Plot Twist

by Bethany Turner

  It was as if she’d spoken the sentence in a hybrid of Welsh and binary code, but the moment the translation became clear in my mind, an instant and flaming-hot rage flooded through me. “You what?”

  “I mean, I loved him. Of course I loved him. But . . . was I ever in love with him?” She shook her head again. “I don’t think so. I thought I was, but that night—”

  “What night?”

  “In Boston. When I saw him, I think all I felt was hurt pride.”

  I was dying.

  I was dead. That’s all there was to it. I had died. That was the only possible explanation. I had suffered a horrible stroke or I’d been hit by a bus or a meteor had crashed into me, and I was no longer living. And anytime now the jarring effects of the inciting incident would subside, and I would pass into a peaceful eternity. Anytime now. Any minute . . .

  “So let me get this straight. You acted weird and rushed over and hugged him and then pulled Brandon onto the dance floor and danced the night away to cover up your bruised ego—”

  “I said hurt pride.”

  “—because . . . what? Because Liam was the only guy who had ever dared to break up with you? That was why your ego was bruised?”

  She stared at me with a mixture of confusion and indignation. “That’s why my pride was hurt, I think, yes. Livi, what’s going on?”

  I felt like a caged animal. I jumped up from the floor and began pacing the room as Fi had a few minutes prior, grumbling to myself all the way. “All this time. I went to Starbucks. I drank tea. And then . . . then!” I laughed, because I didn’t know how else to express anything I was feeling. “And you didn’t even . . .”

  I stopped and faced her. “I took the bullet for you that night.”

  “You went to Starbucks. I wouldn’t exactly call that taking a bullet for me.”

  “He was my ex-boyfriend, too, Fiona!”

  She was on her feet and inches from my face within two seconds. “Yeah, for a few months a million years ago, and then you broke up with him.”

  “I know, but—”

  “And then he broke up with me after you kissed him. Do you remember that part, Liv? With my parents in the next room, while you were waiting for me to get home from work, you kissed my boyfriend—the longest relationship I’ve ever been in—and that was the end!”

  “I know! And I was so sorry about that. I am still so sorry about that. You know I am. But you just now said you weren’t in love with him, so don’t act like that’s even what this is about.”

  “I’m not acting like anything. I’m just saying that maybe, just maybe, you owed it to me to take that bullet in Boston!”

  I panted and tried to catch my breath as all the memories and all the emotions got tangled up in my mind. Everything Fi was saying . . . That was what I had thought too. I’d owed it to her. It was the least I could do.

  I took a step back. “I can’t,” I whimpered. “I can’t talk about this anymore.”

  She crossed her arms. “So that’s it, Liv? You’re done, huh? All this stuff we’ve never talked about—” She threw her hands up in the air. “That’s just how it’s going to stay, huh? Because you say so?”

  “I just . . . I mean . . . I can’t, Fi. I’m sorry. It just . . . It hurts too much.”

  She raised her eyebrows, and though her face was still covered in the wet mascara remnants, all other signs of sadness were suddenly gone. “‘It hurts too much’? It hurts you too much? You mean to tell me it hurts you too much to give me the benefit of closure from that time my boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend? That hurts you too much?”

  For four years I had managed to walk the line. Without ever telling an actual lie, I had somehow kept her believing that, sure, I’d had feelings for Liam—without ever letting her know that I had gone to Italy in a panic and stayed for a year to escape him. I’d convinced her that I was thrilled the two of them had found each other while I was gone—without letting her know I wouldn’t have thought twice about leaving her behind and running away with him when my judgment was clouded by mango margaritas but my heart was unafraid. Sure, she knew as well as I did that kissing Liam in the kitchen had been a mistake that I would undo in a heartbeat if I could—without ever having any idea just how fiercely I’d had to fight to keep from choosing him when the only thing standing in our way was my love for her. And she knew I’d taken a bullet for her that night in Boston—but I’d never wanted her to know that from that moment on, the theory that I would never not want him had become indisputable fact.

  “Let’s not do this,” I whispered as I began searching for a tissue and a way out.

  “Let’s not do what? What are we not doing?”

  “Please, Fi,” I begged.

  “Livi, what are you not telling me?”

  I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I was so afraid of what would happen if I ever said any of it aloud. I didn’t know how I’d possibly be able to go on. How would I ever act like things were normal ever again? I’d never considered the possibility, but now that it was there before me, I couldn’t allow it to come out. I’d never once said it. Not in the eight months we’d dated, or the year we’d been friends, or the year we’d been best friends, or the year I’d run away from him, or the year he’d been in my life as Fiona’s boyfriend, or the two years it had been his turn to run from me, or the two years since my theory had become fact.

  “I’m in love with him!” I blurted out, despite my best efforts to keep it in. And once I began, I realized that trying to keep it in would have had all of the impact of putting one of those drain stoppers you buy at the hardware store over Old Faithful. “I’ve always loved him. He was the love of my life. I have absolutely no doubt that he was the great, stupid love of my stupid life. I’m nearly forty years old, and I’m just now coming to terms with the fact that I will never love anyone else like I love him, ever again. I wanted him to kiss me, not just that day when it shouldn’t have happened—of course it shouldn’t have happened—but every day. Every single day the two of you were together, I was in love with him. Every single day, Fiona. Every time I talked about how perfect the two of you were together, and every time I was the third wheel, and every time I was sitting there as you kissed him good night and told him you loved him, I was in love with him. Every single day.”

  She said nothing; she just stared at me. Tears were streaming down my face again, and I didn’t know how to reconcile the sense of relief I felt with the betrayal I knew she had to be feeling.

  “But nothing ever happened while the two of you were together, except for the one kiss. I swear to you, it didn’t. I never tried to get him to choose me, or—”

  “But he did choose you,” she said softly.

  “No, he didn’t,” I tried to assure her, though I wasn’t sure of that at all. “No matter how he felt about me, once upon a time, I know he loved you. And I think he just panicked.” I blew my nose. “That wasn’t his best day, of course. Or mine, needless to say. But, man . . . Liam and me . . . You talk about two people who probably needed closure and never got it . . .” I fell back against the wall again, more tired than I had ever been.

  “He took all the blame.”

  “I know.”

  She shook her head. “No, Livi, you don’t understand. It’s not like . . . I mean, I believed you when you told me it was a mistake because I’d just gotten done listening to him talking about how he’d never gotten over you. But he said you’d never felt the same way about him. He told me that. Why did . . .” She released a frustrated groan, startling me. “Why didn’t he fight for you? Why didn’t he tell me? I mean, I would have been hurt. I was hurt. Of course I was. But if I’d known you were in love with him—that it wasn’t just a mistake—I’d have . . . I don’t know what I would have done, but if I’d known you loved him as much as—”

  “He didn’t know, Fi. As hard as I worked to hide it from you? Yeah, that was nothing compared to keeping it from him. I just . . . I couldn’t do that to you.” I
bit my lip. “Of course, if I’d known you didn’t love him after all . . .”

  There was silence as her breath caught, and then it released with a whoosh. “I don’t think I knew that then.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  “Still, I guess we both could have stood to be a little more transparent.”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  We stood there without saying a word for the longest time, and I’m sure she was analyzing every misunderstood moment and neglected opportunity like I was.

  “You know,” she eventually began with a sigh, “when you were in Italy, he was . . . different.”

  I stood up straight again, bracing myself for another journey into the unknown. Fi and I had always talked about everything, and yet in the course of that conversation, I could barely keep up with all of the topics that were being broached for the first time. What was happening in California while I was in Europe had always been carefully avoided—certainly by me, but I had always suspected by her as well.

  “How so?” I asked, hoping the answer didn’t break me further. I didn’t know how many more times I could withstand being pieced back together.

  “He was angry. Bitter. Resentful.”

  I exhaled, grateful for an unsurprising response. “Well, yeah. I left without saying goodbye.”

  “But it wasn’t that.” She shook her head as she looked off into the distance, as if she were seeing it reenacted before her. “I think he was hurt that you left that way. But the anger? That was different. I think he was angry at himself. He never understood what you wanted, but I think as long as you were still in his life, he felt like he would figure it out. Eventually. But then . . . you weren’t in his life. He didn’t know what to do, so for a while, all he did was wonder what he could have done.” She paused, and I hoped she didn’t expect me to say anything. I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, all that would come out would be pain and regret. But then she added one more thought, and it was one to which I had no difficulty constructing a reply. “He never could figure out what he would have to do to be good enough for you.”

  “What?” I shook my head and crossed my arms in defiance of the notion. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.”

  “I didn’t say it, Liv. He did.”

  He didn’t think he was good enough for me? How was that even possible? “He was too good for me, Fi. He was a Redford.”

  She smiled at me quizzically, as she had countless times through the years. “A Redford?”

  I sighed and walked back to sit in my spot on the floor, against the wall, and she followed. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “I already do.”

  I had no doubt that was true. “A Redford. A leading man. There are certain people who will never play the quirky side character or be the supportive friend who cracks jokes and detains the detectives while eating cheesecake and wiping away the main character’s tears.”

  “That movie sounds horrible—”

  “Robert Redford would never play that role.”

  “No one would ever play that role, Liv.”

  “But don’t you get it? Liam became a Redford. And a Redford never ends up with a Cusack,” I stated definitively, certain that I would soon be contacted by some grad student who wanted to pursue my theory as the subject of their thesis.

  Fi seemed slightly less confident. “What does John Cusack have to do with this?”

  “Not John. Joan. But now that you mention it, Liam was more of a John Cusack until the end. Until he became a Redford. If he hadn’t become a Redford, maybe we would have stood a chance.”

  “Because you’re a Joan Cusack?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you stood a chance when he was a John Cusack?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But aren’t they brother and sister?”

  My brilliance balloon was losing a lot of air. “The point is it was never a question of Liam not being good enough for me. Quite the opposite, I assure you.”

  She seemed to ponder my hypothesis for a while, then she crossed her legs in front of her and sat up straight. “The problem with everything you’re saying is that I don’t think he changed.”

  “No, he did. He developed a sense of humor and became more confident. And that was all it took for my demented mind to say, ‘Well, now. That won’t do at all, will it?’”

  Fiona was not convinced. “But Liam was always pretty funny.”

  My jaw dropped. “This is coming from you? The woman who told me I shouldn’t settle for Liam because I needed a man who made me laugh?”

  She held her hands up in front of her in surrender. “I know, I know. But I didn’t know him then. And really, I don’t know if you knew him then.” She chuckled as a memory washed over her. “Remember how he’d say his name when he called the apartment?”

  “He was such a dork. ‘This is Liam Howard. Your boyfriend.’” I laughed in spite of the pain. “Did he do that with you?”

  “You mean when I was dating him?”

  “Yeah.”

  She shook her head. “Nope. That one seemed to be reserved for you.” She thought for a moment. “I think it just took him a while to let his guard down around you. You made him nervous.”

  “Nervous?” I raised my head from my crumpled stature to look at her, a confused scowl on my face. “Why in the world would I make him nervous? That’s absurd.”

  She turned her head to look at me, and the bewilderment on her face mirrored the confusion on mine. “You’re kidding, right? Of course he was nervous around you! Think of how different he was with you than he was with me. I mean, let’s face it: he was immeasurably cooler when he and I were dating than he ever was when the two of you were.”

  “Well, yeah.” I lowered my head back into my hands. “That’s because you bring out the cool in people.”

  “That is simply not true. I’ve been trying to bring out the cool in you for years, and I have failed in splendid fashion.”

  “Hardy-har-har.”

  She wrapped her arms around me, and I rested my head on her shoulder. I felt safe and loved, and I knew that no matter how many men let us down, or how many times in however many ways we let ourselves down, Fiona and I would always have each other. And sure, maybe we would fight every few years, and maybe some guy would occasionally cause us to be less than our best with each other, and sometimes it might even be so bad that one of us missed the Hangin’ Tough Tour, but when all was said and done, we would be there for each other, to offer support and love and kind, encouraging words.

  “Livi, you know I love you, right?” she asked sweetly.

  I nodded as my eyes grew misty, more certain of her love for me—and mine for her—than anything else in my life.

  “Okay, then hopefully you’ll know that I mean it with complete love and devotion when I say you’re an idiot, Olivia Ross. Seriously.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She held me tighter as she groaned. “You don’t get it, do you? You ended things with Liam just when he finally felt safe enough to be who he is. I think he was always nervous and played it safe because he didn’t want to lose you. Don’t you see that? But finally, something clicked. I’ve always thought that he finally believed enough in what the two of you had to stop trying so hard.”

  I thought back to that evening at the coffeehouse when his good mood spilled over into Alanis lyrics. I’d known for a long time that I was an idiot for letting him go, but was Fi right? Had that been the moment when rather than becoming a leading man, as I had always believed, Liam had finally felt safe enough with me to let the leading man he had always been shine through?

  “And that’s the precise moment I decided I couldn’t be with him,” I whimpered as I saw it for the first time. “But it was because . . .” It was incomprehensible. “Are you saying he decided to be himself with me for the first time and then thought I didn’t like what I’d seen? Is that what you’re saying, Fi?
”

  That didn’t even make sense in my head, but if that was true . . . Oh, Liam. What I wouldn’t give to go back and do every single thing differently.

  “Who he was, who he wasn’t, who he tried to become, who he became . . . I think it was all for you all along, Livi. If he was a Redford, he was always a Redford. A Redford who believed you were the leading lady he’d been looking for his entire life.”

  I spent the next few minutes crying my eyes out, not at all understanding how I could have possibly gotten it so wrong for so long.

  Finally, Fiona broke the monotony of the sound of my sobbing by asking, “Do you want to read what he wrote to me?”

  I sniffed. “Will it make me feel better?”

  She gave that serious consideration and then replied with a sigh, “No, probably not.”

  “Does he ever mention me?”

  “He does.”

  “Did he tell you we kissed in Boston?”

  She sucked in air so fast she nearly choked on it, and I pulled away from her and patted her back while she coughed herself nearly to death. Once her eyes were red and watery but still staring at me as if she were in a horror movie being terrorized by something from beyond the grave, I added, “Can I take that as a no?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she croaked.

  She stood and walked to the little refrigerator behind her desk and grabbed a Diet Coke. When she offered me one, I nodded. “What happened?” she asked as she handed me the can and then sat in her desk chair while I stayed put on the floor and cracked the drink open.

  “I took the lead on that one.” Embarrassment washed over me at the memory. Well, embarrassment and other emotions that made the heat rise to my cheeks and made my pulse quicken. “He was talking about how I deserve love, and . . . I thought it was a declaration. I thought he was being romantic. Of course, you have to keep in mind what you know now. That I was madly in love with him at the time.” At all the times. “So I . . . Well, I kissed him.”

  “And?”

  I shrugged and maneuvered myself up with my soda in one hand and two legs on the verge of falling asleep and then joined Fi at her desk. “And . . . it was . . . Well, it was amazing.”