Always a Love Song

by Charley Clarke

  Zach, who’d played “Over the Rainbow” on his ukulele every single time until Alex and Riley bought him a book of new songs to learn. Now, he only played it every other month.

  Brittany, a senior at the high school who read her poetry.

  And Jamie, a seven-year-old whose specialty was tall tales with her own peculiar twists.

  That was the usual lineup.

  Tonight, when Bridget and Max walked in, each holding a guitar case, everyone immediately knew what they were up to. A shiver of excitement ran through the customers. Fresh blood, and famous blood, at that.

  Riley nudged Alex. “Looks like they came prepared. A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

  “No.”

  “No? That’s all you’re going to say?”

  With a half-hearted shrug, not quite meeting Riley’s eye, Alex said, “I invited them. I thought it’d be good for the community to get a glimpse of their beloved hometown girl.”

  “Won’t they get that at the fall festival?”

  “Sure, but they need to build excitement for the concert. Word-of-mouth and all that stuff.”

  “Huh.”

  Riley studied her intensely enough that Alex turned away. She busied herself with cutting up a lime. “Do you want to tell them they’re on after Jamie?”

  “Sure thing, Boss.”

  It wasn’t until Riley got around the bar that Alex let out her breath.

  Bridget sipped her water as Jamie finished her story, and the bar erupted with applause.

  “You’re good on the plan still?” Max asked.

  Bridget nodded. “Yeah. Yep.”

  The plan could turn out to be very stupid, but she wouldn’t know if she didn’t try. Leave the ball in Alex’s court. That was all she could do.

  She followed Max to the small stage, where they unpacked their guitars and pulled up two stools. They did a quick tune-up, and then Bridget faced the crowd.

  “Hi, everybody,” she said, suddenly shy. “I’m Bridget.”

  “And I’m Max.”

  “Max is my writing partner. Some of you might have heard our stuff before.”

  Laughter ran through the bar.

  “In the spirit of open mic night, though,” Bridget continued, “we’re not going to play you something you’ve heard before. We’re going to try out something new. It’s a song called ‘When I Saw You Again.’”

  “Feel free to tell us what you think afterward,” Max said. “But if you hate it, at least be gentle.”

  Another titter of laughter.

  He looked to her, silently asking if she was ready.

  She nodded and counted them in. As soon as she strummed the first chord, she felt it—the peace that she found, without fail, in music. It centered her. Even with her anxiety over what she was about to do, the tension drained from her body. This was her safe space.

  Alex bit her bottom lip. Hard. If she had thought seeing Bridget was bad, she’d never taken into account what hearing her sing would be like, how much it would hurt. Because Bridget used to sing to her like that. She used to sing in all different kinds of situations, of course. Making breakfast, shopping for groceries, tying her shoes, taking a shower.

  But at home, in their apartment, Bridget would sing for her. She’d sing while they made dinner. She’d sing while she twirled Alex around the living room. She’d sing while they cleaned the apartment. She’d sing as they drifted off to sleep.

  Alex straightened her spine. She didn’t regret inviting Bridget to open mic night. She didn’t.

  But did she have to sing a song that hit so close to home? Did she have to sing a song that would remind everyone of what they used to be? This grief in Alex’s heart was private, but the whole town could see it, had always been able to see it, like she wore it on her sleeve.

  Jaw tight, she took the rag from her shoulder, set it on the counter, and disappeared out the back door into the alley. The night air was cool enough to sting, but she didn’t button up her flannel. She just leaned against the brick wall and breathed slowly until her heartrate was somewhat under control.

  So. Where did she go from here?

  Most of the time, she powered through problems and kept working. Keeping her body busy was the best way to keep her head from running off in directions she didn’t want it to go. Nights like these, though, maybe a few stiff drinks and a long sleep would help more than anything else.

  The door lurched open. Bridget stepped out into the wan glow of the streetlight. Usually so confident, she looked uncertain, unsure of herself.

  For a heartbeat, as Bridget walked toward her, she was seventeen again. She was seventeen and falling head over heels for her best friend instead of scrabbling to pull herself out of it.

  For a heartbeat, she was twenty-three. She was twenty-three and wishing desperately for some explanation of how they’d fallen apart so completely.

  For a heartbeat, she was twenty-five. She was twenty-five and signing up for dating sites in the hopes that she’d get over this constant ache but knowing that she never would. She was twenty-five, and she was trying, and why couldn’t anyone see that?

  Bridget gestured to the wall beside Alex. “Can I?”

  Could she what? Lean against the wall?

  Alex shrugged, and Bridget stood beside her, her back to the bricks. Was she thinking the same thing Alex was, about summer vacations when they’d come out here on Alex’s breaks to make out? About how her dad had caught them more than once?

  The memories made Alex’s mouth go dry, her throat go tight. Because that song, those lyrics, said that Bridget still felt the way she had back then. Even through her haze of anger, Alex had known. It’d just been easier to hide from it.

  But now that she acknowledged it, where did they go from here? It had taken so long to stitch her heart back together after the first breakup. What would she do when the second came? And it would. Because if Alex hadn’t been good enough then, how could she possibly be good enough now? She pressed her palms to the brick wall behind her, the roughness grounding her.

  “Did you like the song?” Bridget asked, her voice huskier than normal.

  “It’s not really something I could listen to objectively,” Alex said. Why did she always have to be like this? Why couldn’t she just say yes?

  Bridget’s silence meant all Alex could do was follow the spiraling in her head. No, she couldn’t think about the song objectively, because all she could think about was —

  “Was it about me?”

  Bridget’s gaze searched Alex’s. Even in the yellow streetlight, her eyes were bright. Her chest heaved with words unsaid. Words about to be spoken?

  “All of them are,” she said, “in some way.”

  Alex gulped. Of all the answers she’d expected, that was the furthest from her mind.

  Bridget shifted into Alex’s space and whispered, “I can’t write about anything but you.”

  Alex’s heart sped into overdrive. She didn’t want to be a muse. She just wanted to be good enough to come home to.

  Bridget’s eyes darted between Alex’s. Then her gaze dropped to Alex’s lips. She gave Alex ample time to pull away.

  And yet…Alex didn’t. She sucked in a breath as Bridget’s lips met hers—softly, hesitantly, reverently. Bridget slid a hand to Alex’s cheek, thumb stroking softly over her cheekbone. It was different, much different, than the desperate kiss they’d shared in her office. This kiss evoked memories of soft mornings spent wrapped around one another, quiet afternoons lazing on the couch watching TV.

  Alex’s heart filled to bursting. She could live in this moment.

  If only she could let herself.

  She pulled away slowly, breathing hard, loath to break the contact even though she needed to. She couldn’t quite open her eyes. Not yet.

  “I’ll follow your le
ad,” Bridget whispered.

  Alex opened her eyes. Bridget’s pupils were blown so wide the blue of her irises was barely visible. Alex itched to reach for her, but there would be no coming back from that. It was one thing to be kissed, quite another to initiate it. A jumble of emotions whirled in her chest. She couldn’t think straight, not with Bridget so close.

  “What do you want, Alex?” Bridget’s breath puffed against her cheek.

  She wanted them back. But she also wanted not to want that.

  “I don’t know,” were the words that spilled from her lips.

  Bridget dropped her hand from Alex’s cheek and took a step back. “Okay,” she said, nodding softly. “Okay.”

  So many thoughts raced through Alex’s head that she didn’t know which to voice first.

  Are you sure?

  Are you okay?

  Am I okay?

  Why do I still feel like this after all this time?

  Bridget licked her lips, then ran two fingers over them. Her voice was still soft. “You’re fine, Alex. It’s fine. The last thing I want to do is pressure you. So, if you figure it out, let me know.” She brushed a chaste kiss over Alex’s cheek.

  Alex was frozen.

  Bridget offered one last, sad smile before going back inside.

  Once again, Alex was left alone.

  Chapter Nine

  Then

  “We have to go, baby,” Bridget said from the doorway, keeping her voice quiet, gentle.

  Alex gave no indication that she’d heard. She sat at the edge of her childhood bed—forearms on her knees, shoulders hunched, head hanging. Her suit jacket lay on the back of her desk chair. Both it and the rest of her suit were pristinely pressed thanks to Evelyn, whose motherly instincts kicked into overdrive in a crisis.

  Bridget stepped into the room, rested her hand on Alex’s bowed shoulder, and squeezed.

  “How am I supposed to do this?” Alex asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Bridget sank onto the mattress and coaxed Alex into her arms. She’d felt much the same the day of her own dad’s funeral, and Alex had been a big reason she’d gotten through.

  “I’ll be here. I’ll be right here,” she murmured, hoping it would be enough.

  Alex wasn’t a big crier, and she wasn’t crying now, but her body felt slight, like she took up half the space she normally did. Bridget pulled her even closer. They could take a few more minutes. Then they had to go.

  Bridget never let go of Alex’s hand. She sat beside her at the funeral service, stood beside her as she said good-bye to her father for the last time, stayed close as they mingled with well-wishers. Bridget’s mom had stepped in to take care of most of the preparations, including the catering for the funeral reception, which Alex walked through in a haze.

  Bridget didn’t know what to do beyond trying to be there for her.

  As the reception wrapped up, Bridget helped clean up the kitchen until her mom rubbed her back and said, “Take Alex back to our house. I’m sure she’s exhausted.”

  Along with her mom, her brothers and sister-in-law stayed to clean up, so when they got back to the Callahan house, it was quiet. Bridget turned on low lights as they made their way to her bedroom. They’d barely spoken all day. Bridget didn’t know what Alex needed. So she asked.

  Alex hesitated in the doorway to Bridget’s room for a moment before saying, “I need to go for a run.”

  Oh. Whatever Bridget had expected, it wasn’t that. But Alex was already moving, faster than she’d moved all day, grabbing her shorts and sports bra from the duffel bag in the corner and heading to the bathroom to change. Before Bridget could remind her that it was dark, that a run could wait till the morning, she was out the door.

  Bridget changed into pajama pants and an oversized T-shirt, lay on her bed, and stared at the ceiling. She’d spent so much of the past few days consoling Alex, or trying to, that she hadn’t yet processed her own feelings, and they came pouring out now. She sobbed for the loss of a man who’d been practically another father. And yet the whole while, she knew Alex’s pain was a thousand times worse.

  When she’d cried herself out, Bridget wiped her eyes as well as she could and checked her phone. An hour had passed. No calls or texts. She rubbed her eyes. Alex should’ve been back by now.

  Bridget hurried out of bed, down the stairs, and out the patio door. Sure enough, Alex, still in her running outfit and probably freezing in the spring night, lay sprawled in the grass. Her chest heaved, though from exertion or with sobs, Bridget couldn’t tell.

  She ducked back inside to grab a blanket from the hall closet before going to Alex, who didn’t say a word. But she let Bridget drape the blanket over her and lie down beside her and take her hand.

  They gazed at the stars, and Alex held onto Bridget’s hand like it was a lifeline as she cried.

  Now

  When Sunday dinner rolled around this week, Bridget was the one to open the door for Alex. She took the six-pack from Alex’s hands with a smile. This was new. This was fine. Or it would be fine once Bridget figured out how to act. Because Bridget’s heart still jumped into her throat every time she looked at her, but Alex didn’t want anything more.

  Dinner, at least, went better than the first time. The conversation flowed smoothly without Bridget having to contribute much. She pushed food around her plate and spent the majority of her time watching Alex.

  Not in a creepy way, of course. Just in a way that made her ache from deep in her chest for what used to be, for what could have been.

  The more she watched, though, the less she thought about Alex holding her and the more she thought about how grateful she was just for Alex’s presence. Alex got along with every single person in this family. Arya and Dev especially adored her. And Alex had been here when Bridget hadn’t been.

  Alex held up this family, and she held up this town. Bridget was lucky to love her at all.

  Alex loaded her hands with plates and followed Evelyn into the kitchen, where she cleared them off and loaded them into the dishwasher.

  Evelyn smiled at her. “I’d say you don’t have to do that, sweetheart, but I’ve told you enough times, haven’t I?”

  Alex nodded.

  Evelyn hung up the towel she’d used to dry her hands and leaned her hip against the counter. “It’s nice to see you and Bridget interact civilly again. A far cry from what it used to be, but I’m happy you’ve made progress.”

  Alex tried for a smile, but only the corner of her lips lifted. It was true that being in the same room as Bridget without needing to go a few rounds with her heavy bag was a pleasant change, a good one, but she still had no clue how to deal with their unfinished business.

  Evelyn touched her shoulder. “Sweetie, is everything all right?”

  Alex turned to face Evelyn, twisting her lips as she mulled over a request. She had every right to ask. She just didn’t want Evelyn to read into it too much. Actually, to read into it at all. It didn’t mean anything. It was just her trying to satisfy her curiosity.

  “Actually,” she said, “do you remember the CDs you said you were saving for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I was, uh, I was wondering if I could claim them now. I know it’s been a long time, but—”

  “Stop. You don’t have to say anything more,” Evelyn said. “I’ll put them in a bag with leftovers for you.”

  So no one had to know.

  Alex’s throat tightened. But she only nodded and whispered, “Thank you,” and closed her eyes as Evelyn pressed her lips to her forehead.

  Bridget lifted her glass of wine to her lips and endeavored to keep her leg from bouncing up and down. Alex had disappeared onto the back patio ten minutes ago, and Bridget could barely contain herself.

  Max shoved her knee.

  “What?” she asked, turning her attent
ion to him. “What was that for?”

  “You’re not even listening,” he said. “We’re talking about the show on Saturday.”

  “Oh. Right. What about it?”

  “Owen’s idea about livestreaming it for a dollar but asking for larger donations. I like it because it makes it more accessible, but it also doesn’t ask for only a buck from people who would be willing to give more.”

  It was a genius idea, and she was happy to be part of it, happy to be able to help the school, the teachers, and the town.

  A few minutes later, when Bridget had once again drifted out of the conversation, Evelyn put her hand on her knee and murmured, “You look like you have something else on your mind, something other than the concert.”

  Bridget smiled bashfully.

  “Go to her. I think you two need to talk.”

  Bridget downed the last of her wine—much-needed liquid courage—set down the glass, and left the living room, snatching a blanket hanging over the armchair on the way. She paused in front of the patio door. Outside, Alex sat on the swing, forearms on her legs as she leaned forward. Her curly hair was loose today, the way Bridget loved it best. She used to like to play with it as they watched movies on the couch.

  Maybe Bridget shouldn’t go out there. Maybe she shouldn’t force her presence on Alex when Alex clearly wanted a few minutes to herself.

  Bridget fidgeted with the blanket in her hands. Okay, that was her in. She’d go and give it to Alex and, if Alex seemed interested in talking, she’d stay. There. A plan.

  Alex looked over her shoulder when Bridget opened the patio door. It wasn’t a look that demanded she go away. That was a start.

  Bridget’s heart pounded as she offered the blanket. “I thought you might be cold.”

  Alex gave a half smile as she draped the blanket over her shoulders. “Thank you.”

  Bridget clapped her hands together to cover the cracking of her heart. Alex didn’t want her company. Alex didn’t want her. “Okay, well…”

  Alex slid over on the swing.