Page 4 of Forever & Always You

“Don’t turn into Mom, please, I beg,” I say, my hand lingering on the handle of my door.

“I know my life sucks right now, but I needed it to suck for a while. I was waiting for something, and last night, I got it. Now .?.?.” I smile, only slightly.

“ Now it’s the right moment to climb back out of this hole. Just give me some time.”

Zach’s frown deepens and a flicker of regret travels across his eyes.

“You aren’t yourself, Gabs,” he says quietly, “and you can’t blame that on losing Dad.

You weren’t yourself long before that. I miss the Gabby who would beg me to drive her to McDonald’s at midnight for milkshakes.

The Gabby who tried her best to give me advice on girls even though you were, like, a baby and knew nothing.

And then you seemed to grow up overnight, and for as much as you can’t stand Mom, you sure did become her perfect daughter. ”

We don’t break eye contact, and there is nothing I can even begin to say because, deep in the pit of my stomach, his words ring true. There is no defense that wouldn’t be a bald-faced lie. All I reply is, “I know.”

“And then you became a total loser,” Zach adds, lightening his tone of voice, “so when you climb out of this hole of yours, can you please be you this time? Not this down-in-the-dumps college dropout, not Mom’s bitchy reincarnate. Just my reasonably annoying little sister.”

I cross my arms with a smirk. “Well, can I do a sister-of-the-groom speech at the wedding so I can tell everyone about your cross-dressing phase when you were ten? There’s photo evidence of you squeezing your fat butt into my dresses.”

Zach glowers. “That’s beyond reasonably annoying.”

“See, I’m still a work in progress,” I say with a shrug, then open my door and disappear inside my room before Zach can utter another word that resonates too deeply.

My bedroom is exactly how I left it at eighteen.

Polaroid pictures of my best friends and me are taped around the full-length antique mirror that leans against the wall, and there’s even the dregs of some designer bottles of perfume left on my dresser.

When I crawled into my California king in the middle of the night, the mattress seamlessly contoured around my body and the sheets basked me in the scent of lavender.

Even though Zach and I are long gone, the maid keeps our rooms pristine. Not a single dust mite in sight.

I make up the bed and throw open my curtains.

My bay window overlooks the front of the house and I sink down into the bench in the alcove, tucking a pillow beneath my chin and gazing outside.

It’s a gorgeous July morning here in Wilmington on the North Carolina coast with vibrant blue skies and sunshine dancing through the trees that line our drive, and once upon a time as a small child, my view was of a large reservoir surrounded by sprawling greenery and wildlife .

.?. Until the city council approved a housing project immediately opposite our gated, private community of red-brick traditional Georgian homes, and Mom went into a meltdown over real estate values.

Unsightly apartment blocks were quickly erected on the other side of the street.

Although both communities were worlds apart in terms of social class, it never stopped me from wandering over there.

Families moved in, and families meant kids.

Much to Mom’s disapproval, I had a lot of fun scavenging through the nearby fields with all of my new friends.

I was a much nicer person when I was a kid, because Zach’s right. Something changed when I started high school, and there have been so many versions of Gabrielle McKinley since then that it feels nigh on impossible to ever truly find myself again.

My gaze settles on one of the apartments across the street.

Second floor, balcony painted blue. My best friend lived there once.

We used to wave goodnight to one another, and just when I’m wondering if his family still lives there now, a man I’ve never laid eyes on before walks out onto the balcony and pins up a shirt to dry.

No, his family are clearly gone now. I hope wherever he is, whatever he has done in life, he’s doing good.

He deserved a better best friend than me.

*

“You look absolutely gorgeous, honey,” Mom says for the thousandth time as she kneels to the ground to adjust the hem of my dress again, ensuring it sits perfectly in photos. “And you’re very handsome in that suit, Mark.”

“Yes, you two look great together!” Dad agrees, snapping some more photographs of us in front of the picture-perfect marble staircase with a proud, beaming grin.

I glance at Mark out of the corner of my eye. We’re hugged in close, his hand around my waist, his expensive cologne filling the air, and I should feel so lucky—I’m going to senior prom with Mark Lowitz, only one of the hottest guys in school with a stellar reputation, yet my stomach is in knots.

Across the street, Austin Pierce is also getting ready for prom.

I’ve been lying to him for weeks now. I lied when I told him we couldn’t travel to prom together because my dad wants to drive me there in his sports car and the backseat is only good for groceries.

I lied when I requested he wear a red tie because my dress is red.

I lied when I promised we’d dance together.

There have been many moments where I’ve wanted to just rip the band-aid off and tell Austin the truth, but he has been so, so excited and I couldn’t bear to let him down. I still want him to go to prom—I just don’t want it to be with me.

“You do look super hot,” Mark whispers into my ear, and a tingle shoots down my spine as he gives my hip a squeeze. His blue tie matches my dress. “I can’t wait for the afterparty at Liam’s.”

I try not to blush too much in front of my parents. They’ll most likely kill me tomorrow morning when I’m rotting in bed with a hangover, but it’ll be worth it. Everyone knows the afterparties are the best part of prom night.

“Okay, I think those photos look good,” Dad says as he holds out the camera to Mom to flick through, and she nods in approval. “You two better get going or else you’ll be late. Drive safe now, Mark, alright? You’ve got precious cargo on board tonight.”

I pull away from my posed stance with Mark and waltz over to Dad in the pair of heels that will no doubt blister my feet by the end of the evening.

He gives me a big old hug and a kiss on my forehead, and then Mom pulls me into her embrace, too.

They both wish me a wonderful night, and my chest tightens with the guilt of my cruelty once again.

Mark leads the way outside to where his car is parked on our drive, and I suddenly panic that perhaps Austin has already looked across the street and spotted it.

I carefully gather up my dress and ease myself into the passenger seat, urging Mark to get going.

My parents wave us goodbye from the porch, and the moment we pull out of my neighborhood, I breathe a sigh of relief that I’ve managed to leave my house with Mark without bumping into Austin.

But that relief doesn’t last for long, because as we pull up at the venue, I realize this is where things get complicated. How the hell do I avoid my best friend all night?

*

I suck in a sharp breath. The memory is so vivid that it makes me instantly recoil from the window.

I race to my walk-in closet and hastily scan the shelves above the clothes that are still here after all this time.

There’s one thing I’m looking for, something that’s been tucked away safe and sound for twelve years, yet I still remember exactly where I stored it back then.

It’s inside an old jewelry box my late grandmother gave me. One with ballerinas that twirl and sing when you open the lid, and I spot the pink velvet box wedged between old designer handbags I used to sport going to the mall. I stretch up on my tiptoes and grab the jewelry box.

When I open it, the ballerinas attempt to spin, but they only judder and sing a robotic, freaky tune instead. Quite frankly, I’m surprised they even move at all after so long. Inside, however, there is no jewelry. Just a perfectly folded piece of paper.

I almost can’t bear to open it.

It’s an agreement we signed at the age of twelve, because we were goofy kids who wanted nothing more than to be so cool and grown up with a binding contract. My heart ricochets in my chest.

Written on the paper, it reads:

We will be best friends forever.

My name sits underneath, written in my very serious attempt at cute calligraphy, and his name is scrawled right next to it in typical boy fashion.

It’s like a knife to the heart, reading his name.

Austin Pierce.

There are many things I regret in my life, but I’m not sure any of them can ever come close to the remorse I feel for the way I treated Austin Pierce.

The things I did to him, the cruel words I spoke .

.?. By the time my guilt caught up to me, the damage was done.

Our paths had already gone in different directions, and it wasn’t until the sudden and abrupt death of my father three years ago that I finally looked in the mirror and knew things had to change.

It was the start of my bad karma. As I wallowed in the grief of my loss, I also embraced it, because I deserved it.

My downfall was long overdue, and in order to truly understand just how miserable I’d made others feel when I was younger, I needed to suffer too.

So, I dropped out of college, restricted my finances, cut off my social circles, rented a crappy apartment and applied for bottom-of-the-barrel jobs.

It’s been a tough few years, living this sad little life of mine, and I wasn’t sure I’d punished myself enough for my wrongdoings until last night, when finally someone said it: you’re nothing.

Now it’s time. Time to piece my life back together again, time to make things right, time to find Austin Pierce. He needs an apology, and I need his forgiveness.

It’s the very first step in my redemption arc.