“Yes,” I squeak.
“You look exactly like Willow, but I can see a little of your father too. Did you know fans used to wear green to the concerts to match his eyes? A little silly, but people will do all sorts of things to get seen in a crowd, though it doesn’t help much if everyone is wearing the same color now, does it?” she rambles. My head spins with every sentence spoken by this sweet fanof my parents and uncle’s music. What normally would feel like something beautiful and bittersweet feelshollow. When she finally leaves the store, spending over 100 dollars on things she clearly doesn’t want or need, it all feels even worse.
This has happened more times than I can count, and I never realized howtransactionalit all was. How could I have not realized sooner?
I peel a guitar pick from the place they’re glued in a heart behind the register and bolt out after her as she exits to the parking lot. “Wait!” I call, and the woman turns.
Gasping for breath, I extend the guitar pick—something real, something that holds a song and a memory. That’s what she came here for.
“For me?”
I can only manage to nod, emotions threatening to overflow with every moment I stand in front of her.
“This means—thank you, thank you so much.” She clutches it to her chest, then smooths out her t-shirt. “My late husband and I actually got engaged at this concert.” She shakes her head in disbelief.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I’d do anything for one more dance with him.” She smirks. “We met at a record store, reaching for the same album, and got married a few months later. When you know, you know, don’t you?”
“Was it scary … to fall in love so fast? Or did it feel—”
“—right?”
“Mhmm,” I nod breathlessly.
“Truth be told, the only time I got scared, really scared, was when I let other people’s opinions get in my head. They said we were too young, it was all too quick, but we spent two decades loving each other—and it still wasn’t enough. Can I hug you?” she asks and I nod, melting into a stranger’s arms in the parkinglot. She absentmindedly hums the melody of a song my mom wrote, and I wonder if it’s the one her late husband proposed to.
This is what they worked so hard for.
I hum along too, and for a moment, exist solely within the song. Tears fall down my cheeks as I carry myself back into the store after the moment ends and the nameless stranger drives away.
I don’t know what to do, but I don’t have to do it alone.
Chapter 31
Marina
The bus ride back down south is less glamorous than soaring through the sky in the arms of a winged stranger or jumping through a magical portal.
But without my car, it’s the best option.
The beads of my bracelet slide on my wrist as I fidget, spinning them around and around as if the repetitive motion will make the hours go by faster.
I scrawl words into my notebook, listen to music on my headphones until the Bluetooth dies, then sit in silence as most of the passengers fall asleep. The sky is dark and filled with stars, but there’s no comfort looking at it.
Not when Gil isn’t looking at the same sky.
Gil, who wouldn’t have forgotten me.
Gil, who waited for such a long time.
Gil, who I couldn’t manage to say “I love you” to.
Tonight, I’ll change that—er, tomorrow by the time I get back to him. My heart races through several silent hours, bus changes, and rest stops. Knowing Gil, it’s possible that he’s found his glamour, and at the same time I’m racing to him, he’s found his way to Grams’ retirement home. I can picture him charming every single old lady on the premises.
Despite telling him not to come find me, he might have. And if Grams is the one who has to send him back to his house to find me, well at least then they will have met.
After hours, I step off the bus and it’s as if I never left. The steamy air hits me as I race back onto the grounds; my car thankfully hasn’t been towed and sits in the parking lot as if no time has passed, without so much as a parking ticket. Camp Mangrove, however, is less untouched. A large “No Trespassing” sign stands in my way, and it appears Gil and I weren’t as careful as we thought.
