Page 35 of 50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover

“What you said about my idea.”

“I said it was a great idea because it was. Ally seemed to agree.”

Wistfulness seems to blanket her expression. “Thanks,” she says again, like she’s not used to receiving compliments. Like her idiot ex did worse things than disregard her opinions. “Guess I’ll see you later.” She grips the chair back tighter, shifts on her feet, then returns to the kitchen without sliding me another glance.

I watch the kitchen door swing shut, wishing I could bust through it, sweep Delilah into my arms, tell her over and over how amazed I am by the woman she’s become. I settle on eating my cookie with the reverence it deserves.

With more time to kill and pumped by our pleasant interaction, I debate looking up Avett’s number and calling him. Try to find better words to explain my disappearance without telling him exactly what happened. Truth is, there are no better words. Fixing our friendship might have to wait until Agent Rao gives us the all clear. Ricky Sellers, however, might take my reappearance more smoothly. We weren’t as close, and the former front man of the Tweeds had a magnanimous quality that always made him easygoing and well liked.

Before I chicken out, I search his name online and luckily find his number.

He answers after two rings. “Hello?”

His voice sounds the same as I remember—lazy yet congenial. “Hey, Ricky. This is gonna sound nuts, and I really hope you don’t hang up, but—”

“Holy shit, E. Is that you?”

I guess I sound the same too. “Did the rumor mill reach you?”

“Of course it did. This is Windfall. I just can’t believe you’re back. Where the hell have you been?”

He sounds more curious than mad, which is a testament to his good nature. “It’s a long, complicated story I can’t share at this time, but I wanted to reach out. Delilah told me you’re getting married, and I wanted to say”—sorry I missed all your moments, sorry I dropped out of your life, sorry I smoked your weed and didn’t replace it—“congratulations, man. So thrilled for you and Aaron.”

“Thanks, E. Means a lot.”

“I’m also sorry I smoked your weed and never replaced it.”

He laughs. I don’t.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” I go on, “especially if there were times when you might have needed me, and I’m sorry I never contacted you or anyone. I’m just really sorry about a lot of stuff, but I’m also really happy you’re happy.”

A weighty pause stretches, then Ricky sighs. “Your disappearance was intense. Messed with a lot of people, Delilah in particular—” Muffled angry words interrupt him, someone shushing him before he says whatever he was about to say. I once again have the distinct impression more went on with Delilah during her social-media-blackout-drunk-partying phase, and it’s not sitting well.

“Delilah went through a tough time,” he says, giving me nothing. “It upset a lot of people. I’m guessing your return has had a less than welcoming reception, and I have no interest in making it worse. The past is in the past, man. If you’re here with good intentions, then it’s great to hear from you.”

“I am,” I say, saddened again by the trauma my disappearance caused but touched he’s willing to let the past lie. “I’ve missed Windfall a lot.”

A comfortable silence descends. The type of lull full of forgiveness and old friendships and fresh starts. I spin the cookie-less plate on my table. “I still can’t believe you’re marrying Aaron Rothman. That guy can’t sing to save his life. Remember when he did that Bieber song for the school talent show?”

“Says the guy who strutted around with Bieber hair.”

“That hair was awful.”

“The worst. And . . . give me a sec.” More muffled voices, tones rising and falling. “Sorry. Aaron’s here, and we were wondering if you wanted to come to our wedding.”

I scrub a hand over my mouth, too moved by his kindness to speak right away. I didn’t dare expect this much generosity. The only event I imagined being invited to was my wake. “Are you sure? My presence has a tendency to cause drama. I don’t want anything to take away from your big day.”

“It’s my party, and I get to invite who I want to. Plus, the Tweeds will be playing. We can’t go on without our roadie.”

I cross my arms, hugging my chest, unsure what to do with all this warmth ballooning inside me. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”

After a bit of light chitchat, we hang up, and I breathe more freely than I have in a long while. Maybe I can build a fresh-start life in Windfall after all, beyond winning back Delilah. Rekindle my friendships, find a way to face Avett again, walk into a store and not be assaulted with accusations and conjecture. The prospect is still daunting. That bastard Hope, like Life, never did me any favors these past ten years, but I can’t deny the burst of positivity buoying my mood.

With a bunch of time to kill before my meeting with Delilah, I pull out my sketchbook and pencil and stare at my last drawing—Delilah as my albatross, majestic wingspan, fairy-tale eyes, a mass of curly hair cascading around her.

Without thinking, I jot down a line: Get off my land.

I’m not sure what happens next, if I’ve been sucked into a portal to another dimension, or if a restless spirit has taken over my body. I scribble lines and rough sketches as the outline of a story spills from me. My story. Delilah’s story. Our story. Crude doodles and notes, snippets of our Top Ten Bests followed by our worsts, reimagined in a bird-inspired world.