by A. J. Pine
His brows rise. “Seize the moment?”
“Shit,” I say again. “That wasn’t my inner monologue? My stupid inner monologue I decided not to listen to, and look how that turned out.” I huff out a breath. “Yes. Seize the moment. I wanted to kiss you one more time, and normally I’d over think it, tell myself why I shouldn’t kiss you again, that twice in the car should be enough, that I don’t want to give you the wrong idea, that I’m not even sure what the right idea is. I just—I wanted to kiss you. So I did, and now we can add drawing blood to my list of fails for the weekend.”
I cross my arms, and he laughs. A car horn gives a tentative honk, and I look past Griffin to find Miles’s eyes on mine. That honk is meant for me.
“Pippi,” Griffin says, his palms finding the small of my back, pressing me into the diminishing space between us. “At this point, you couldn’t fail me if you tried. I’m too far gone, migraine or not, vampire or not.”
Despite my annoyance—my fear—I let him finish the kiss, let his tongue slip gently into my mouth while the taste of him consumes me straight down to my toes.
Another honk of the horn, this one not holding back.
“I…I have to go. Monday.”
“Monday,” he says. “Though I’m not sure I can wait that long. I could come over tomorrow, tide us over until the library.”
“Monday,” I repeat.
I back toward Miles in his car, Griffin’s eyes on mine the whole time. When Miles and I pull away, I give voice to those silent words.
“I’m going to tell him,” I say, and Miles’s face loses the intensity it wore when I first got in the car. I thought it was because he was going to be late for work, but it was for me.
“Things went well, I take it?”
I shake my head, huffing out a laugh. “No. I mean, that’s not entirely true. At first it was perfect, the drive there—the hotel room.”
I study Miles’s profile as he drives, a dark brow rising along with the corner of his mouth.
“His friends were great, but there I was with this girl, the girl. Like, the one person he’s fallen for, ever. She was with her boyfriend, and they’re clearly in love, like bonkers in love, and they were all celebrating Duncan and Elaina’s engagement with champagne, and the energy was crazy and charged, and I wanted to be a part of it, to show Griffin I could be a part of it, and…”
I stop for a breath as Miles brakes at a red light, not sure if I’m making any sense. When he shifts his eyes in my direction, I flinch at his darkened irises, at the immediate disappearance of his previous grin.
“Maggie, please tell me you didn’t drink.”
Because I can’t give him the answer he wants, I look away and say nothing at all. We drive the last couple minutes to my place in silence.
Miles shifts the car into park but doesn’t turn it off, so I release my seat belt and open the door to leave.
“You can’t fault me for trying, Miles. And for fuck’s sake, you better not judge me for it, either.” At this I twist to face him again, and he blinks, his dark eyes closing and opening in what seems like slow motion.
Finally he says something, his tone soft and careful. “I’m not judging you, Maggie. I’m trying to make you see you don’t have to play a role. You’re not the same person you were three years ago. But guess what? I still love you. Because the real you is in here.”
He rests his palm over my heart, and I roll my eyes despite his gesture tugging at my insides. I guess Griffin’s not the only master of deflection. Miles is the closest person in my life other than my grandmother, yet I hold him at a distance, too—self-preservation as much as it is my attempt to keep him safe as well.
“You’re a pain in the ass sometimes. You know that?”
I smile at this. “You mean beyond the Jess-Logan debate? Because you’ll lose that argument.”
He sighs. “It’s not an argument, only who has the magnetic pull. Logan’s pole happens to attract mine. Jess attracts yours.”
I let out a wild laugh followed by a snort. “You did not just talk about poles attracting poles.”
Finally he grins, the mischievous one I’m sure attracts many…poles.
“Innuendo aside, think about it, Mags. Rory thinks Jess needs fixing and wants to be the one to save him or fix him or whatever. But that never works, trying to make someone who you want them to be—who you think they should be. It’s not your job to fix him…or protect him, and it sure as hell isn’t your job to fix you. You’re not broken. You’re who you always were, only different. Stop trying to be who you think you should be and be who you are. That’s the Maggie I want. And I’m pretty sure it’s the one he wants, too.”
I grab his chin, letting it rest in my palm while I plant a kiss on his lips.
“You think you’re pretty smart with your Gilmore Girls psychoanalysis.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, as I start to exit the vehicle. “You know, for the ride and reminding you how amazing you are.”
I slam the door and walk around to the trunk, rapping my palm on it so he’ll pop it open.
“Lemme help…” he starts, but I interrupt him before he’s out of his seat.
“I got it,” I tell him. “You know, because I’m amazing and everything. I think I can carry my own bag.”
The trunk pops open, and I grab the small suitcase without a problem.
“Thank you,” I say when I make my way to his window. “For the ride.”
I head up to my apartment, realizing I never gave Miles the rest of the details about last night. It doesn’t matter. What happened, happened, and I can’t change that. But Griffin’s still here. He saw a hidden piece of me, and he didn’t run. That’s something.
So when my phone buzzes with a text, I’m only a little shocked that it’s him.
Griffin: Nat found out about my phone call and wants to throw me a ‘Finally Growing Up’ party. Can’t say I like the title, but a party is a party, right? Say you’ll be there? It’s Friday night.
I laugh at Nat’s name for the party, but it takes nothing away from the pride spilling from the spaces between Griffin’s words.
Me: Wouldn’t miss it. Just tell me where and when.
Griffin: I can pick you up.
Me: I’m working, but Miles will let me out of closing. Means I’ll be a little late. But you can take me home. If you want.
His reply is immediate.
Griffin: Deal. Don’t be surprised if I’m ready to leave as soon as you arrive, then.
I bite my lip, but the grin is too big to hold back.
Me: Deal.
For the first time in a long time, I can’t wait for Friday night—or to show someone my place. To show him my place. To show him me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Griffin
The Kitty Cat Klub is a place where a crowded party can masquerade as something more intimate. I picture me and Maggie tucked away in the corner of one of the plush sofa booths, ignoring the throngs of people. It’s not like anyone else gives a shit that I’m pissing away parental support in search of who knows what. They’re all here for the open bar.
“Why are you empty handed?” Davis collapses onto the booth next to me, his signature Tanq and Tonic in hand. Though after one sip, he’s left with a glass full of gin-flavored ice.
“Because you’re drinking enough for both of us already.”
He crunches a sliver of ice and sets the glass on the table in front of us.
“Wrong answer,” he says and waves Nat over, who’s busy with the server assigned to our little gathering.
“Is he sick or dying or something? Or maybe this is an intervention?” Davis looks at me and shrugs. “I mean, I never thought you’d go through with it, but I at least wanted in on the gig.”
Natalie’s eyes narrow at my friend, and I silently revel in the reaction I know is coming.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Davis? No he’s not dying. And who cares if he’s not drinking? Is it some sort of badge of honor
to slur your words by nine o’clock?”
God I love to watch her hate on Davis, have loved it for years.
Davis keeps his eyes trained on her as he speaks. “Reed, did you know your sister is hot as hell when she’s pissed at me? It’s a passionate sort of pissiness, don’t you think? Did I mention she’s hot?”
I ready myself to take another lap to make sure I haven’t missed saying hello to anyone my sisters invited.
“Watch it, man. She’s my sister. I can’t be responsible for the irreparable damage she can cause to parts of your body I’m sure you cherish.”
This does nothing to deter him from waggling his brow at her. “That’s kind of what I was hoping would happen.”
I slap him on the back before standing up. “You’re on your own, man.”
I kiss Nat on the cheek. “Cut him some slack,” I whisper to her. “He did just get dumped.”
She sighs. “Two months ago. I’m surprised she lasted as long as she did. A pretty package can only fool someone for so long before they figure out that this”—she gestures toward Davis, who swirls the ice in his glass—“is what lies beneath.”
“Keep an eye on him for a few. Will you? I want to check in with Jen and Megan and see if—”
“She’s not here yet, Griff. It’s not even ten. What time is her shift over?”
I shrug. “She said hopefully she’d be off by nine, depending on how busy it was.”
“Then she’ll be here soon. And I don’t mean to sound like Davis, but are you sure you don’t want a drink?”
I shake my head and smile. “Nope. I want to remember tonight.”
“I don’t,” Davis says, butting into the conversation with an outstretched hand brandishing an empty glass. “Grab me another while you’re up and about?”
“Sure,” I tell him, my sympathy overruling the need to give him shit for his behavior. I hope Nat can muster an ounce or two herself.
Jen is busy chatting up a fellow grad student, and Megan hides in a quiet corner on her phone with, most likely, the guy we’ve never met. I scan the place with false hope, not so much for Maggie but for the two people I never expected to show their faces but who I still wish would: my parents. The thought bears no logic other than them most likely being the ones funding the evening. A small part of me thought they’d come around, that they’d even be proud of me. But their absence overrides their financial contribution. I think about all the functions I’ve been expected to attend for them, all the times I showed up not quite on time or in top form and realize they must know how I feel.
When I belly up to the bar, I remind myself I’m grabbing a drink for Davis, despite the underlying desire to have a beer.
“The guest of honor, huh?” The animated voice greets me from across the bar—a blonde-haired girl, tall and trim.
“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
She crosses her arms on the bar and leans in my direction.
“What can I get you, gorgeous?”
…
Maggie
I sniff the shirt I’ve been wearing all day. Coffee. I do the same to the one hanging in the back room, the one I brought for tonight. Coffee. My hair reeks of it, too.
“What are you waiting for, beautiful? I clocked you out ten minutes ago.”
Miles hovers in the doorway, a package of filters in hand. I gesture at my attire and groan.
“What was I thinking agreeing to this after a shift? I’m all gross and coffee-smelling. You’ve seen the people he hangs out with. They’re, like, fancy.”
Miles convulses with laughter.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself at my expense,” I say.
He shakes his head. “Since when do you give a shit and a half about what someone thinks of your clothes? Honey, most girls work to get your hippie-hipster-coffeehouse chic going. But that’s you when you roll out of bed. He sees you, Mags, even though you hide. I think that’s what’s freaking you out.”
I nod. “I’m good at hiding.”
He peeks out into the shop, checking for customers no doubt, before striding in my direction. He drops the filters on the desk and wraps me in his strong arms.
“I know you are. I’ve been trying to find you for years.” His voice bears no bitterness, merely a statement of fact. Because it’s true.
I sigh, letting go of the tension as my head falls against his shoulder.
“You’re closer than anyone else has gotten,” I tell him. “And I’m grateful you’re still trying.”
He lowers his chin to my hair, resting his head on mine.
“You trust him?” he asks, and I let out a shaky breath.
“I think I do.”
His arms loosen, and he backs away to look at me.
“Then get yourself to a party. At a bar. Where you will not drink.”
“Where I will not drink.” I don’t need to learn that lesson twice.
Miles lifts the long-sleeved black peasant top from the coat rack and holds it up for inspection.
“So, you gonna wear the top that smells like coffee or the top that smells like coffee?”
I laugh and look down at my Royal Grounds T-shirt. Then I reach for the one in his.
“Gimme the fancy one,” I say, and he releases the garment into my hand before turning back to man the counter.
After changing and letting my hair out of its ponytail, I swipe on some deodorant and lip gloss and head out to the front of the shop.
“Are you sure I can’t drive you?” Miles asks. “You know Jeanie and George can hold down the fort if I need to run out.”
This is true. Jeanie and George know the owner, and they’ve helped in a pinch before, but this isn’t a pinch.
“I have the name of the club and the address on my phone. It’s a quick bus ride, and then Griffin is taking me home.”
A lightness fills me at saying this aloud, and I don’t try to hold back the grin. Griffin is taking me home.
“Look at you,” Miles says. “Fancy or not, you’re stunning. You know that, right?”
My cheeks hurt as my grin widens. Tonight I let myself believe in possible.
“I’m leaving,” is my only response, and I wave as I make my way to the door, bundled to battle the elements.
My wool coat and hat are nothing against the biting wind of an early Minnesota December. But the bus stop is close, and I’ve timed it perfectly. Within seconds of my arrival, I climb into the toasty vehicle and pull out my phone to double-check time and location. It’s only nine fifteen, and I should be there within ten minutes. The Kitty Cat Klub. 315 14th Avenue.
My stomach fills with a butterfly dance party, and I giggle out loud, a mixture of nerves and excitement because tonight marks both an ending and, hopefully, a new beginning.
I look back through a week’s worth of texts on my phone, each one a different form of Griffin double-checking that I’ll be there tonight, as if I didn’t already feel the pressure of how important this is to him—the importance of me being there. I’m still having a hard time digesting that and what everything about tonight means, which is why I never answered him with more than I’ll be there.
As we approach my stop, I stand and hoist my bag over my shoulder, proving that while Griffin may have started as a distraction, thoughts of him—of us—are now a motivation, and I’m the first off the bus as soon as it comes to a halt. Scratch that. I’m the only one exiting at this stop, so there’s no delay as I head in the direction of the party. It’s only when I slip my hand into my pocket to retrieve my phone that I realize the best laid plans…
No phone in my pocket. I check my bag. It’s not there, either. Because it’s on the bus. And now, no bus.
I can do this. I remember the name of the club and the street it’s on. Fourteenth Avenue. Wait, maybe it’s Fifteenth. There was a fifteen in the address for sure.
No big deal. I can do this. It’s only two blocks to Fifteenth and then at most a few blocks to the club. But my senses overload, and I second-gues
s myself. I’m already moving, though, so I keep going.
Only when I turn onto Fifteenth, the first two blocks are purely residential. Block three begins to populate with more commercial properties, and by the time I’m several blocks in, I decide that I fucked up. So I pop into a restaurant, the entrance packed with waiting patrons.
“Excuse me.” I tap a stranger’s shoulder, an older woman, and she raises a brow at me in response. “Um, do you know where the Kitty Cat Klub is? I think I made a wrong turn.”
The woman rolls her eyes under a veil of severe salt-and-pepper bangs.
“Do I look like I know where a club is?”
She turns away from me and back into her conversation. Way to be helpful, lady. At least I caught sight of her watch. Nine-thirty-two. I need to go now before Griffin thinks I’m not coming.
The noise of the crowded restaurant reverberates in my ears, disorientation affecting my equilibrium.
Come on. If I can get there, get some caffeine in me, I’ll be fine.
I decide to cut through an alley that looks like it connects with the next block, Fourteenth Street, which is where the club must be. In my head Miles asks me what the fuck I’m doing, but I rationalize the alley as a shortcut and remind myself a can of pepper spray lurks somewhere at the bottom of my bag.
I don’t recognize the alley when I enter it, but once a few feet in, I know exactly where I am…or at least that I’ve been here before. Because there it is, our wall. My silly mantra, What If? and Griffin’s three memories, each in its own language. Forgetting for a moment the perils of a girl hanging out in an alley alone, I approach the wall, hand outstretched, and run my bare fingers over the words, his words: Souvenir. Memoria. Cuimhne. Griffin’s memories for me, and a wave of recognition hits, knocking the cold air from my lungs.
I haven’t forgotten anything about our time together. Not really. I had a couple lapses, but being with him triggered the familiarity I needed to remember. For the most part, the whole past month is crystal clear. He is crystal clear, even as the throbbing between my ears begins.
I feel around in my bag for the can of paint that’s still there, and I add our names—Pippi and Fancy Pants.