Jaya leaned forward to press a kiss to Alex’s forehead. “Take care of yourself, okay? And maybe put down the bottle for tonight.”
Alex looked up sharply—or as sharply as the alcohol coursing through her system would allow.
“You reek. It’s coming out of your pores,” Jaya said in answer to her unspoken question. “Ian and the kids are waiting in the car, so I have to go. Eat some leftovers and go to sleep early, okay?”
“Okay.” Alex closed the door, closed herself inside her fortress of solitude, and took the leftovers to the kitchen. On top of the Tupperware containers sat two CDs, still wrapped in cellophane. There was a sticky note attached to each.
The one on Bridget’s debut album read: Alex, a lot of these songs say everything I couldn’t put into words.
But the second read only: For Alex.
Well, she was already drunk. Might as well get this over with. She put the leftovers in the fridge. In the living room, she sank onto the couch and poured herself another glass of scotch. She popped the debut CD into her laptop and studied the track list, which included “She,” the song that, Alex remembered vaguely, had led to Bridget coming out as bi.
She let the album play through, her heart growing heavier with each track. Bridget’s voice was a gift; she had always known that. But Alex found it particularly painful tonight.
By the middle of the fourth track, she was lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, tears trailing down her temples. Not that Bridget would lie about something like this, but she was right—every single song was about Alex in some way. Some were happy, the ones about first loves or summer kisses or belonging to someone so completely that they know everything about you. Alex recognized herself in the details—the kiss by the train tracks, stargazing on their first official date, the outfit she was wearing the first time Bridget told her she loved her.
The ones that weren’t happy, well, it was easy to see the influence she had there, too. They were about taking blame, being sorry without knowing how to say it, losing something incredible. They were about being young and too stupid to know how to handle a relationship and the stresses that came with adulthood. They were about the color of the world fading once the person you loved was out of your life.
Together, the songs added up to an album that was essentially a love letter from Bridget to Alex. With that realization in her head, Alex fell asleep on the couch, still crying.
Bridget threw on a suit jacket over her sweater, smoothed it down, and checked her appearance in the mirror. With her jeans and sneakers, she looked respectable without being intimidating. She was going for small-town entrepreneur, not famous musician or big-city CEO.
Downstairs, she found Max in the kitchen, eating cereal.
“Well, well, well, don’t you look nice and professional?” he said, then narrowed his eyes. “What are you up to?”
“I have a meeting,” she said breezily.
“With Pippa? You don’t care about looking good for her.”
Bridget studiously avoided his gaze as she grabbed a travel mug and filled it with coffee. “No. Um, it’s not with her.”
“Oh. Is it about the concert on Saturday?” Perking up, he half stood. “Should I get my jacket? I can even comb my hair.”
She turned to face him. “It’s not about the concert. It’s not about music at all.”
He settled back in his chair. “Well, if you want me to come, I can.”
“Thanks, but this is something I have to do on my own.”
He nodded and returned to his cereal. Then he asked, “Is it about Alex?”
Bridget sipped her coffee. “In a way.”
“You know I’m here if you need to talk, right?”
Bridget smiled. “Of course I do. Thank you.”
“Good luck with the meeting.”
“Thanks. I’ll be back in an hour or two to practice.”
“Cool. I’ve got some ideas for ‘On Stage.’”
“Can’t wait to hear them. See you later.”
Travel mug in hand, she donned her sunglasses and walked the few blocks down to Main and then up the street to the real estate office. The late October sun warmed her face, if not her heart.
The agency was located in a small corner building. The walls inside were painted a cool blue and featured framed photographs of bridges and vistas in the area.
Bridget approached the receptionist, a woman about her mom’s age. “Hi. I have an appointment with Gina Gallo.”
“All right, um…” She looked up and faltered, obviously caught off guard, as she reached for the computer mouse. She studied the screen, red blooming on her cheeks. “Let’s see here. What—what’s your last name?”
“Callahan.”
“Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. Callahan? Mrs. Gallo will be with you in a moment.”
“Thank you.” Bridget sat in the corner of the waiting room next to a table littered with magazines. She picked up a gossip magazine and flipped through it, stopping in surprise when she saw her own face staring back at her. Patrick’s, too. It was a picture from a few months ago, when she’d attended a red carpet premiere with him. There was a cartoon tear drawn between their heads, and the headline read, “The Truth about Their Split.”
Her mouth tasted sour. She wanted to look away but couldn’t, not even when the article laid all the blame at her feet for not keeping Patrick satisfied.
“Ms. Callahan?”
Bridget snapped the magazine shut and put it back on the pile. Trying for a smile, she said, “Yes, that’s me.”
The woman standing in the hallway offered her hand. “Gina Gallo. A pleasure.”
“Yes. Same.”
“Follow me to my office.”
The bare hallway was painted white, much less welcoming than the lobby. Gina’s office, too, was rather plain. There was nothing on her desk except for her computer and a few silver picture frames. Her bookshelves were lined neatly with labeled binders. The only thing on the wall was a calendar.
“Please, take a seat,” Gina said as she gestured to the chair in front of her desk and sat in the one behind it. She opened a folder, slipped glasses onto her nose, and consulted her papers. “Now, as I understand it, you’re interested in the Wentworth Theater property?”
“That’s right.”
“May I ask why? It’s an unusual request, and I like to know my clients’ aims so as to best serve them.”
Somehow, she doubted Gina would be interested in hearing that she and her ex-girlfriend used to sneak in there to daydream and make out. “It just… It holds a lot of memories for me. I hate going past it and seeing it all boarded up now.”
“Yes. You’re not the only one. At one point, the historical society expressed interest.”
“What happened? Was it out of their price range?”
“No. Not exactly. The property is actually quite cheap, but repairs will be extensive. It’s an investment property and likely won’t see a return for a number of years.” She smiled. “Not a purchase for the faint of heart.”
Bridget hesitated before replying. Was Gina trying to get her to back off? And if so, why? Shouldn’t she want to make the sale? “I understand.”
“It’s just that, with someone such as yourself, who isn’t in the area most of the time, are you really going to be able to update it properly?” Gina asked. “Someone will need to oversee the renovations.”
“I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,” Bridget admitted. All she could think about was doing something nice for Alex—even if it had to be a parting gift. Because no, she couldn’t stay. She had a life back in New York, not to mention a career that couldn’t simply be put on hold. And there was no way she’d move on emotionally if she had to be around Alex all the time without getting to be with her.
“Well,” Gina said, not unkindly, “perhap
s it’s time you start.”
Weeknights at the bar were low-key, just how Alex liked. She served enough customers that she could go a little mindless while doing it, but it was never so busy that she got stressed. It was a nice balance.
Or it used to be.
She leaned her forearms on the bar top and took stock of the space. It was simple—wooden floors, wooden tables, wooden bar—and sparsely decorated. Just a place for people to come at the end of the workday to unwind. She’d never really made a conscious choice to stay. She’d only wanted to keep her dad’s legacy alive. And she had. He was alive in the original café next door, in this bar, in the atmosphere of the town itself.
The emptiness eating her insides, though, was that because she’d given up on her professional aspirations to come home? Or was it because of the mistakes she’d made? Allowing Bridget to leave, holding that grudge until they were so far apart they couldn’t find their way back to each other.
And now? Now, instead of wiping their slate clean and starting afresh, she had chosen to avoid Bridget, avoid the truth that she, too, shared the blame for how they came undone.
She was happy, wasn’t she? Or she was the closest thing she could be to it. If she tried to chase happiness, could she expect to catch it? Moving to a new town, landing a new job, finding a new relationship—she wouldn’t find her happiness there. But she’d made something for herself here, and she liked it. That was good enough. It had to be.
“Why don’t you go take a break?” Riley said, sidling up beside her.
“Because it’s not time for my break yet.”
“Come on,” Riley said. “It’s slow enough that I can take care of things on my own. And if I need you, you’ll be right in the corner hanging with your friends. Don’t you trust me, Boss?”
“No, not really.”
Riley smacked her with bar rag. “How rude. Go be mean to your friends instead.”
Chuckling, Alex thanked her before heading to the corner table, where Owen, Jordan, and Lu were gathered. “Hi, guys,” she said.
They greeted her with smiles, and Jordan nudged the empty chair out from the table. “Sit down for a few minutes, friend.”
Alex obliged, dropping into the seat beside Lu. “Where’s the tyke tonight?”
“It’s Grandma’s night with her,” Jordan said.
Owen frowned. “I miss her.”
“He gets separation anxiety, but don’t worry. He’ll be okay.” Jordan squeezed her husband’s hand, kissed him on the cheek, and turned back to Alex. “You getting ready for the festival?”
“Yeah. The brewery’s got a booth.”
“Speaking of,” Lu said, casting a glance around, “where’s our star and her little sidekick?”
Alex cleared her throat. “They’re probably busy practicing for the concert.”
“Good,” Owen said. “I hope they play some new stuff.”
“It’s a good bet since her muse is right here,” Jordan said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alex said, trying not to let her defenses fly up before it was warranted.
Jordan shrugged, too casual. “Just that you’ve been different the past few days, quieter. You’re not spitting acid every time her name comes up anymore.”
“But you two are also really good at pretending the other doesn’t exist,” Owen said.
“Until you think no one’s looking,” Lu added.
”What’s going on? What’s changed?” Owen asked.
“There’s nothing going on.” She couldn’t explain it to her friends because she couldn’t even explain it to herself.
The four of them were silent for a long, tense moment.
Alex tightened her jaw. She didn’t need anyone sticking their nose in her business, even if they were her friends. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone to figure things out?
Probably because she wouldn’t figure them out. She’d just let things go without making a decision until something snapped—either Bridget left again or Bridget kissed her again. Why did decisions always paralyze her like this?
“Maybe it’s time to think about what you want, Alex,” Lu said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“What do you want out of life? Because you may pretend living in this place you always wanted to get out of and running your dad’s business is enough for you, but we know you better than that. Do you want to change your future? Do you want a relationship? A family?”
“And whatever future you imagine,” Owen said, “do you think Bridget fits into it?”
“Or if she doesn’t right now, could she?” Lu asked.
Alex scratched the wooden tabletop with her thumbnail. “Why are you guys ganging up on me all of a sudden?”
“We’re not ganging up on you, sweetie,” Jordan assured her. “It’s just…when you and Bridget were at your best, you were at the top of the world.”
“Yeah, and it was a really long way to fall.”
“And you picked yourself up, came away stronger than you started. Maybe those obstacles that broke you before wouldn’t break you now.”
Alex shook her head. “What are you saying?”
“We just don’t want you to give up on something just because you got hurt once.”
“I could get hurt again,” Alex murmured. Because that was it. That was the truth of things. What if she worked up enough courage to put the past behind her only for Bridget to leave again? She didn’t think she could survive that.
In fact, she knew she couldn’t.
Jordan reached over. “Look, we all make mistakes.”
“Some of us make bigger mistakes than others,” Lu said.
“The point is that you were happy with Bridget, and, while you’re not exactly happy now, I think you can see a glimmer of it. I think you know what you want. We just don’t want to see you give up on something wonderful because of mistakes made when you were twenty-three.”
They were different people now. Who knew if they would even get along anymore? But they would, Alex realized with a sharp intake of breath. If you stripped away all the pain, all the guilt, they still got along wonderfully. And if that was something Alex could have again, if it was something within their reach, didn’t she deserve a shot at it?
All this time she’d tried to convince herself she didn’t love Bridget anymore, and all this time, she’d been lying to herself.
“And if it’s not Bridget,” Owen said, “then it’ll be someone else. But we don’t want to see you resign yourself to being alone when you deserve to be loved and to be happy.”
“Yeah, let us set you up. Let us make you an online dating profile,” Lu said.
The single life wasn’t her first choice, but it worked for her. Or at least, it had.
“Do you think…” Alex swallowed hard past a lump in her throat. “Do you think it could ever work?”
Owen covered her hand with his own. “I think you won’t know until you ask her.”
Alex pulled it away to rub her face. “I can’t. I can’t do that.”
“Okay, okay,” Lu said, holding up her hands. “So, don’t ask her outright.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“You ask her out.”
“On a date?”
“Yes, genius, on a date,” Lu said with an affectionate eye-roll. “Just be together for a few hours without any pressure, see if she still makes you laugh, if you still connect with her like you did before.”
“It’s a date, not a marriage proposal.” Jordan beamed at her. “You can do it.”
“Yeah, don’t you think you owe it to yourself?” Owen asked.
Did she? Did she owe herself anything? At the very least, though, maybe she owed Bridget something. Something like a clean slate.
“We should definitely play ‘She,’” Ma
x said, “but do you think we should put ‘Alexandra’ on the set list?”
Bridget, lost in her own thoughts, listened to the question without really hearing it.
“Bridget?”
“Huh? What?” She swiveled on her stool to face him. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I’m trying to finalize the set list, which is something you should have input in, I think.”
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
“You didn’t even hear a word I said,” Max said, no accusation in his voice. He tossed his notebook onto the table. “You can talk to me, you know.”
“I know.” And she usually did. He was the one who had nursed her through a broken heart, even if it was of her own making, and stood by her side during this whole journey. He was probably most responsible for keeping the fame from going to her head, and he was responsible for giving her the support she’d needed to come home.
“Well, you’ve been at this long enough not to freak out over a concert, so it must be something else.”
She resituated herself so her legs were curled underneath her on the couch. “After the concert, we’re leaving. I mean, obviously you don’t have to come with me, but I want to leave.” For some reason, admitting it out loud made her feel like a failure.
“Are you sure?” he asked softly.
“It’s nice being with my family, but…”
There’s nothing left for me here wasn’t exactly right. There was lots to love about this town—her family, her friends, the weather, the way everyone was nice and no one seemed to want anything from her, the quiet.
“I can’t take it anymore,” she whispered.
Max took her hand and squeezed. “I understand. I’m ready to go back to New York when you are. We can be on a plane late Saturday night if that’s what you want.”
“Thank you. For being here and for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Probably get a lot fewer questions about us dating,” he said.
She chuckled.
“Bridget!” The upstairs door creaked open and her mother shouted down, “There’s someone here to see you.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
Always a Love Song Page 14