The Girlfriend Stage

by Janci Patterson

  “It didn’t look that way. It looked like you just gave up.”

  “I know.” He sighs. “I didn’t know what I could do to convince her to forgive me. I still don’t. But I’m done just giving up on people I love when really that’s just an excuse to give up on myself.”

  I blink, tears burning again under my eyelids. God, how do I still have tears left? How am I not just some dry husk of bones and skin after all that bawling? I can’t help but wonder how much of his self-loathing is the reason he’s always wanted me to be perfect. Successful. Not like him.

  “I heard you broke up with Josh,” he says.

  I nod. I had a feeling that’s where this was going. I want to brush the topic away, because it hurts too much to think about, but I’ve never talked to my dad like this before—with him openly admitting he has problems. It’s weird as hell, but also good. I might be happy about it, if I weren’t also so miserable, and it feels wrong to shut him down when he’s being so open with me.

  “You know he’s not me,” Dad says slowly.

  “God, I hope not.” I swipe at my eyes. “I don’t even want to consider the Freudian issues of that statement.”

  Dad chuckles. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know.” And it’s true. Josh isn’t a sex addict. His behavior isn’t any more out of control or life-ruining than mine. And I believe him that he’s never cheated on anyone. I believe him that he loves me, and that he would never want to hurt me.

  But that doesn’t mean he won’t, and I already have proof that he can.

  At least, I have proof he can after I hurt him first.

  My gut squeezes tight, hating myself all over again for the pain I caused him. “I love him,” I say, barely above a whisper. “But I’m so afraid.”

  The bed shifts as my dad sits down next to me. He puts his arm around me, and I settle in against him. And even though I’m still angry at him, he’s my dad. It feels nice to curl up against him like I would as a child when we would watch TV together, or on summer nights when we’d sit outside and he’d tell me the names of the constellations—most of which, I’d later find out, he’d totally made up.

  “I’m sorry I did that to you,” Dad says. “Because I know now that I did. I made you afraid, and that kills me.”

  I let out a breath. “It wasn’t just you. Relationships—they’re always a risk, aren’t they? And in Hollywood, it’s like a million times worse.”

  “You’re right. It’s always a risk. And sometimes you get hurt. But it kind of seems like you’re the one hurting yourself right now.”

  I want to argue with that. I want to tell him how I’m sparing myself all this future pain.

  But god, can that really be any worse than how I feel right now? Can it really be worse than going the rest of my life wondering if maybe, just maybe, we would have made it?

  “That boy loves you. That’s clear to anyone who’s seen you two together for five minutes,” Dad says. “And I don’t know him all that well, but I know you, Pumpkin. If you really love him the way I think you do, well. He’s probably a pretty good man.”

  A thread of warmth makes its way through me. Josh is a good man. Not perfect; not some unattainable ideal. But good in the way I wish my father had been. Good in the way I wish Shane had been, or Reid.

  Good in the way I wish I could be. The way I feel maybe I can be when I’m with him.

  “I don’t know,” I say, bumping my dad with my shoulder. “You weren’t so sure I had good taste in high school.”

  Dad barks out a laugh. “I always knew Shane was a stage. It was just a stage that went on way too long.”

  I don’t want to think about Shane, or the way he used me. It’s far from the worst pain I’m feeling, but it still cuts deep.

  “No kidding.” I chew on my lip pensively. “Do you think Tanya will forgive you?”

  “I don’t know. At the very least, she’ll talk to me, which will give me the chance to explain.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she left her damn dog here,” he says with a smile, looking over at Buckley, who has made himself into a trip hazard right in front of my door this time. The dog snores and rolls over. Dad looks back down at me. “So what are you going to do about Josh?”

  It’s the same thing Gabby wanted to know, that I couldn’t answer then.

  Think of how happy you were with him, she said. Even when you were scared.

  It doesn’t seem so distant anymore. Him and me, confessing all our geeky secrets on this very bed. Making love under the stars. Dancing close in a crowded club. Swinging in a hammock and talking about a future that felt so real I dreamed I was there.

  I want to be there, in that future. I want to try to have it, even though I’m terrified I might lose it.

  Even though I’m terrified I might have already lost it.

  “Do you think it’s possible?” I ask. “For two people to love each other enough that they can actually make it work?”

  Dad lets out a breath. “I sure as hell hope so. And I’m finally willing to fight for it.”

  “Me too,” I say, and it’s amazing how sure I feel suddenly—not that it’s all going to be all right, but that I need to try.

  My dad smiles, and pulls me in for a hug. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “And maybe we can get you back here sometime before another four years pass.”

  “Okay. Just not for another Halsey reunion. I think I need at least a decade before I do this again.”

  He chuckles and stands up, then he leaves the room, Buckley trailing behind him like a huge furry shadow. Of a mop.

  When my dad is gone, I become a frenzy of nervous action. I pack up my suitcase, not bothering to carefully organize my makeup or wrap my shoes in towels to protect them from luggage marks—except my fave Tory Burch wedges, of course, because I’m not a crazy person—and then I find Josh’s stuff in the storage room and pack up his bag as well.

  Then I drag my suitcases down the stairs, where I find, once again, my whole family waiting around the living room. There’s no banner or cheese platter this time, though, thank god. Just a bunch of mugs of coffee and Grandpa with a plate of scrambled eggs on his lap.

  I do see something important on one of the side tables, though—the Golden Weiner statue. I grab it, and Patrice jumps to her feet. “Anna-Marie, you’re not leaving yet, are you? The reunion’s still not over—”

  “It is for me,” I say. “I’m sorry. I love you guys, I really do, but I need to go. I need to find Josh and I need to get back home. To LA.”

  Patrice is back to wringing her hands again, looking to Joe for support. Joe just shrugs. “Safe travels, darling,” is all he says. “Make sure the Weiner makes it back for next year.”

  And to my greatest shock, Lily looks at me and smiles in a way that seems neither gloating nor bitchy. I’m not sure it’s an expression I’ve ever seen on her face before. “Good luck with Josh,” she says. And by god, I think she actually means it.

  “Bye, Anna-Marie,” Cherstie says with a grin, and I grin back, mentally wishing her good luck with that girl in the picture.

  Patrice gives them all an irritated huff. “But her problem, we haven’t even really fixed—”

  “If you need to have an intervention, have it for me,” my dad says, coming in from the kitchen. “I’m the one with the addiction, not Anna-Marie.”

  Everyone looks surprised, but Patrice’s eyes practically fall out of her head.

  “Bill? But—”

  “Well, that actually kind of makes sense,” Joe says, nodding as if deep in thought. This is not an expression Joe has often.

  My grandpa sits up straight, glowering at his plate. “Who salted these eggs, the Russians? It’s like you’re trying to give me hypertension.”

  Dad squeezes my arm. “Love you, Pumpkin,” he sa
ys and smiles, then turns back to the family firing squad.

  “Love you, too, Daddy,” I say, and then I load up my rental Nissan and leave Everett behind.

  Twenty-six

  Josh

  I’m almost to Ben’s appointed meeting spot in Beaver, Utah—apparently the exact halfway point between Everett and his apartment in LA—when he texts me. I pull over to check and find that he’s left me yet another link.

  Two things, the text says. First, Gabby came with me. Second, Wyatt just sent me this article. Looks like you’re part of the story now. See you soon.

  I swear. I’m not sure why Ben thinks it’s a good idea to bring Anna-Marie’s best friend with him when I’m planning to drink myself into oblivion, but what concerns me more is the damn article.

  I click on the link, and the first thing I see is a picture of me, clearly snapped with a cell phone, back at a gas station in Rock Springs. I’m waiting at the pump with a hand on my forehead, and I’m clearly crying.

  I should have thought I might be recognized. In that area, everyone probably knows who Anna-Marie is. She’s a local celebrity, and half of Wyoming is probably glued to the story.

  And now here I am, corroborating Shane’s tale about what a heartbreaker she is. Anna-Marie was right not to want me caught up in this, because I’m making it worse.

  Apparently the only place to get alcohol in Beaver, Utah is a bar called the Renegade Lounge. It’s only after I park in front of it that I realize we are two freaking hours from Las Vegas, and yet I’m getting drunk in a dive in Utah of all places, where apparently even the restaurants in town don’t have bars.

  Clearly this is an oversight.

  Still, when I walk into the bar, I’m greeted by a bartender with a purple pixie cut. She takes one look at my face, calls me “babe” and tells me the first one’s on the house. Across the bar I spot Ben sitting at a table across from a girl with blond hair who is currently looking at me like I’m a beloved dog she has to have put down.

  I drag myself over to their table and collapse into a chair. Ben slings an arm over my shoulders, and I wish he wouldn’t, because I’m going to start crying again, something Gabby will almost certainly report to Anna-Marie.

  “Hey, Gabby,” I say.

  Gabby makes a sad puppy noise and throws her arms around me as well. The bartender brings me my drink and clucks her tongue at me. “One look,” she says, “and I knew he was the one you were waiting for.”

  She must have, because without even asking she’s made me a poblano-infused tequila, which is my favorite. “Thanks,” I say.

  Gabby cringes. “I may have told her the whole story. And showed her pictures. Well, I showed her pictures of Anna-Marie, and Ben showed her pictures of you, and then we pulled up the articles and—”

  “Yeah. I get the picture.” I eye Gabby. “Not that I have any hard feelings toward you, but what are you doing here?”

  Gabby squirms. She’s a cute girl, but not movie-star gorgeous. I don’t know why, but I guess I’d always expected Anna-Marie’s best friend to be the same physical type that she is. “I’m meeting Anna-Marie.”

  I glare at Ben. “Tell me this isn’t some obnoxious Parent Trap scenario. I’m not going to let you guys trick her into having to see me. This is hard enough as is.”

  “No,” Gabby says. “I called her dad’s house and talked to her. She knows you’re going to be here.”

  I groan and throw back my drink. “And did she say she wants to see me?”

  Gabby and Ben are both silent.

  I shake my head. “No way. I’ve humiliated myself enough.” I point at Ben. “You are going to drive me to Vegas and I’m going to get trashed, and next week when I’m sober and my thoughts are sorted and I can be reasonable again, Anna-Marie and I are going to work out our professional relationship like adults.”

  Ben glares at me, and he shakes his head. “Finish your drink. But you can’t have another one until she gets here and we sure as hell aren’t leaving until then.”

  I sit back in my chair. Ben hasn’t told me what to do like this since college, and back then only when I was already drunk. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “Yours,” Ben says. “Always yours. But if you don’t work things out with this girl, you’re always going to regret it.”

  I slump in my chair and finish my drink and recognize that I’m generally behaving like a child. Ben and Gabby both order beers they don’t drink and waters they do. I should just get up and go, but I’ve already been drinking, and I’m not sure even sober I was really in a shape where I should have been driving. And the truth I don’t want to admit is that I don’t want to go.

  I want to see Anna-Marie, stupid as that is. I don’t like the way we left it, and even though there’s no way I can get through a rehash of the end of this relationship without further humiliating myself, I do owe her an apology. I never should have said she’s replaceable when nothing could be further from the truth.

  And so the three of us eye each other nervously and wait for the arrival of the girl I’m not sure how I’m going to live without.

  Twenty-seven

  Anna-Marie

  I drive all day, not stopping for anything other than gas station breaks just long enough to fill up my car and empty my bladder. I don’t know how long Josh is planning on hanging out with Ben before getting back on the road, but considering they’re meeting in Beaver, of all places, I doubt I have much time to catch him. And even though I could easily get a hold of him once we’re both back in LA—and I’ve had time to take a shower, which I desperately need—I can’t bear the thought of waiting that long. Of him going to sleep tonight without knowing that I still love him, that I want more than anything to have him back.

  And I can’t bear the thought of trying to go to sleep tonight without knowing if that’s even a possibility.

  I drum my fingers on the steering wheel nervously. I do a lot of nervous drumming on the steering wheel during this drive—I’m like Mikey that time he did some coke before one of Accidental Erotica’s concerts and drummed so fast he reached the end of the song about ten seconds before the rest of the band. And then he punched his fist into one of his drums and collapsed.

  Probably a good thing they got a new drummer.

  I turn on the radio and eventually that Alec and Jenna song comes on, the one about forever love, and this time, now, I want to believe. Maybe they will make it. They sure sound like they’re in love. Maybe Hollywood and fame and money isn’t a relationship death sentence. Maybe the only real death sentence is giving up.

  I force myself to slow down, to go over the speech I’ve prepared to convince Josh to give me another chance. My speech is not great—I’m an actress, not a writer—but I’m prepared to pepper it with any number of geek references, if necessary. I’m not above using Harry Potter quotes to my advantage, and I can even do a decent Hagrid impression if I get really desperate.

  God, I’m thinking of using a Hagrid impression in my impassioned plea. Clearly, I’m about a hundred miles past desperate.

  I just want him back, him and the possibility of that future together. I just want him to not replace me. And if I can’t have those things, then I want him to at least know how sorry I am to have hurt him. How I wish, for his sake, that I had been an easier woman to love.

  It’s well past dark by the time I arrive in Beaver, and pull into the parking lot around back from the Renegade Lounge. Josh’s Porsche is in the parking lot—two teenagers are eyeing it with awe—so I know he’s still here. I should be breathing a sigh of relief, but instead I’m even more nervous. And doubting the wisdom of not taking some time in one of those gas station bathrooms to put on some makeup. At least before I left Everett I threw on a new shirt—not to mention non-broken shoes, a pair of cobalt blue Coach heels—and slapped on some deodorant. I’m not sure if that’s enough to co
mbat the funk of eight straight hours in a rental car, but I’m not backing down now.

  I take a deep breath, grab the Golden Weiner, and head around to the front of the bar. Gabby is standing just outside the front door, pacing nervously.

  “Anna-Marie!” she cries, throwing her arms around me. I hug her back tight, because god, I need a best friend hug right now. “How are you?” she asks, pulling back and frowning at me.

  “I don’t know. I guess it depends on what Josh says. He’s—he’s still in there, right? I saw his car, but—”

  “Yeah, he’s in there with Ben.” She eyes me hopefully. “So when you say it depends, you mean . . .”

  “Yeah. I was an idiot, and I want to work things out.”

  Gabby looks surprised. “You’re not too scared anymore?”

  “I’m terrified. But Josh is worth the risk.” It’s true, I can feel it all the way down to my fashionable heels.

  Gabby lets out a little squeal and hugs me again. “I’m glad to hear it. Ben and Wyatt and Will and I are Team Joshamarie all the way. At least, Will was until Wyatt pointed out that our couple name would be Wabby.”

  I snort-laugh into her shoulder, though it comes out half as a sob.

  Joshamarie. God, what I wouldn’t give to have that moniker top my Google hit results forever. “I don’t know if he’s going to be glad about it.”

  Gabby squeezes me. “I’m sure he will.”

  I wish this comforted me more, but the truth is, Gabby is not the best source on whether a guy would forgive me. She’s blinded by best-friend loyalty and a pervasive (though untrue) belief that I could have any guy I wanted, at any time.

  She lets me go, and I remember our last sane conversation, before everything went to hell. “God, Gabby,” I say. “How’s Felix? I didn’t mean for you to come all the way out here if he needs you at—”

  Gabby rolls her eyes. “He’s dodging me. He’s living in this dive out in Hyde Park and working at a convenience store—I’m guessing for drugs, because otherwise I don’t know how he’s affording them. Me being in LA wouldn’t change anything.” She looks down at the gaudy gold-painted foam hot dog statue in my hand. “What on earth is—no, never mind. Go get Josh. We can talk later.”