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“But four months—”
Another snort. “Come on. People act like it’s the hardest thing in the world. Do we not have porn now? I’m not saying it’ll be easy for him. I’m just saying he’ll do it.” She shrugs. “I don’t know, call me naive or out-of-touch because of Nolan. Maybe it’s true. But what I’ve found is when a guy really likes you, and I mean really, really likes you, all the other excuses that come into play with other men don’t even figure. It won’t matter if it’s the right time or you’re apart, or if he isn’t technically, a hundred thousand percent in his heart, ready. It won’t matter if you aren’t his religion or even his usual type. It won’t matter. Obstacles will just be a word he won’t look twice at. If he’s your guy, then Wynona, he’ll walk through fire for you.” She reaches out to give my shoulder a supportive squeeze. “And don’t beat yourself up. I think that’s what you did when you set him free a week ago. You wanted to see if he was worth his words. It’s easy to be in love when you’re alone with someone for two weeks on a tropical island. It’s easy to be faithful and think everything will work when you don’t have to work or live together or have to deal with any of the boring, troublesome BS that makes up actually building a life together. It’s easy to be faithful when you see the person day in, day out. But can you do it for a few months away? I’m not saying to extend this longer than necessary. I’m not even saying that you shouldn’t visit him. What I am saying is that it’s been a week, and you didn’t say ‘not ever’, you said ‘not now’, and for your guy, that would mean ‘later’. Your guy would wait. And if he can’t, if he can’t handle being on his own and not getting his way, if he can’t keep you in mind when you’re not there, then what’s the point?”
She exhales. “Sorry. I think I’m getting overly philosophical. It’s Nolan’s fault. He went on this”—air quotes— “spiritual journey. Anyway... I’m not going to get into it. My point is, Wyn, if he’s not your guy, wouldn’t you rather know now?”
I find myself nodding, my hands going to my stomach. “But my baby...”
“She’s right,” Josie says. “The best thing you can do for your baby is let its father make his own decisions. Yeah, it would be nice if things work out and you can all be a family. But just because he’s the father of your child doesn’t mean he’s your guy. He has to earn the second part.”
“You’re right.” I find that, somehow, I can smile and almost mean it. “Both of you.” I wrap my arms around them again. “Thank you. I just... it’s easy to forget, to let the old fears creep on in.”
“Hey.” Sierra tips her forehead against mine. She smells like the Shea butter we rubbed on our feet after we did that at-home pedicure earlier. “We’ve all been there. When you love someone so much, I don’t know about you, but at the best times, it’s crazy, but I find myself thinking there’s no way this can work, can last. There’s no way I can be this happy, that things can be this good and stay this way. That’s the curse of the happiest times. You fear the fall.”
“You wonder how they can like you, of all people,” Josie says softly. “Out of all the people, they chose you. It seems crazy.”
“Yeah,” I say. Because they said it all already, and there’s nothing left to say. “Yeah.”
Chapter 24
Emerson
I walk alone to the bar so I can get my head around it.
I’m doing it. This is really my life.
Playing piano up on stage while the crowd goes wild, so into the music that I hardly notice.
The first big paycheck already came in, and while it went straight to my savings, it felt damn good.
Putting away money for the future.
For the first time in a while, I can see something there. It’s still hazy, too hazy to put a real form to.
But it’s there.
As I walk, I extend my arm experimentally. The midnight air is still spritzed with the rain that stopped less than an hour ago.
Maybe that was the best thing about tonight. How it was pouring out, too wet and miserable for anyone to bother with an outdoor concert. And yet, when we all strode out on the stage, there they were, crowding the field.
Young and old, men and women, smiling and scowling against the onslaught.
There for the music.
As I walk, I step into the reflection of my black sneakers over and over and over again.
Wynona always said it was the best time for artists, the way the puddling reflections cast and recast the light. She was the only one I knew who’d still jump into puddles for the splash.
