by Penny Reid
MINE!
A surge of possessiveness, such that I was unable to breathe or focus for a few seconds, held me in its grip. It choked me, I was dizzy with it, and I regretted not taking that Bruce guy up on his offer of cocktails. That’ll teach me to turn down cocktails.
I was only half paying attention when, with a dreamy quality to her voice, Allyn said, “It’s so lovely. Aquamarine is a unique choice for an engagement ring, what made you pick it?”
“There’s a reason, but it’ll sound cheesy.” Kaitlyn grinned at Allyn, and then at me.
“Cheesy? What? No! Pshaw!” I forced a grin along with cheerfulness into my voice, but there must’ve been something wrong with my face because Allyn’s smile fell, her eyes widened, and she was looking at me like my head had been replaced with the genitalia of an animal.
Because, let’s face it, genitalia—all genitalia, no matter the animal—range from distressing to disturbing to horrifying. Human vaginas look like sea creatures that slurp their food—and probably regurgitate half of it—and penises are startling, no matter the situation. If someone made a horror movie entitled, Dick Pics and just showed various dick pics? It would be the scariest, most distressing movie ever made.
The only species that does reproductive systems visually right are angiosperms (flowering plants). When you’re smelling a flower, you’re basically smelling a dick. Let that sink in.
“Uh . . .” Kaitlyn blinked at me, her smile wavering, her expression also wavering between perplexed and terrified at my expression.
What could I do? Usually, concealing my thoughts was my superpower, but Abram was my kryptonite. I couldn’t hide my emotions on the subject of his engagement. Randomly, selfishly, I didn’t want to. And besides, hadn’t that been Abram’s parting shot/advice?
Try being honest for once.
Honestly, I was (honestly) insanely jealous. Honestly.
I was just about to break things down for her—something like, Look, Kaitlyn. I’m INTENSELY in love-lust-infatuation with your fiancé. I know it would never work out between us, but I’d like to lock him away from the world in my basement, lick him nightly like an ice cream, and make him the second member of my two-person book club. I think maybe we can’t be friends—when Kaitlyn turned to Allyn.
She said, “The stone is the same color as my fiancé’s eyes. See? Cheesy.”
And I said, “Look, Kaitlyn—uh, what?” Now I blinked at her, sitting up straight. “What—what—what was that?”
Allyn shook her head at me. “Are you feeling okay?”
I ignored her, patting the table with my hand to get Kaitlyn’s attention. “Focus. The eyes? The eyes. What did you say about your fiancé’s eyes?”
“That they’re—uh—aquamarine?” Her gaze grew shifty, and she looked to Allyn as though seeking help with the cumbersome task of dealing with the crazy person sitting across from her.
Which, since we’re all being honest with ourselves, was a fair assessment.
I breathed out. So much air left my body. All the air left my body with that exhale. And I smiled, this time true and genuine. And I laughed.
“Well. That’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, I think I’ve never heard anything better than that. Ever. In my whole life.”
Kaitlyn nodded, continuing to regard me with cautious bewilderment. “Thank you.”
“Kaitlyn’s mom is Senator Parker,” Allyn said, giving me a searching look. “And Kaitlyn is a composer. She wrote the musical accompaniment for Redburn’s ‘Hold A Grudge’ as well as a few of their other big singles.”
Oh!
Ah. I see!
Abram’s huge hit, number one single. When Connie Will had said Kaitlyn and Abram made music together, she must’ve been referring to the literal meaning of “making music.”
Kaitlyn and Allyn looked at me expectantly, like they were waiting for me to say or do something else ludicrous. But I wouldn’t. Jealousy had dissolved into self-recrimination with a hefty side-dose of confusion. My reaction to Kaitlyn’s hypothetical relationship had been strong—stronger than a gamma-ray burst, stronger than my sense of and commitment to rationality—and that was concerning.
Understatement!
Even so, I did my best to locate my composure before responding genuinely, “Congratulations, that’s so, so exciting. So happy for you. And Abram. For the song.”
“Mona hasn’t heard ‘Hold A Grudge’ yet.” Allyn turned to Kaitlyn, confiding in her like they were old friends. “But it’s been my favorite since I heard it the first time. You are so talented.”
“Thank you, you’re very kind,” Kaitlyn said to Allyn, sounding sincerely flattered, but then she shifted a penetrating gaze to me. “You haven’t heard ‘Hold A Grudge’?”
“Who hasn’t?” This question came from Jenny Vee, one of the ladies we’d gone sledding with earlier in the day. She was about halfway down the table and her voice carried, probably because she was the lead singer in her band, Fin. “Who hasn’t heard ‘Hold A Grudge’?”
Yikes!
I shook my head, sitting straighter, patting the table again, this time to get Jenny Vee’s attention. “Wait. Wait. No—”
But before I could say anything substantive, Kaitlyn talked over me, “Mona hasn’t heard ‘Hold A Grudge’ yet. She hasn’t heard Abram’s song.”
My now frantic gaze cut back to Kaitlyn. I found her head turned slightly, her stare scrutinizing as it moved over me. Clearly, she was having many thoughts.
Oh no.
“Abram!” This came from Nicole, the third member of Fin. “Where’s Ruthie? Since Mona is the last person in the world who hasn’t heard the song, you should play it for all of us, before you get tired of singing it on tour.”
OH MY GOD!
The fingers holding the fork under the table began to shake, so I covered it with my other hand. A cold sheen of sweat broke out all over my skin. My heart heaved itself into my mouth.
Meanwhile, everyone present erupted in support of this idea, but their encouragement was drowned out by the sound of blood rushing between my ears. Meanwhile, Kaitlyn and I continued our staring contest, her eyes now slightly narrowed, that rascally spark still present, but so was something else. . . suspicion.
But then I flinched, closing my eyes, because I heard Abram’s deep voice say, “If she wants to hear it, all she has to do is ask.”
I swallowed a knot, or many knots, or perhaps all the knots as cheers followed this news. I felt everyone’s eyes turn to me even though mine were closed. Beneath the table, I felt a hand close over mine and I didn’t flinch this time. It gave me the wherewithal to open my eyes.
Allyn was looking at me, sympathy and worry in her gaze, and she gave me an encouraging smile, seeming to communicate, You are a badass. I believe in you. You can get through this without making a spectacle of yourself. And then we will cuddle together while you cry.
Perhaps that wasn’t exactly what she sought to communicate, but I felt confident it was close enough.
The room was still a ruckus of excitement and armchair conversation about the likelihood of my never hearing the song.
“How is it possible someone hasn’t heard ‘Hold A Grudge’?”
“She must be the last person on earth to hear it.”
“I hear it ten times a day, no lie.”
“They have their instruments, right?”
“I don’t think Charlie brought his drums.”
“I hope he plays it. It would be cool to hear an acoustic version.”
But one comment in particular carried above the others, reaching me from Abram’s side of the table. “I guess rocket scientists don’t get out much.”
For some reason, the statement gave me the bravery I needed to lean forward and lock eyes with Abram, probably because the statement was true.
Try being honest for once.
I didn’t get out much, I got out never. And when I got out, I came to Aspen where I could be snowed in and not go out. I�
��d been living in limbo, in line, waiting in the silence.
Abram, relaxing in his chair, glared at me. His elbows on the armrests, his fingers steepled in front of him. He looked at ease, like a king holding court, and completely indifferent to whatever I might say.
If he doesn’t care, then it doesn’t matter.
Clearing my throat, and squeezing Allyn’s fingers, I lifted my voice above the hubbub and said calmly, “I’d like to hear your song, if you don’t mind playing it for me.”
I sat on the periphery of the main floor living room with Lila, slightly separating myself from the larger group on the other side so that, once the song was over, I could make a hasty getaway. Tomorrow, it would begin again, the turbulent rocket ride orbiting Abram. But as of right now, I’d had enough of turbulence, anguish, and making memories.
After Abram had agreed to my request with a nonchalant shrug and a neutral sounding, sure, the entire room fell into rapturous excitement, forgetting about me (to my relief). Well, everyone but Kaitlyn forgot about me. While the rest of her companions celebrated, she continued to examine me as though forming various and sundry theories behind her intelligent gray eyes.
Under the guise of helping Lila with the dishes, I quickly excused myself. Allyn followed and wrapped me in a hug once we reached the hallway, which I accepted, telling myself to enjoy the contact. It wasn’t uncomfortable, I didn’t hate it, and that felt like a win.
Once the hug was over, we helped Lila and Melvin with the dishes, and then Allyn sent me and Lila into the living room to scope out a seat. “I’ll be right there, I just want to make the winter tea first. I feel like you’re going to need it.”
By the time Lila and I arrived, everything had been settled but Abram was nowhere in sight. Jenny Vee informed us that the members of Redburn would be playing “Hold A Grudge” for everyone. But first, Melvin was helping them bring up the drum set from the basement studio, which they were almost finished assembling.
It would be an unplugged, acoustic performance. Nicole Mac from Fin would play Abram’s acoustic bass guitar so he could just sing, and everyone present had to agree not to film it or talk about it on social media. In fact, Ruthie went around and confiscated everyone’s phones, including mine.
Not that it mattered. Reception up here was always spotty at best, which was why I hadn’t called Lisa back to whisper-yell at her yet. Abram had told my sister that he loved me, and she never communicated that fact? UNACCEPTABLE!!
Never mind that you never gave her a chance, did you?
Go away, reason. You can’t sit here.
“How are you doing?” Allyn handed me a mug from a tray of three, her eyes full of sympathy. I gave my friend a grateful smile, though it was of a small diameter.
“No, thank you.” Lila shook her head when Allyn tried to hand her one of the mugs. “I’m not much of a tea person. But thank you, honey! Here, just leave the extra one right there on the coffee table, in case one of you wants another cup.”
“Are you sure?” Allyn sat on my other side, warming her hands on her mug.
Lila stood to take the now empty tray. “I’m not much of a tea person, but I think I will have a glass of wine. Can I get either of you anything while I’m up?”
We both shook our heads, saying, “No, thank you,” in unison.
Lila turned to leave, and I brought the tea to my nose, sniffing.
“Thank you for the tea.” It smelled like peppermint and . . . I lifted an eyebrow at my friend. “Is that whiskey?”
“Yes. It’s whiskey.” She gave me a pointed look and leaned forward to whisper, “How are you? Are you okay? You were weird around Kaitlyn, and you’ve been really quiet since everyone pressured you into asking the Captain to play his song.”
I shrugged, wanting to be honest, but honestly not knowing how I was feeling. Terrified? Anxious? Cold? Hot? Confused? All of the above.
The song title, “Hold A Grudge” had struck me as strangely familiar when Allyn told me about it a few days ago. If memory served, I’d said those exact words to Abram while we were in Chicago. But I’d quickly dismissed the notion that the song might’ve been about me. I couldn’t contemplate it. How conceited would that make me? Thinking Abram had written a song about me, and that song was now number one on billboard charts everywhere.
So I’d said, Get over yourself, Mona, and then I had (gotten over myself) and ignored the lingering, nagging suspicion.
However, after Abram’s harsh words in the study, I was now terrified to hear the song. Given everything he’d said, the chances of the song being about me—about us—felt more like fifty percent than zero percent. Did that make me conceited?
I had no idea.
These days, I felt like I didn’t know much about anything.
Sniffing the tea again, I endeavored to clear my mind of these chaotic thoughts and just enjoy the marriage-aroma of whiskey and peppermint. I decided it was a superior combination of smells. Then I took a sip and tried not to cough.
Allyn’s eyes widened, her sympathy for my emotional well-being replaced with concern for my physical. “Are you okay? Did I add too much whiskey?”
Swallowing tea and air and half of my tongue, I shook my head. “No. No, it’s perfect.” My voice was raspy. She looked unconvinced, so I took another sip—more of a gulp—and smiled. It still burned, but the second swallow had been considerably easier.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I feel . . . steadier already.”
Her worried eyes conducted another pass of my face. “Let’s talk about something else. I asked you earlier, about Charlie. He hasn’t come up to you tonight. He backed off, huh?”
My gaze shifted to Charlie just as he lifted his blue eyes from where he was setting up the drum set. He sent me a small smile full of compassion and I lifted my chin, hoping to communicate a silent thanks. “Yes. He did. He’s a nice guy, that Charlie.”
“I saw you talking to him at the top of the hill while we were sledding, when it was just the two of you. The conversation seemed intense. What did you say?” she asked quietly.
I sighed, meeting her gaze. “He asked what I was doing later, so I told him what I thought—at the time—would probably be the truth.”
“Which was what?”
“That I’d be in my room crying.”
“What?” Allyn stopped herself just before taking a sip of her tea, which was good. From the way she’d said what, I suspected she would’ve spat tea all over me had she taken the drink.
“I told him I was hung up on someone who hated my guts, and rightfully so, because I’d lied and treated him horribly.”
“Oh my.” Allyn stared at me, a hand coming to her cheek. “What did he say?”
“He told me it couldn’t be that bad, that he didn’t think anyone could ever hate me. And thus, I told him more truth.”
“Oh no.” She shook her head, looking distressed.
“Oh yes. I told him I’d pretended to be my sister to keep her out of trouble—I didn’t go into too many specifics there, since it’s not really my story to tell—and the guy I fell for thought I was Lisa. By the way, this is really good. Is that just whiskey and peppermint tea? Or do I detect honey?” I took another gulp and licked my lips. “Maybe lemon?”
“Mona, you told Charlie all of that?” She sounded dismayed.
“Yes.”
“Jeez.” Her forehead fell to her fingers and she peered at me with obvious worry. “You didn’t tell me about any of this until three days ago, and I’m your best friend. Why did you tell Charlie?”
Movement by the room’s entrance drew my attention and I turned my head just in time to see Abram walk in. Almost immediately, his eyes came to my eyes, held for a protracted millisecond, and then he glanced away. Metaphorical swords of self-recrimination and want—so much want—speared me, sliced me from sternum to stomach, and I had to hold my breath for several full seconds, wait for the room to right itself, and the world beneath to res
ume spinning.
Please, please, please, don’t let this song be about me.
“Mona, are you sure it was a good idea to tell Charlie?”
“No,” I answered, more breath than words. “But I wanted to try being honest. . . for once.”
“Okay.” Abram called everyone’s attention to him, which was unnecessary. As soon as he’d entered the room the energy shifted, changed, seemed to flow from him as a single source. He was the gamma-ray burst and we basked in his overwhelming magnificence.
Or maybe it was just me that felt that way.
Regardless, all eyes were already on Abram before he spoke. “Special thanks to Nicole for playing bass.”
He gestured to her and she smiled widely, curtseying to the room as they clapped devotedly. Abram took his place in front of the other three musicians. He sat on a stool set a little apart from everyone else, and then—as though taking their cue from him—the other three sat on their stools.
“We’re going to switch it up a little, try something we want to do on the tour.” He seemed to be speaking to the other group, the larger assembly comprised mostly of musicians who sat closer to the makeshift stage. “It’ll be slower, quieter. You can think of yourselves as our guinea pigs.”
“Will we get carrots?” Bruce—the cocktail guy—asked, making a few people laugh.
“I’m not throwing you a carrot or a bone, if that’s what you’re asking.” Abram’s response made more people laugh, and harder.
I didn’t laugh. My stomach hurt, so I went to drink more tea. Sadly, I found it was empty. Licking my lips, I set the empty cup down and picked up the new one on the table, the one Lila hadn’t wanted, and took a gulp of the lukewarm mixture. It was still good, heartening, and I felt myself settle a little. But then, Charlie banged his drumsticks together to mark the beat. Suddenly, they were playing.
The intro.
Every muscle in my body tensed and Abram lifted his eyes to mine. Immediately, completely, utterly I was ensnared, caught. Him, the infinite dimensions of Abram, and all else seemed to fade into a void, even the music. I couldn’t look away. I was trapped, so trapped.
