by Staci Hart
“Are you…are you sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“It’s no trouble. I have full and complete permission,” she said with a sweep of her hand.
“I know it’s not technically onstage,” Greg said gently, “but I thought you might still be able to cross it off your list.”
“I can’t…I can’t believe…” I muttered and took a wobbly step toward the bench.
Greg had ahold of me from behind before my foot hit the ground, one hand cupping my elbow and the other on my waist.
“Annie, are you all right?” The worry in his voice almost broke me into a million pieces.
“I’m fine. I’m better than fine,” I answered with thanks I couldn’t possibly verbalize.
My heart threatened to fight its way out of my chest, and I sat, partly to catch my breath. But once I was at those keys, I looked to Lily once more for permission, which she gave in the form of an encouraging nod.
And so, I played.
It was Mendelssohn, slow and haunting, crescendo and decrescendo, the sound floating up and into the space above me until each note disappeared, though my fingers kept going, kept making notes to fill the vast expanse of the room. And all of the feeling I had in me, every ounce of hope and love and joy and pain moving through me, through my hands, to the keys and hammers, to the strings and away.
When my fingers stilled, my cheeks wet with tears, I knew that there in that theater, on that bench, I had found the thing I wished for above all.
To play.
Lily swiped tears from her face and sighed, a deep and cleansing sound. “That was…God, Annie. That was lovely. Thank you.”
I shook my head, brushing my cheeks. “Oh, please don’t thank me. Not after the way you danced and not after arranging for me to play here. I should be thanking you.”
“Consider us even then,” she said ardently. “And I’d do anything for Greg’s girl.”
I froze. Greg was still as stone.
Lily kept talking. “When Greg told us he’d finally found someone, we all scrambled to help out. You know,” she said with a laugh, “we’d been trying to find him a worthy girlfriend for years, and it was just never a good match. But you two just look right together, does that make sense? I guess he just needed us to butt out once and for all.” She chuckled, sniffling, and ran her fingers under her eyes again. “God, I’m a mess. Between your playing and tonight’s suicide, I’m all tapped out.”
She laughed, and we mad a sad attempt to join her to as we followed her out of the pit, but the sound was tight and distracted. Both our minds whirred; I could feel his spinning just as well as I could feel my own.
My first thought was that it had to be a misunderstanding. She’d misconstrued what he’d said, jumped to conclusions, read into something that wasn’t there.
My second thought was that Greg had exaggerated the situation so he could secure the surprise for me.
But when I chanced a look at him, when I saw his face, unmasked and open and full of the truth of his heart, I knew.
All the times I’d denied it came tumbling through my mind. All the moments between us fell under a spotlight—my hands in his hoodie pocket, the look on his face when I’d played in the park, the pain behind his eyes when he’d told me he didn’t want me, not like that. I’d experienced them all completely in the dark.
I was stupid, a naive child who felt every bit my age.
Greg hadn’t said a word.
We said our thank-yous and good-byes, and we walked out of the theater in silence as thick and heavy as midnight.
Greg didn’t hate Will just for his sister’s sake; he wanted me for his own.
He hadn’t tried to give me the tickets to the ballet just to be a friend; he had done it because he couldn’t stand to be with me if he couldn’t have me.
When I’d thought he wanted to kiss me under the egg tree, it hadn’t been my imagination.
But despite all that, he’d put his feelings aside, kept them secondary to what I wanted, what I felt, what I needed. He’d indulged every whim, every request, and not because of his regard for my friendship.
And I didn’t know where that left me.
After tonight, after the magic and easy joy that always sparked between us, I asked myself the question, Do I have feelings for him?
And I found the answer was a resounding yes.
But I had a boyfriend, a boyfriend whom I had feelings for, too.
My heart was split, the lines of friendship and love too blurred to define. The two men were complete opposites. Will was cavalier and forward with his feelings while Greg stepped back and kept his heart hidden from me. Where one was loud and obvious, the other was quiet and subtle. Where Will seemed to care for my feelings equally to his own, Greg put mine above his.
But Will was my boyfriend, and Greg was my friend. And I found myself feeling foolish and blind and without direction. Because the truth of the matter was that I’d wanted Greg to kiss me. I wanted Greg to want me. Because I wanted him.
But I wanted Will too, and I couldn’t comprehend how that was possible.
It wasn’t until the cab pulled away from the curb that I mustered the courage to speak, not knowing what I’d say. But I had to say something.
He stared out the window, the strong angles of his face casting shadows on the planes.
“Greg—”
“Does Will make you happy?” It was as if he’d been waiting for me to speak, the question on his lips waiting eagerly to escape. Maybe he had been waiting on me to garner courage of his own.
Either that or he didn’t want to hear what I’d been about to say.
“I…” I started, my composure teetering. I couldn’t finish because I didn’t know how to answer him honestly. Did he make me happy? Sometimes. Was I happy? No, in that moment, I wasn’t at all.
But what I did know was the answer I was supposed to give when someone asked me if my boyfriend made me happy. So, I defaulted.
“Yes, of course.”
“What about him makes you happy?”
“Well…” I thought about it for a set of irregular heartbeats, feeling myself unravel like a ball of yarn. “He…he’s…well, he knows poetry and literature. He brings me flowers, knew to take me places he couldn’t have possibly known I wanted to go—”
“Those are things that he does,” Greg interrupted, his voice short and tight. “What about him? About the man himself? Tell me, Annie, for the love of God, because I need to hear that you’re happy so I can let you go.”
My heart lurched in my chest, my lungs tightening as a slow ache filled my rib cage.
But I had no answer to give. Because the man Will was—I realized it in that moment, far too late—was unknown to me. He was a stranger, and it wasn’t him who had made me so happy but the idea of him, the prospect of happiness so much more than the man himself.
Greg, on the other hand, wasn’t a stranger at all.
I reached to lay my hand on his forearm, but when he turned, when he pinned me with his gaze, so hurt and heavy with longing, the little bit of air left in my lungs disappeared.
Those emotions had been there all night, since before that, since always perhaps. But the smooth mask had fractured and crumbled and fallen away like dust, and the truth of his feelings were written in every curve and line of his face.
“Every day, it’s gotten harder, every day since you met him. I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel, how you make every day brighter, better. How you’re what I look forward to each time I walk through the doors, how you’ve changed the way I see the world. But you want him, and I couldn’t interfere. So, I tried. I tried to stand aside, tried to be your friend. I’ve done everything you asked because it makes me happy to see you happy, but it hurts me, too. Coming here tonight was a mistake. I tried…I tried to give you the ticket. I tried…” Weariness cracked his voice, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the column of his throat. “I thought I could do it, but I can’t. It hurts too much.”
He looked out the window again, and I stared at his profile.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say. Because I couldn’t tell him what I didn’t know. I couldn’t give him answers I didn’t have. I couldn’t tell him I wanted him, and I couldn’t tell him I wanted Will.
I couldn’t bridle my racing heart.
He didn’t speak for a long moment, a moment so heavy and thick, I felt like I might drown in it.
But he finally said, “Don’t be sorry, Annie. You’ve done nothing wrong. I wish you every happiness, and I hope he endeavors to be the man you deserve.” He turned the weight of his gaze on me, stopping my heart for a breath. “But I can’t do this. I can’t torture myself with your company, knowing you think of me like a brother or a friend. I can’t bear it.”
“We…we can’t be friends?” I said, my voice trembling.
His throat worked, his jaw tight and eyes deep and dark. “Not now.” He looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him no, that the night was perfect, that he was the person I’d wanted to share that night with, who I wanted to share a hundred more nights with. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I wanted to beg him to change his mind.
But shock left me speechless.
The cab pulled up to the curb, and we sat in silence for a second, then another, and another until it was too much. So, I opened the door and slipped out of the car, standing in the open mouth of the doorway.
“I’ll see you around, Annie.”
And then I closed the door, not knowing if I’d responded or what I’d said if I did, not knowing what I wanted or needed, what was right or wrong, what was true or false, as I watched the taxi drive away.
17
Welcome to Hell
Annie
My alarm beeped piously to wake me, but its efforts were lost. I’d been awake for at least an hour, lying in the dimness of the stormy daylight.
The colorless morning matched my heart.
Sleep had eluded me through most of the night; my mind had been consumed with all the things I should have said, should have done, should have known. Crying had given me no relief, no shed of emotion, no fresh perspective.
The night before resurfaced, the rush of happiness, the familiar comfort of Greg’s company, the feeling of his arm under my palm, the look on his face when I’d played.
And the moment it’d fallen apart brought that joy down like a wrecking ball.
I’d lost him. I’d hurt him.
It didn’t matter that I hadn’t known how he felt; I should have. I should have seen what his kindness meant. I should have seen the truth of his feelings. I should have told him I felt the same.
But I hadn’t. Mostly because I’d had the obvious truth brought out from under my nose. And partly because I’d felt so much shame in the shadow of my inexperience. I was a fraud, a pretender, a little girl playing dress-up in her mama’s heels, trying to be a grown-up.
My phone was still in my hand, the alarm turned off without any memory of quieting it. When it buzzed, I glanced at it, surprised. My heart jumped off a bridge when I saw it was Will, hitting the ground with an anxious thud when I read his message.
Hope your date was nice.
Nice. One couldn’t ever say nice like that and it mean anything other than a lie.
I unlocked my phone and opened my messages to answer, wishing I could say nothing at all.
It was fun—I deleted fun—eventful. I deleted the whole thing and stared at my screen for a second.
I finally settled on, The ballet was beautiful. What did you do last night?
Within seconds of sending the message, he was typing. I waited, watching those little dots.
Sat around here, thinking about how much I hated that you were with him.
My stomach turned over. I’m sorry.
Just not sorry enough to have stayed home in the first place?
Tears blurred my vision. It doesn’t matter anyway. You were right. Greg has feelings for me, and we can’t be friends anymore.
For a second, nothing happened, and I imagined Will was stunned, reading the message over and over again. Did he make a pass at you?
No. He knows I’m with you, I answered painfully.
Dammit, Annie. You should have listened when I told you he liked you.
I know, I typed, not feeling like I knew much of anything. Are you angry?
Greg is an asshole, and he always has been. I don’t want you anywhere near him.
I wondered briefly how much of that had to do with the wild differences in their stories about Greg’s sister. And the following realization was that I believed Greg more.
Well, that’s going to be hard to do since we work together.
Do you really think you should be working there anyway? It’s not like you have to work, and with your heart and your surgery, it’s not good for you.
You sound like my mother, I typed, which was poised like a joke, but it wasn’t. At all.
I’m just saying. What about if you get into Juilliard?
Then I guess I’ll deal with it then. I fumed, my thumbs flying with as much anger as thumbs could muster. That job is the best thing in my life right now.
Not me?
I frowned, my fingers tapping with enough force to make noise as I answered him. Of course you too, and my sisters and Juilliard. And Greg, I wanted to add. Except he wasn’t going to be in my life anymore. I can’t believe you suggested that I quit.
I can’t believe you went on a date with another guy, but here we are.
It wasn’t a date, and you know it.
Tell Greg that.
A frustrated tear charged down my cheek as I tossed my phone onto the empty side of the bed.
It was unfair, so unfair of him to treat me this way. He was petty and jealous, accusing and demanding.
Really, he was even more of a child than I was.
Greg never would have spoken to you like that, I thought, calling fresh tears to my eyes.
I climbed out of bed, reaching for my bathrobe on my way out of my room, still tugging it on when I knocked on Elle’s door.
A sleepy Come in had me doing just that.
Elle propped herself up in bed with a smile that immediately fell when she saw me. “Annie? What’s the matter?”
I closed the door, my chin flexing and cheeks tingling with a surge of anger and shame and hurt simply because she’d asked the question.
I didn’t speak until I was in bed with her.
“Greg and I had a fight,” I managed just before a sob escaped.
“Oh, Annie. What happened?”
“He…he…” I stammered, trying to catch my breath. “He said we couldn’t be friends anymore because he had feelings for me.”
Elle nodded and reached for my hand.
“I didn’t know. I really didn’t. How is that possible? How could I possibly be so s-s-stupid?” For a second, I couldn’t say more. “I hurt him without meaning to, and now…now…”
I broke down again, and she smoothed my hair.
“Shh, it’s all right.”
“But it’s not. It’s not all right; nothing is all right. Will is angry that I went last night even though I told him I was going to be friends with Greg whether he wanted me to or not and even though he’d agreed not to give me flak. He was still mad after I told him Greg and I were through.” Fresh pain twisted in my chest. “He even suggested I quit the bookstore just to keep me away from Greg. How ludicrous is that?”
“He’s jealous. He and Greg don’t get along, but you told him no and Greg yes.”
“Yeah, but Will is my boyfriend. I thought that meant he understood he had some…precedence.”
Her brows drew together in something close to pity. “You barely know him, and he barely knows you. It takes time to build trust.”
“So, what—because he’s my boyfriend, I should just do whatever he wants? Let him tell me who I can
and can’t spend my time with?” I shot.
“Of course not. I’m not saying he’s right. But he had a feeling Greg liked you, and so did I. Do you really mean to say you didn’t have any idea about Greg?”
“How could I have known? He never came on to me, never told me of his feelings. Will is an open book—he says what he feels and what he wants. From the first second I met him, he pursued me. And Greg did nothing to signal that he wanted to be with me. He was my friend. How could I have known he felt otherwise?”
That look was still on her face, and even though I knew it was compassion, it stung. “Not all love is loud and assuming. Sometimes it’s silent, especially when it puts someone else’s happiness above its own.”
“My happiness,” I mused. Fresh tears fell as my heart galloped in my ribs. “I don’t know what makes me happy. I’m just a girl, a stupid, foolish girl with a silly list of meaningless things. I’m a skinny, sickly, naive child who couldn’t see what was right in front of her, and now, I’ve lost it. I’ve lost him.”
“Oh, Annie,” she whispered and pulled me into her.
I tucked myself into her chest and cried until my breath was even, and she held me, stroking my hair and letting me be.
“Just because something is obvious doesn’t mean it’s right or honest. Sometimes it’s how people hide things, behind shine and flash. Sometimes, that flash is meant to blind you.”
I pulled back to look at her, suspicious. “What do you mean?”
She seemed to choose her words very carefully. “Only that I’ve met both of them, and I find myself trusting one over the other.”
“And you deduced this in the few minutes you talked to them both?” And then I had a thought that set my mouth opening in surprise. “What did Greg tell you? At the bar?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Nothing specific, only that Will hurt someone he loves. Greg cares about you, Annie. But I’m not convinced Will does.”
“How could you possibly know that?” I asked as I climbed out of her bed.
“It only took those few minutes with Greg to know that he cares for you and that he wants to protect you. Would you say the same for Will? Would you say, right now, with him wanting you to leave your job that he’s trying to protect you or himself? Greg has done nothing but prove that he’s worthy of your trust. He’s been everything you want, even at the cost of his own happiness. Has Will?”