Page 13 of The Has-Been

I’ve only worn it once…to a concert that Liam and I went to together. I slam my eyes closed, refusing to remember that night or the band that quickly became our favorite. I don’t listen to music much anymore—all my favorite songs only remind me of him. It brings back too many memories of how I used to scream lyrics at the top of my lungs in his Jeep.

When I finally take a deep breath and open my eyes, Rory’s own meet mine as she gives me a knowing smile. Thankfully, she only takes the shirt and moves it to the back of my closet, where I won’t have to look at it every time I pick out clothes.

Little does she know, I’m the reason it was in the front to begin with. I pulled it out this morning, but couldn’t make myself wear it—couldn’t let myself remember.

“Last year you forgot,” my mom voices softly, making Rory and I jump, since we’d both seemed to have forgotten she was still on the line. “I understand things were different and all, but our Thanksgiving Gala is a big occasion, and I don’t want you to have to rush Cynthia again by forgetting. You know how much work she puts into your girls’ dresses, just be considerate of her time,” my mom scolds through the phone.

I instinctively reach for it, to prevent Mom from saying anything more.

While she knows the truth, Rory doesn’t. Nor, June, for that matter. Reese is the only cousin who does, and that was only because she sat and held my hand through it all.

“Rory,” my mother calls from the phone, and my shoulders relax knowing she’s not about to spill the truth if she knows Rory is here with me.

How my mom knew she was in my room is beyond me—maybe a mother’s intuition.

“Hey, Aunt Chrissy!” Rory exclaims. “You know June won’t let Aubrey forget! She’s already starting to work with Cynthia on the designs.”

My mom giggles. June is the fashion expert of us all. And as much as I groan about our family’s Thanksgiving Gala, even I will admit I somewhat look forward to it—well, to the afterparty we cousins throw when it’s over.

“I will let you girls go,” my mom drawls. “Be safe. Love you!”

“Love you!” Rory and I cry as the call cuts out.

When I turn my attention back to my closet, Rory is holding out the outfit she’s picked out for me. I grumble, but take it in my hand and quickly dress.

My hands find my hips as I evaluate my outfit in the mirror.

Tights, mini skirt, dress boots, and a cropped sweater.

I look nothing like myself.

“I can’t wear this!” I protest as I spin around to face Rory. I would much prefer baggy cargo pants and my worn-out low dunk Nikes. But she is insisting on helping me tonight, and God forbid someone tell Rory Vaughn no.

We like to pretend it’s only a trait she possesses, her being the youngest in the family and all—but really, it’s just a Vaughn thing in general.

Rory’s dark gaze looks me up and down.

“What’s the problem?” she asks dryly. If there is one quality that solely belongs to my youngest cousin, it’s her ability to speak her mind. No matter what or where.

“I don’t know,” I argue, running my hands through my hair, careful not to ruin the curls I spent the last hour working on. My dark brown hair is shoulder-length and fine, nothing at all like my younger cousins’ thick strands, which I so often find myself jealous of.

“I just feel—” Rory raises her brows at me as I begin, as if asking me to continue with just a look. “Not myself.”

“Well,” she exclaims, walking out the door of my room without looking back, “Don’t blame me when June bitches about you showing up in sweats!”

“I wasn’t going to wear—” Swallowing the lump in my throat, I glance down at the matching sweat set lying on the floor and don’t finish that sentence.

I shrug.

I mean, it’s not a bad idea.

Bending down, I grab them and quickly change into the more comfortable option. When our Uber honks from the driveway, it takes away any chance to second-guess my outfit choice.

I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? I run into my ex while wearing oversized sweats to a bar?

Unlikely.

The rush of heat from Melbourne’s is a welcome change as I open the door and step inside.