Still Us

by Lindsay Detwiler

I mean, really, what am I supposed to say? My girlfriend just called me out for not having sex with her in front of my sister. Weird.

  But perhaps the weird part is the fact that my girlfriend had to call me out for not having sex with her.

  I mean, I’m no prude when it comes to sex, and before Lila, I had my share of fun. And Margot’s freaking gorgeous.

  But it’s true. Every time there’s an opening, a chance, I push back. I come up with an excuse. I tell her I’m not ready, like I’m some choirboy, a perfect symbol of innocence.

  It’s not a newfound religious fervor, though, or a born-again virgin pledge holding me back from ripping that tight dress off that even tighter body.

  It’s not because I’m waiting for commitment or trying to do the right thing.

  It’s Lila. Plain and simple.

  Because any time I think about taking that dress off her or giving in, Lila’s face, Lila’s voice, Lila’s everything comes flooding back.

  Dammit. I’m never going to be over her, I think, as Scarlet mercifully turns the conversation to shoes and vegetarianism and who knows what else as I shamelessly shove food in my face, avoiding eye contact and reality.

  ***

  “She’s… nice enough,” Scarlet says as we swing on the back porch after dinner, a beer in my hand and a glass of wine in hers.

  John has taken Margot to the garage to show her his motorcycle—upon Scarlet’s prodding.

  “But?” I ask before taking a sip.

  “But she’s not Lila.”

  “I kind of know that. That’s kind of the point.”

  “I see,” she says, and I can feel the weight of judgment in her words.

  “What? Spit it out.” I feel anger rising in my chest now.

  “Nothing, big brother. It’s just, she’s not Lila. And I don’t think that’s as good of a thing as you would like to believe.”

  “Look, I’m moving on. Isn’t that what you wanted for me?”

  “No. I wanted you to be happy.”

  “Margot makes me happy.” I say the words firmly as if that will make them have more weight.

  “For now, maybe that’s true. But you know what? Margot doesn’t push you to be better or different. Margot doesn’t challenge you. Margot is just… Margot. Just some girl on your arm. She isn’t Lila. She doesn’t light you up or make you come alive, Luke. I see it when you’re sitting together. And clearly, you feel it too considering Margot’s confession at dinner.”

  “I’m not talking about this anymore,” I reply, getting pissed at Scarlet’s observations.

  “Well, I am. Look. You and Lila were so good because you pushed each other to be better, to be alive, to be vibrant.”

  “Margot pushes me to be bold and wild.”

  “Bold and wild isn’t what I’m talking about. You’re different with Margot, but not in a better way. Just in a different way. You know what I mean. I just think you need to think about that and think about what’s holding you back with this girl. Because eventually, Luke, when the fun settles, what’s going to be left?”

  “Luke, oh my God, you need to get a motorcycle! It looks like so much fun,” Margot shouts as she and John saunter up the steps on the porch, bringing a halt to the conversation at hand.

  “Yeah, I always wanted one,” I say, anxious to get up from the swing and head over to Margot, and more anxious to drop this conversation.

  “What stopped you?” Margot asks, hanging on me as John walks over to take a seat on the swing beside his wife.

  “Well, it wasn’t practical.”

  “Screw practical. If you want one, get one.”

  I eye Margot, thinking about what Scarlet said. “So you don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

  “No way. Do what you want, baby. I’m behind you no matter what.”

  I smile, but it feels forced.

  Looking at Margot, I believe her. She would be okay with whatever I chose, whatever I did.

  But is that truly what I’m looking for? A woman to be a “yes” woman, to let me run free without direction or challenging me to be better? A woman who is okay knowing my heart’s not completely hers, not completely untangled from the woman I once loved?

  After dessert when I drop Margot off—despite her pleading to come inside—I think about Scarlet’s words the whole way home. I think about who I am without Lila. I think about who I am with Margot.

  And I think about how truly fucked-up love is, more than I could’ve ever known at twelve.

  ***

  The next morning, I trudge through the door, the familiar bell’s tinkle a bit irritating. I push my sunglasses back on my head and, despite my grumpy mood, I feel myself smile when I see her behind the counter.

  “It’s about time you wandered in again, stranger,” Dot says, rushing out from behind the doughnut display to give me a hug and plant a red lipstick kiss on my cheek.

  “Sorry, Dot. I’ve been busy.”

  “Seems like it,” she says. “Where’s the new girlfriend?”

  I’m taken aback. “How did you know?”

  “Luke, I’ve lived in this town my whole life. I know everyone and everything that happens. Word gets around. Margot Lane, right? Pretty girl. A bit wild, though.”

  I grin, shaking my head. “Yeah, just a bit. But she’s great. Really great.”

  Dot raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  “Oh no, Dot, not you, too.”

  “I’m guessing your sister isn’t a fan?”

  She leads me toward the table in the corner. I hold back. “Maybe a different table?” I ask.

  “Nonsense. You and Lila are over, right? You’ve moved on. So there can’t be any harm in sitting at your old table. That part of your life is over, huh?”

  I stare at Dot, her eyes challenging me to state otherwise. I sit down, and she seems a little disappointed.

  Dot sits down across from me after shouting to Nicholas to bring over the Luke and Lila special. Yes, our order has a name. And yes, Dot just used it.

  “No, Scarlet isn’t crazy about Margot. She’s just hung up on the fact she’s not Lila.”

  “And she isn’t. Far from it. But how do you feel?”

  “I didn’t know I was getting free counseling,” I tease.

  Dot smacks my hand, smiling. “If you weren’t so cute, you couldn’t get away with being such a wisecracker.”

  “If you say so. But I feel… good. You know? I have to move on, and Margot’s definitely helping.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What?” I ask, afraid to see where Dot will take this.

  “Nothing, it’s just, for moving on and Margot being so helpful, you’re in an awfully morose mood. No usual Luke smile.”

  “Just tired.”

  “Oh, I see. Margot Lane is wild in all kinds of ways, huh?”

  I feel my cheeks redden. “Not tired from… um… that.”

  “Also interesting.”

  “Dot, can we not go there?”

  “Of course, of course, whatever you want,” she says as Nicholas brings over a tray of three peanut-butter doughnuts. Nostalgia stirs in me.

  An unwelcome nostalgia.

  I try not to think about it as I grab a doughnut and scarf it down. Dot helps herself to one of the doughnuts, too, still sitting across from me in Lila’s seat.

  “All I’m going to say,” Dot utters around a mouthful of crumbs, “is that if Margot is really the one you want, the one you should be moving on with, then why isn’t she sitting here instead of some washed-up old baker?”

  I open my mouth to argue, but Dot just shakes her head, pats my hand, and heads off to return to work, leaving me alone at a table with too many memories and too much doughnut left for just one lonely, confused man.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Luke

  I can’t believe it’s happening. This could be my big break. Despite all that’s going on in my messed-up life, this could be the moment I’ve been waiting for. />
  I’ve got an invite to a big music festival in Ohio. They were looking for an opener, and someone apparently heard my song at the Oakwood Music Festival. Thanks to a cancellation and desperation, Luke Bowman got the gig.

  Which means I have exactly twenty-four hours to get my ass to Ohio and be ready to play for a crowd of thousands. This is it, though. This could put me on the map.

  As I’m getting my bag packed and leaving instructions for Evan about Floyd, there’s a knock at my door.

  I dash to answer it, flinging it open to see a surprising sight.

  It’s Margot. With a suitcase.

  “Surprise!” she yells, jumping into my arms. “Cleveland, here we come!”

  “Margot?” I’m still confused, staring at her, at the suitcase.

  “What, silly? Did you really think I was letting you go to Ohio for your first big gig alone? No way, mister. I know how girls look at musicians. And if you haven’t slept with me yet, there’s no way I’m letting some groupie get her hands on you.”

  “What about work?”

  “My boss let me off.”

  “I just called you a few hours ago,” I say, stunned. It’s true. I’d only found out about the gig myself this morning and had called to share the good news with Margot. I didn’t think she’d be dropping everything to come along.

  “I know, but this is huge. I didn’t want to miss it. And now you won’t be so lonely on the drive.”

  I don’t have time to ponder Margot’s self-invitation, although I am thrilled at the prospect I won’t have to drive by myself. It might be good to have some company for the drive to keep me from freaking myself out the whole way there. Plus, it will be good to have a friendly face in the crowd, to have someone there for my big moment.

  I smile, thinking about how lucky I am to have her. What a selfless move. Clearly, she does care.

  I wrap her in my arms. “Thank you. You’re amazing,” I say, meaning it. She pulls back enough to plant a kiss on my lips, her hands wandering.

  “Babe, we have to hit the road in twenty minutes,” I say.

  “Oh, I can do a lot with twenty minutes,” she says, and I shake my head, knowing she isn’t lying.

  “I have to finish packing.”

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t try to do you when you were still just Luke Bowman and not yet a star, okay?”

  “Deal,” I say, rushing back down the hallway to throw the final things in my suitcase and hit the road to my potential future.

  ***

  “You sure you don’t need anything?” Margot asks before rushing into the gas station to freshen up. She insists she doesn’t want to roll into town with bad eyeliner or hair.

  “I’m fine,” I say, leaning back in my seat, staring at the lyrics I was working on during the drive.

  As I watch her slink into the gas station, I pull out my cell phone, glancing at the blinking screen.

  My fingers unlock the screen, and I head to the contacts list, not sure what I’m doing yet completely sure.

  I scroll until I find the name, the familiar number.

  I shouldn’t be doing this. It’s been so long since we’ve talked. It’s weird. It’s not appropriate. She’s not my go-to anymore.

  But it feels inappropriate to not call. She was there through all those dreams and all those shows. She was there to push me. She would be the one here if things hadn’t ended up like they had.

  She’d be in the seat beside me, pumping me up and jumping up and down that my dream, that our dream, was coming true.

  Without another thought and knowing I don’t have much time, I guiltily hit Call.

  It rings. And rings. And rings.

  And then voice mail. She’s probably working. I should just hang up, leave it go.

  But then I hear the familiar message, her voice sending a shudder through me.

  “Hey,” I say, deciding I am already calling so I might as well lay it all out there. “It’s me, Luke. I just wanted to tell you that I’m heading to Cleveland to a music festival. Someone saw me play around town and asked me to open for the festival. I’m going to be on stage and everything, a few thousand. I just… well, I don’t know why I’m calling. I just wanted you to know I guess. You’re the one who helped me do this, Lila, so I wanted you to know. I hope everything is going well for you. I’m sure it is. But, um, okay. Bye now.”

  I hang up, and then slam my fist on the dashboard. “Shit.”

  I sounded like a muttering idiot. I am a muttering idiot.

  I hate how we’ve been degraded to this, two people uncertain whether or not to leave an awkward voice mail. I hate what we’ve become.

  As I watch Margot sauntering back toward the car, I realize I hate how I’m caught in the middle, how I’m stuck between the safe, commitment-free life with Margot… and the life I wanted with Lila but am too afraid to grab.

  It sucks not being good enough.

  ***

  I rarely get nervous at gigs—probably because I’ve barely had anything that could qualify as an actual gig. My haunts are usually dusty bars, small stages, and sparse crowds.

  This is different, though.

  On stage looking out into a skeptical crowd of thousands who feel ready to boo any second, my hands tremble as I grip the mic. I’m terrified.

  But it’s now or never.

  I look directly in front of the stage at the VIP seats. I was allotted one for a guest, so of course Margot got it. As I shakily introduce myself to the crowd as they go from a loud roar to a dull murmur, I look to the seat for confidence, needing a boost. I desperately need a friendly face.

  Margot lets out a loud scream, jumping and waving at the crowd after I’ve said my name.

  “I’m his girlfriend,” she shrieks for all to hear, jumping and waving like a raucous schoolgirl.

  There’s no reassuring thumbs-up for me or a nod. There’s no sweet smile telling me I’ve got this.

  There’s just Margot in her flashy red, waving and smiling at some guys in the second row as they catcall her.

  I don’t have time to analyze it. The music starts, and it’s now or never. So I sing my heart out and try to ignore the fact that the entire time I’m singing, Margot’s taking selfies and not even listening to a word I sing, not hearing me at all.

  Regardless, I don’t get booed offstage and I even get some congratulations backstage from some bigger newcomers to the music scene. I should feel elated. This could be the start of something bigger.

  But backstage, I pull out my phone, realizing I’m looking for a message, a voice mail, a text that isn’t there.

  “You were great, baby,” Margot says, rushing me before I can even take a breath. “Let’s get some pics for Instagram, okay?”

  I smile for the camera, listening to Margot babble on and on about fame, fortune, and Instagram-worthy pics.

  “What did you think of the new song I played? Did you like the chorus?” I ask.

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, it was great,” she says, waving a hand as she types on her phone, presumably posting all over Instagram about her newfound “fame.”

  We drive home after the festival, Margot having work in the morning. It’s a chatty ride, Margot insistently talking about next steps and VIP suites and all sorts of things I try to focus on.

  As we’re nearing home, she turns to me. “You’re in a mood. What’s wrong?” There’s no edge to her voice, which irritates me further. It’s like she’s commenting on the weather, not on my feelings.

  “It’s just, I feel like you didn’t even hear me up there. This isn’t about fame and money for me, Margot. It’s so much more. I don’t think you get that.”

  She blinks, looking at me as we’re stopped at the red light. “So you don’t want to be famous?”

  “I didn’t say that. But you act like that’s what it’s all about. It’s about the music. It’s about doing what I love.”

  “And it’s also about getting bigger. Think of the money. Think about what it would be li
ke to hear everyone shouting your name. Think of what this could be for us.”

  I stare at Margot Lane, seeing her for maybe the first time. I see that behind the wild and fun, carefree Margot is something else. I glance back at the light, noticing it has changed to green. I step on the gas.

  “You don’t get it.”

  “Well, how could I? You don’t talk to me about it.” The edge in her voice tells me she’s really getting frustrated with me.

  I stew, staring out the window, wondering how I got here. Wondering where exactly I’m going.

  “I know I’m not her, you know,” Margot says quietly as we drive on. “I know that. But I’m trying here.”

  I turn to Margot. “What are you talking about?”

  “You told me from the beginning your heart was somewhere else. It’s not a secret, and I’m okay with that because sometimes my heart is somewhere else too. But, Luke, you can’t have it all. You can’t agree to be fun and free with me but then get pissed when I’m not her. I’m not Lila. I never will be. It’s not fair to keep comparing me to her. You can’t be okay with the fact I’m different but then hold it against me when I’m not acting like her.”

  I stare at this beautiful girl beside me. She’s right. It’s not fair.

  “You’re right. I’m an idiot, Margot. It’s never been fair. I’m sorry. I just… I’m too broken to be with someone new. I’m not over her. I don’t think I ever will be. I should’ve never let this progress to where it is. I should’ve never pretended I could make this work. I’m sorry. I really am.”

  Margot doesn’t scream or cry. She doesn’t act surprised or yell. She simply pats my leg with her hand. “I know, Luke. I know. But maybe you need to find a way to be over her. Because even apart, this girl is killing you.”

  We drive home in silence, and when we get to my place, Margot simply kisses my cheek and smiles. “You’re a good guy, Luke. Really. Call me sometime, okay?”

  And just like that, another girl is driving away, presumably gone.

  The familiar anger and sadness creeps in… but it’s not for Margot Lane. It’s for someone else I don’t even know anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lila