatic. “If you can get him back here, then things will sort themselves out. I’m sure of it.”
“This isn’t some rom-com, Ginger,” I was quick to remind her. “Things don’t work themselves out just because the estranged couple is back in the same room together. People don’t forgive that easily.”
“No, but it’s better than sitting around your apartment moping and doing nothing.”
“Oh, excuse me.” I loved Ginger but her lack of sensitivity was infuriating sometimes. “Forgive me for just having gone through a horrible breakup. Let me jump right up and try to fix it.”
“Shannon.” She rested a soft hand on my arm, but I jerked it away sullenly. “You know that wasn’t what I meant.”
“I’m not sure what you did mean.”
“I just think action is better than inaction. If Umar is important to you, and I know for a fact that he is, you ought to try to win him back before he moves on and finds someone else. No pretenses this time.”
I thought about that for a long moment.
“Sorry for snapping at you, Ginny,” I said gently. “I’d like to throw a concert or something, but first I would need to gauge whether he’s even interested. I’ll email him again tomorrow and ask him.”
“Why not tonight?” Ginger asked eagerly.
“Because he’s flying home tonight.” And because the pain was still too fresh.
Chapter 19
Shannon
Deciding to take Ginger’s advice, the next morning I booted up my old laptop and began drafting an email to Umar. It didn’t take me long to realize that something was wrong: about midway through the email, it stopped auto-saving and when I opened a new tab to check the day’s news, I realized that the internet wasn’t working.
This happened sometimes, but I could usually fix it by resetting the router. Not so today. Finally, in frustration, I called the internet service people, cursing the bad luck that had sent the Wi-Fi crashing at the worst possible time.
“That sounds fixable…” said the young man on the other end of the line, not very reassuringly. “But it’s probably going to take us an hour or two to get out there. We’re backed up today because we’re fielding calls from so many customers. You’re lucky you even managed to get hold of us.”
I didn’t feel particularly lucky, but I thanked him for his troubles and told him I would leave the door unlocked for the technicians when they arrived. (After all, what did I possibly own that the neighbors could steal?). I knew I could have used my phone to finish the email, but I didn’t want to spend the whole day sitting and waiting in my dirty apartment—which I intended to clean someday, just as soon as I emerged from the funk I was in. I’d slept over at Ginger’s the night before, not wanting to be alone where my thoughts would undoubtedly drift towards Umar and the fact that we could have been making love at that exact moment.
Taking my laptop with me, I thought I might go sit in the library while I finished drafting the email. But I arrived to find the doors closed and the lights out—it was Memorial Day weekend and most places in Woodfell were closed for the day. In a last-ditch attempt at finding some Wi-Fi that day, I drove over to the elementary school.
The playground was largely empty except for a young mother and her daughter, who was wearing a pale pink windbreaker—even though it was late spring, it was unseasonably cold here in northern Ohio. Somehow, even the weather reminded me of Umar, who had mentioned in passing that he wouldn’t mind moving here where it was cool in the summers. I wondered if that was just talk, or if he would have really done it. I would never have the chance to find out, now.
Reading back over what I had written so far and realizing I didn’t like it, I decided to start over. “Dear Umar,” I began, but that didn’t strike the right tone, so I deleted it and wrote, “Umar.”
So, I’ve been thinking about us ever since you walked out and I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For the lies, the manipulation, everything. You spoke words to me yesterday that I’ll never be able to get out of my head…
Reading back over this, I decided it was a tad melodramatic, so I deleted it and wrote:
Umar,
I understand if you’re not interested in attending, but I’m giving a free live concert in two weeks at Slater-McCall Pavilion here in Woodfell. I’d love it if you and Kalilah could attend. I want so much to make it up to you, and I will be rehearsing my fingers to the bone to make this the best performance you’ve ever seen.
Hope to see you soon,
Shannon
I read the message over several times, decided I didn’t hate it, and clicked “send.” I wondered how he would take it, if he would think it was too soon to see me again or if he would even read it. Kalilah, I knew, would be my secret ally in this; if she found out that I had invited them to a free live concert, he would be hard-pressed to resist her entreaties.
But my hopes were extinguished three minutes later when Umar’s reply showed up in my inbox. I sat there motionless for a full minute before opening it, wanting to remain living for a short while longer in a world where he hadn’t refused my invitation.
Shannon,
I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be attending the concert in Woodfell. Thanks for the invite.
Best wishes,
Umar
I shut the laptop quickly, not wanting to even glimpse the email again. Umar didn’t want to see me; he didn’t want to hear me.
I couldn’t blame him, really.
To make matters worse, Umar’s rejection pretty much meant shelving my plans for the concert. I had stayed up half the night eating blueberry pie and planning with Ginger, but what was the point of even holding it if he wasn’t going to come? Even if I had a capacity crowd, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the one person I wanted to be there more than anyone.
“Excuse me.”
I glanced down to find the little girl in the pink windbreaker standing shyly in front of me, her hands balled into her coat pocket.
“Hi there!” I said, in as friendly a tone as I could manage just then.
“Can I have your autograph?” she said timidly. Reaching into her coat, she produced a pink and purple diary with a glittering dolphin on the front cover. “I know you’re really famous. You brought pies to our family last weekend.”
Affecting a smile, I reached for the pen I kept in my pants pocket. “You don’t have to keep pretending,” I told her. “I know I asked you to say so, but I’m not so famous.”
“You are, though,” she piped up. “You’re one of the only singers Mom lets us to listen to because your songs don’t have any bad words in them. We’ve got all your CDs in the car.”
My grimace began to soften, and I took the diary from her. “Tell me your name.”
“Kaylee,” she said, then spelled it for me.
“And what do you want to do when you grow up, Kaylee?”
“I want to be a musician like you,” she said immediately, “and bake hundreds of pies and hand them out to people.”
It occurred to me that Kaylee must think this was something musicians did as part of their job. Smiling for real for this time, I handed the book back to her.
“Then if that’s your dream, Kaylee, you go after it. Don’t let anyone tell you you shouldn’t.”
Chapter 20
Shannon
Almost a week later, long after I had given up hope, I received another email from Umar:
Shannon,
So, I’ve been thinking it over and I believe I may have done you wrong before. That’s not to say that what you did was right. There was really no excuse for you to lie to me, and to my daughter, like that. But I do think I may have overreacted in the initial flush
of discovery. I wasn’t willing to listen and I never really gave you a chance to explain yourself. And for that, I am sorry.
I don’t know what it is that keeps us coming back to those who have hurt us, but I know that I haven’t been able to sleep these past few nights. I miss you, Shannon. And I talked to Kalilah and she told me that she misses you, too. Whatever you might have pretended to be, you were a real friend to us, and I want to believe that you only lied to us because you wanted to preserve that connection at all costs.
I mentioned your next gig to Kalilah and she told me she wanted to see you again. So for her sake, if for nothing else, I would like to come to your show next week. I don’t know where the two of us stand now, but at the very least, it will give us a chance to reconcile, so that our fight in the mansion’s dining room won’t be the last thing you remember about us.
If you’re still willing to host us, we’ll be flying in on Friday afternoon. Get in touch if you’d like to meet up beforehand. If not, look for us at the concert. I’m looking forward to it.
Umar
I had to read it over again a few times before I could be sure I hadn’t dreamed it. It was the kind of message I had hoped for, but never expected. Umar hadn’t left his feelings a mystery: he was reluctant to visit, but he wanted to see me again. He was willing to make a return visit, if I’d let him.
I just had to decide if I wanted him to.
“Well, you have to figure out what you want,” Brian said when he came over with sandwiches from the deli that afternoon. “I thought you’d closed this chapter in your life.”
I shook my head tearfully. When Brian had announced he was coming over, I’d figured he wanted to criticize me like everyone else had done, so it was a relief to see him being supportive instead of angry.
“I mean, I’d love to be over him,” I said. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since he walked out. It’s probably my biggest regret.”
Brian could tell from the shabby state of my apartment that I hadn’t been taking very good care of myself. An empty tissue box lay next to the trashcan where I had thrown it from the couch. Plastic cookie containers and orange burger wrappers littered the coffee table. My potted cactus had taken on a sickly appearance, and the entire living room was permeated with that wet-cat smell.
