“No, you won’t,” he says behind me.
I stop, halfway off the stool, and look at him over my shoulder. “What makes you so sure?”
Carson has a ghost of a smile on his lips when he says, “Because you’ve seen what happened to your dad. And I know for certain that you’re the reason I haven’t seen Fergus around here in a while.”
I stare at him for a long moment, until he has to turn away to help someone else at the bar, and I slide slowly off my stool because I know he’s right.
AMY
“AMY?” MAMA SAYS, her mouth hanging open when I finally walk in the door that night. It’s sometime around midnight, and the bottom of my dress is brown from the grime of walking along the concrete, the hem dragging around me. “What happened?”
She grabs my face, but I pull her hands away and drop my shoes by the front door. “I’m fine. Just a bad night.”
She takes my hand and squeezes it. “Baby, you just tell me what you need, okay?”
I don’t know what I need. “I just want to be alone,” I tell her, even though it immediately makes her mouth turn down in a frown. I hike up my dress and shut myself inside my bedroom, immediately pulling the gown off and replacing it with my favorite sweatpants and an old t-shirt. I sit at my computer, my legs pulled up in the chair with me, and I think about everything Oliver’s dad said.
Why couldn’t it have been Oli who opened that door? Why couldn’t he have been home? Why couldn’t he have been standing in front of me so that I could tell him everything, so I could beg his forgiveness?
Someone knocks softly on my door, and Mama pushes it open and tiptoes in. “I know you said you want to be alone, and I respect that, but I thought maybe this would cheer you up.” She reaches out and hands me a small white envelope, and I recognize it immediately. My tickets to the Lumineers concert. I asked that they be mailed to me because I like having real tickets instead of just a barcode on my phone at the door. They must have come in the mail today.
“Thanks.” I take them from her, and once I feel the weight of them in my hand, I have an idea. I can see the shape of the tickets inside. Our tickets.
“Amy, are you okay?” Mama asks from behind me.
I’m still staring down at the envelope in my hands, but then in a hurry, I reach out and rip a piece of paper from my printer.
If Oliver’s father thinks I’m just going to give up, he’s seriously mistaken. I am not the kind of person who just gives up. I am the kind of person who fights for what she wants, and well, I want Oliver. More than anything.
AMY
ON SUNDAY, I go to Spirits.
The shop isn’t open yet, but I bang on the door anyway because I know Brooke is inside. Brooke is always inside.
“We’re closed!” I hear her call from the other side of the glass, but I bang on the door harder, until I see her head pop out of the office. I see the moment she realizes it’s me. Her eyes go blank, her expression unpleasant. I know Brooke is angry at me, but she’s my only hope.
She walks to the front door and unlocks it, planting a hand on her hip and not letting me inside. “What do you want?”
I’ve already been shown down by one person, and there’s no way I’m going to let Brooke take me out, too, so I shove past her, and once I’m inside the shop and Brooke has closed the door with a huff, I say, “I need a favor from you.”
Just like I expect it to, Brooke’s expression dissolves into disbelief. “What in the world makes you think I would do any favors for you?”
I knew she would say that, too.
“Brooke, I know you hate me. And I don’t blame you. And I know you don’t owe me anything. But”—I stop, emotion that I’m not expecting rising in my throat—“But I need your help.”
Brooke’s mouth twists. “You think I’m going to help you get Oli back?”
I nod. “Yes.”
Her expression is one of disgust now. “What the hell makes you think that?”
I reach out and slap the envelope in my hand down on the counter beside me. “Because you believe in true love.”
I see her anger slip, just for a second. Because I see right through her. I’ve seen her and Lauren together. I’ve seen the way they look at each other. I know she believes in love.
“You don’t have to do much,” I say when she’s silent. “All you have to do is give him this letter.” I pick up the envelope and hold it out to her. When I sat down and thought about it last night, this was the only way I knew I was going to be able to say what I needed to say without anyone interfering. I know that Oliver will read it, even if he wouldn’t listen to me if I was standing right in front of him. I know he’ll read it. Because it’s me. And it’s Oliver. And he has to.
Brooke stares down at the envelope, and I can see her jaw working as she contemplates. Her fingers twitch, and then she sighs huge and rips the letter off the counter. “Fine,” she says. “But only because I know better than anyone that Oli was head over fucking heels in love with you, and if nothing else, he deserves closure.”
I feel light explode in my chest at her words, even though I think she has it all wrong. I’m not looking for closure. I’m looking for forgiveness.
“Thank you,” I whisper because all the emotion in my chest is too much.
“But I swear to fucking God, Amy, if you hurt him again, I will rip your heart out with my bare hands.”
I smile because I won’t. I know I won’t.
OLIVER
I’M NOT SURE what I’m doing here, sitting in the back row of the sanctuary, watching the back of Mom’s head as she nods along with the sermon in the third row. I’ve been orbiting the church every Sunday since I moved out. It’s impossible not to. I’ve been going to this church every Sunday since I was four, and old habits die hard.
But I’m not just here for the sermon, I know that much. Because when the service ends and everyone rises from their seats to leave, I stay where I am. I stand at the end of the pew, right against the aisle, and wait for Mom to come.
And she does. She’s wearing a bright yellow dress, and for just a second, I’m afraid she’s not going to see me because she’s looking down at her feet as she walks, speaking to no one. But at the last minute, just as she’s about to pass, her head comes up and she sees me, and for a second, it’s almost as if she doesn’t recognize me. And then she rushes toward me, her arms outstretched.
I let her hug me, but I already know this isn’t going to go the way she thinks it is. She takes my hand, and I follow her out into the parking lot, where the sun is warm and spring is in full bloom.
“Mom,” I start, but she speaks over me.
“Oh God, Oli. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was so wrong. I know that. I was just so angry at you. But it’s time for you to come home. We can figure all this out. Just please, come home.”
I’m already shaking my head before she’s done speaking, and I can see the horror growing on her face before I’ve even spoken. “Mom, I’m not moving back in. That’s not why I’m here.”