Once and for All

by Sarah Dessen

  “I’m sorry, too,” I said, stepping back farther. “And I should go, actually. I told Ben I’d meet him.”

  He blinked at me. “You did?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t know I’d won the bet, yet. And I kind of like this dating thing. I can see why you’re so into it.”

  “I don’t want to do it anymore, though,” he said immediately. “And I don’t care about the bet. You’re more than that. You always have been. That was just a way to win you.”

  I wished the music would stop. I wished everything would stop. But wishes don’t mean anything. I’d been right about that all along.

  “You don’t want me,” I told him. “Nothing will ever be as good as what I had. I’ll never be what I was.”

  “Louna.” He tried to reach for my hand; again, I pulled away. “Don’t say that.”

  “I have to go,” I said, my voice breaking. “I have somewhere to be.”

  He looked at me for a second, and I wondered about all the other ways this might have gone, possibilities spinning out into the future. Not that it mattered.

  “Fine. Go,” he said. “But know this. I meant what I said to Jilly. How I feel about you. Nothing’s changed for me.”

  That must be nice, I thought. Me, I could never count on anything without it shifting shape right before my eyes.

  Somehow, I was moving off the edge of the dance floor, across that line. Then I went farther, over the grass, through the gate, and out to my car. I’d always wondered about the people who leave weddings early, the impetus for not seeing the whole thing through to the end. Everyone has their reasons, as unique and varied as faces and thumbprints. You could speculate all you want and still never get close. But I felt sure that as I departed, alone, no one was watching me.

  CHAPTER

  24

  THIS WAS better. Of course it was.

  “Are you going to finish that?” Ben asked, nodding at the last of the doughnut on my plate. This was a running joke, testament both to his bottomless appetite and the fact we always ended up eating together. Almost three weeks of dating, and these things happen. It was all normal, exactly how it was supposed to go.

  “Go ahead,” I said, pushing it over to him.

  He grinned, then picked it up, taking a bite. “The day you deny me your leftovers, I’ll know we’re finished.”

  “That’s how you’ll know?” I asked. “You’ll miss every other sign?”

  “Food is my language,” he explained, sipping his iced coffee. “That’s the way it works with us stubborn types. We miss other, normal cues.”

  Another inside thing between us: how we referred to his tenaciousness in asking me, and actually getting me, to go out with him. Already, we had A Story, our own folklore: that semester of Western Civ, just friends, followed by the Lin wedding and then multiple attempts to get together, all thwarted by his schedule or mine. Finally, he saw me driving home one night, pulled a U-turn, and followed me to the next intersection, where he texted me an invite for a slice of pizza. I went, we ate, then kissed, and the rest was . . . well, this.

  It was nice, the kind of story you wanted to tell, but I couldn’t help but recognize the tiny cracks in our origin tale’s foundation that only I could see. Like how on That Night I’d been coming from Maya and Roger’s wedding, still reeling from everything Ambrose had said to me. The fact that when I got Ben’s text at that light, I was typing back no before I realized he was right behind me. Small details, I knew, not really part of the outcome. And that was what mattered, anyway, the fact that we’d ended up together, over two slices, everything unfolding in a normal way. No instant dislike, dragging across parking lots, stealing of dogs and other annoying behavior, not a single weird bet or secret left unrevealed too long. If our relationship was a wedding, it would have been proceeding Just Fine, with no surprises or real problems. Unlike me and Ambrose and whatever we might have been, most assuredly a Disaster.

  So, yes. This was good. And I didn’t have to worry about dating other people, because I’d won the bet. Though it didn’t feel like much of a victory. It didn’t feel like anything.

  “You have foam on your nose,” Ben said now, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “It’s super cute. Let’s snap a pic.”

  I made myself smile as I settled in against him, focusing my gaze on the tiny circle on his phone that was the camera. Ben was big into documentation of us on his Ume.com page and other social media sites. The first few times I’d scrolled through his feed and seen so much of my own face it had been alarming, although now I thought it was cute. Most of the time, anyway.

  “Man,” he said, sliding his phone back in his pocket as I checked my watch out of habit, even though I wasn’t expected at work. “That woman sure can talk. Does she really think we need to hear about her lab results?”

  I followed his gaze over my shoulder, where Phone Lady, at the next table, was indeed deep in conversation with someone about a recent “scan and blood draw, ordered by the doctor, and you know that’s never good.” I hadn’t even heard her until now, which said something about my level of attention. “She’s always does that,” I told him. “I think it’s like therapy for her, or something.”

  “Sharing her most personal details with the coffee-buying public?”

  “I didn’t say I understood it,” I said. “I’m just reporting the facts.”

  He smiled at me: three for three inside jokes in one meal. This one he’d first said to me that night at the pizza place. That he knew we were both going off to school soon, and it was probably not a good time to get involved, but that he’d been thinking about me nonstop and had to take a shot anyway. “I’m not pressuring you,” was his exact phrasing, “but these are the facts.” Another tiny imperfection, how I had rephrased his words, but close enough.

  Which, really, would be the name I’d give our relationship, not that I could ever say it aloud. We weren’t madly in love yet, but I liked him a lot. It wasn’t exactly epic, but we had a story. Not totally perfect, but, well, close enough. And I hadn’t expected that anyway, from him or any other guy, really. You only get so many sunset walks.

  As I thought this, Ben leaned forward, surprising me with a quick kiss. I jumped, startled: I was still adjusting to this aspect of him, a kind of dive-bomb affection that was cute, really. At the moment, I was quite aware of Leo, behind the nearby counter, who’d been shooting me looks ever since we’d arrived for breakfast a half hour earlier. Ben had ordered for us, sparing me direct contact, for which I had been grateful. As he headed for the bathroom, though, Leo made a beeline right for me.

  “I have to admit,” he said, in a dramatic way that made me suspect he’d planned what he was going to say ahead of time, “I’m surprised.”

  I looked around the busy shop: other customers, pastry display, Phone Lady now talking about her difficulties with her mother. “About what?”

  He nodded toward the men’s room. “You’re here with someone who isn’t Ambrose. Kind of weird, considering he dumped my best friend for you.”

  “What?” I said. “No, he didn’t.”

  “‘No, he didn’t,’” he repeated in a high voice, mocking me. What a jerk, I thought. “Funny, because that’s exactly what he told Lauren. Here she was, busy planning a wedding for her cousin and best friend, and you guys run off and hook up at the dollar store behind her back. Nice.”

  “I didn’t hook up with anyone at the dollar store,” I said, as a man at the next table glanced over at me. When I glared at him, he quickly turned back around. “And if Ambrose brought me into their breakup, that’s all him. I had nothing to do with it.”

  This was true. Sure, I’d thought for a second I had some feelings for Ambrose, but I’d been caught up in the moment, the wedding, not to mention spending basically all my time with him for the entire summer. Just as quickly, though, on the dance floor, I’d reali
zed my mistake, come to my senses, and gotten out of there. If Ben and I had our origin story, this was the opposite, but it served the same purpose. The more I told it, the more I believed it. No cracks.

  “Everything okay?” Ben asked, returning to the table and putting his hands on the back of my chair.

  “Yeah,” I said, glancing at Leo. “We were just catching up.”

  “I gotta get back to work,” he announced, as if I’d been the one tearing him away from his job. “See you around, Louna.”

  I nodded, and then, thankfully, he was leaving, going back behind the counter. “Nice guy,” Ben observed. “I like the beard.”

  I smiled, turning around to look up at him. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  In response, he leaned down, kissing the top of my head. Another sneak attack, but this time I didn’t react. Progress, I thought, and had a flash of how we must look from the outside, a happy couple having breakfast and some mild PDA at the beginning of a late summer day. I wasn’t sure what it meant that I did this often when it came to Ben and me, stepping outside of myself to consider us from a distance, like an observer rather than participant in the relationship. Because you know you’re going through the motions, a dark, quiet voice replied, the one I heard sometimes late at night when I couldn’t sleep. To be honest, this was the same time I found myself missing Ambrose—his breaking of office supplies, melty croissants, and, maybe, kindness—in a way I couldn’t explain. In broad daylight, though, it was easy to silence: I pushed out my chair, getting to my feet, and it was gone.

  “So you’re off at six?” I asked Ben as we headed for the door, passing Phone Lady, who was still talking loudly, a bite of scone now in her mouth.

  He pushed the door open, holding it for me. “Yeah. Then I’ve got some top-secret birthday stuff to do. But I’ll see you around eight.”

  “Ben,” I said, as he joined me outside, then took my hand. “You don’t have to do anything for my birthday.”

  “Oh, right,” he replied. “Because that’s exactly how you hold on to a wonderful girlfriend, ignoring her big day. I’m not that thick-headed, Barrett.”

  “You’re coming to the dinner,” I told him. “Seriously. That’s all I want.”

  “Too bad. You’re getting more,” he replied. I sighed. “Don’t get mad. Just reporting the facts.”

  Ha-ha. The truth was, with everything that had been going on lately—this new relationship, plus getting ready to leave for school in a matter of weeks—my birthday, a little over a week away on July 22, kept slipping my mind. Normally I could have also blamed event fatigue, as this was thick in the marriage season. But after Maya and Roger’s event, not to mention the ones every summer of my life so far, I’d decided to take a break from work to try to enjoy the time I had left at home wedding-free.

  “Well, I think it’s a wonderful idea,” my mother had said when I proposed this a couple of hours after her return from St. Samara, as we sat drinking iced tea on the back porch. “God knows you’ve earned some time off. After this vacation, I’m even more aware of how important things other than work are to your quality of life.”

  “She’s basically memorized John’s book,” William told me. “It’s like she’s in a cult now.”

  “Oh, stop it,” my mom said. Then she blushed, slightly, the same way I’d noticed she did every time John was mentioned in conversation, which was, well, constantly, usually by her. “Enjoy your summer, Louna. We’ll be fine.”

  “See, now I know you’re in love,” William told her. “Because the old Natalie would immediately be freaking out that we have four weddings ahead and will be down our best employee.”

  “That’s nice,” I said to him, touched. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t get too excited. There’s only Ambrose to compare you to,” he replied, taking a swig of his tea. He was still wearing the straw hat he’d bought for the trip, which he now tipped back on his head and said, “What?”

  I blinked. “Sorry?”

  “You just made a weird face.”

  “Did I?” I picked up my own glass. “Didn’t mean to. Maybe I’m not used to compliments?”

  “Maybe,” he said slowly, as I took a sip. My mother, across the patio table, was looking at her phone, another new habit since the vacation. John had already texted three times since I’d picked them up, by my count. “Well, I for one will miss you terribly and am selfish enough to hope you get bored out of your mind and decide to rejoin us on the front lines. But I’m not in love.”

  “Yet,” my mother said, eyes still on her screen.

  “Yet?” I asked. “Can you arrange a timeline for something like that?”

  “No,” she replied, putting the phone aside. “But you can set up a date with potential for it. Which is what William agreed to do while we were away, with his cheese friend.”

  “He’s not my cheese friend,” William said immediately. Now he was blushing. “And I made that promise after a night of champagne on an exotic island. I can’t be held responsible.”

  “Nonsense,” my mother said, waving her hand. “It counts. And you’ll reach out to him this week, because John and I both saw you swear to it.”

  “John again,” William said to me. “Get ready to hear that name a lot. I know I have. Next thing you know he’ll be moving in.”

  “Doesn’t he live in St. Samara?” I asked.

  “He has a house there, for the necessary and all-too-rare act of recharging,” my mother explained, as William rolled his eyes again. “But he’s based in Lakeview and spends most of his time traveling, giving lectures. It’s a fluid lifestyle, allowing for adjustments as needed.”

  “This is what I meant when I said she memorized the book,” William told me. “She speaks in bullet points and catchphrases now.”

  “It’s very good!” my mother said. “In fact, John is having additional copies sent for both of you, along with the accompanying workbook. I think you’ll really benefit from it.”

  “Louna is seventeen, Natalie,” William said. “She doesn’t need to worry about being a workaholic yet.”

  “The term is a workhole, and it’s not just about that,” she replied, as her phone lit up again. Immediately, she grabbed it. Eyes on the screen, she was nonetheless able to say, “It’s about the courage to go for what you want, not just what you think you need. Sometimes, we don’t even know what that is.”

  “Well, I need to get home,” William replied, standing up, his hand on his hat. “We’ve got that meeting at the office first thing tomorrow with Amber Dashwood about her three-ring circus of a wedding.”

  “Circus?” I asked. “How did I miss this?”

  “It’s a recent development,” my mother said. “Apparently she decided a couple of weeks ago she wants a theme after all. So we’re calling the tent a Big Top and hiring acrobats.”

  “Wow,” I said, regretting for a second I’d decided to sit it out. “Sounds insane.”

  “She wanted exotic animals, too, but that’s harder to pull together permit-wise,” William said, collecting his bag. “Also, liability. Maybe Ambrose can bring that dog of his and we’ll pretend?”

  “He’s not exactly ferocious,” my mom said. “But what is she expecting on such short notice?”

  I had a flash of Ira, his wiry snout and eyebrows, the way his tail thumped hard against whatever was nearby whenever Ambrose appeared. True love, that was, instant in the second he was rescued and we carried him away. As I thought this, I felt William looking at me again, and wondered if my face had yet again changed. But this time, he said nothing.

  It wasn’t until later that night, when he was gone and my mother had retired to her room with her already dog-eared and highlighted copy of Workholes: How to Be the Person You Want to Be and Do the Job You Love that I realized in the hours we’d spent together I’d never even mentioned the news about my own love life, and Ben
. This didn’t really mean anything; we’d talked mostly about their trip, with me leaning over their respective phones to look at pictures (William: scenery, food, and sunsets; my mother: herself in front of sunsets and scenery, with John). And anyway, the next morning during Daybreak USA, when she brought up my birthday, I said right away I was seeing someone that I wanted invited to the dinner she was hosting. In the weeks following, after William worked up the nerve to invite Matt, his cheese friend, out for drinks (twice) and dinner (three times) he’d decided to bring him along as well. Now here we were, all of us paired off, planning to come together to celebrate, well, me. Things were surely different. But not totally: we were still doing it a day early, as a wedding rehearsal was booked for the actual date.

  As for me, with free days for the first time in recent memory, I’d been getting stuff for school, hanging out with Jilly and the kids, and trying to get used to not being at work, which was harder than I’d expected. The first couple of days felt totally decadent, sleeping in, eating bowls of cereal in front of marathons of Big New York and Chicago in my pajamas, then reading until dinner. Then I’d finally drag myself into the shower so I could meet Ben, either alone or with his friends, for dinner or to hit the various farewell parties that were already starting. After a week or so, though, I was finding it harder to keep busy. Maybe I was more of a workhole than I realized.

  When it came to Ben, though, everything was easy. We already knew each other enough that there were no real surprises. Word had gotten around school after the Brownwood shooting about my relationship with Ethan. He’d never mentioned it then, but the subject had come up a couple of times since we’d gotten together—that was part of our story, too, the events that came before—and just as easily been discussed before moving on. That was the difference, with a person you knew and one you didn’t: I couldn’t have kept that secret from Ben even if I wanted to.