Page 1 of The Now in Forever

THREE YEARS AGO

D espite all my lists, alarms, and colorful sticky notes in my planner, time is not on my side this afternoon.

I’ve always hated when people personify time, like it’s a living, breathing thing with a fragile temperament that needs to be bounced and shushed.

But today I get it. When I finally make it to the bookstore, sweat beads at the nape of my neck and I’m out of breath.

The shop is a good ten degrees hotter than outside, thanks to all the perfumed bodies packed in.

I take out my earbuds, Stevie Nicks still crooning about thunder and rain.

For a moment, I toy with the idea of leaving, heading back into the sunshine, putting my earbuds back in, and going to get a solo glass of wine somewhere.

Because I’m a strong, independent, almost twenty-six-year-old woman.

That’s what I do now—stroll around Helena with empowering women in my earbuds, perfectly capable of getting dinner or a drink by myself. I never have, but I am capable of it.

“Name please,” the woman at the door asks with a clipboard in hand.

“Hattie Stevens.”

She flips to the next page and scratches a check next to my name. “Enjoy.”

There’s not an empty seat amongst all the neatly lined up chairs, so I stand in the back and clutch his book in my hand, using the other to tuck my freshly dyed blonde hair behind my ear.

Breakup hair; no breakup is too mundane.

But found-out-my-husband-was-sleeping-with-his-boss-hair doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.

Total and utter betrayal hair? The only good thing to come out of the demise of my six-year relationship with Chad. Well, that and now I’m single.

Will Ed recognize me with the new hair?

The last time he saw me, it was brown—well, brown and unfortunately green.

I take a deep breath in through my nose and slowly out past my lips.

Of course he will recognize me. I still have the same face; the same blue eyes he once stared deeply into. There’s no way he won’t recognize me. Not after what we shared.

But what if he’s not happy to see me?

I’m not sure what I expected from this reading.

That’s not true. I know exactly what I expected, more like hoped for, but it certainly wasn’t this humid and crowded in my fantasies.

I should’ve known it would be packed, since I had to get a ticket, but it didn’t occur to me.

All I’d thought was how amazing it’s on the solstice. Exactly seven years later.

My nails dig into my soft flesh as my palm tightens. I’m spiraling. All I can control is me, and I want to be here. I want to see him.

The smooth hardcover in my hand grounds me. I can’t believe he really did it—got his book published, and it’s a wild success. He’s a wild success. He’s come a long way from that day so long ago in New Haven.

That day. My cheeks warm at the thought.

Our perfect day often flits through my brain.

It comes back to me the way memories often do, with no beginning or end, just flashes.

The light on the water. The sweet, spicy scent of orange and clove.

The sugary strawberry ice cream, salty crackers, the bitter bite of cheap beer in the back of my mouth. Soft skin. Sweat.

Sometimes I play it in a more intentional linear reel, like I’m watching a movie I’ve memorized every word to .

A woman with a shiny blonde bob and even shinier lips approaches the podium. “Hello. Thank you all for coming to The Nook. I’d like to welcome Ed DeArmas to the podium to read from his New York Times best-selling literary fiction novel, Vex .”

The crowd erupts into applause. Everyone who was seated stands as Ed walks to the platform.

His dark suit jacket is much more expensive than the one he was wearing when we met.

What hasn’t changed is the beat-up band shirt underneath.

This time, instead of The Velvet Underground, it’s Dead Kennedys.

His hair is a little longer—he runs a hand through it as he surveys the crowd.

Over the heads of all the people clapping, his eyes find mine, and he stops his scan. His green eyes are as bright as ever. Adrenaline shoots to my toes in a whoosh as our moment of eye contact stretches like a strand of honey when you take a tiny taste straight from the jar.

He looks away, but the moment was unmistakable. Wasn’t it?

I barely listen to the reading, too aware of my own body to lose myself.

I know all the words by heart at this point, anyway.

Since the book was released last October, I’ve read it cover to cover five times.

On my third pass, Chad asked why I kept reading the same book.

Toward the end, it seemed everything I did annoyed him.

It wasn’t about me—he was looking for ways to justify what he did.

Ed’s smooth, deep voice pulls me back to the reading.

Once he’s finished, the crowd claps, and the shiny-haired woman takes the microphone back.

“After a brief Q and A, Ed has graciously agreed to sign copies of Vex. If you need to buy one, we have a display over by the register. Ed will take questions now. Please raise your hand, and we’ll get to as many as we can in the time we have left. ”

Almost every hand in the place shoots up. Shiny hair goes to a woman near the front dressed all in black. She takes the mic, her bright-red lips curling into a smile, and I wonder if I could pull off that shade. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

The room explodes in laughter. Ed smiles, the tips of his ears turning a little pink. Once the crowd has quieted enough for him to be heard, he leans into his mic on the podium. “No comment.”

There are quite a few “ahh's” and even a couple “boos,” echoing my own disappointment.

I want to hear the real answer to that question, and I want it to be “no.” Truthfully, I want the answer to be “I actually signed up for this reading hoping to find a girl I spent one magical, perfect day with seven years ago and never saw again. She said she lived in Helena, so I signed up for all these Montana readings to find her.”

The rest of the questions are much more appropriate for a literary event.

After the Q and A, Ed sets up at the signing table in the back, and a massive line forms. I stroll through the shelves of books, not wanting to get in the line yet, running my hand along the spines of the mysteries.

If I’m close to the end of the line, he can suggest we get a drink.

Catch up. I don’t want to admit how many times I’ve fantasized about this day since I bought the ticket two months ago.

I wander to the romance section, still needing to buy a copy of Anh’s pick for Story Club this summer. There’s a little window in the corner with a table under it and a few books displayed. It’s a shame. If this were my bookstore, I’d put a fluffy chair there and make a cozy reading nook.

The line is dwindling, so I step into it and start reading my new bubblegum pink book.

We shuffle forward at a snail’s pace. So far, the book Anh picked is absolutely delightful.

I want to run out of here right now, curl up with a cool glass of lemonade and a face mask.

What am I doing, subjecting myself to this level of anxiety?

“Um, I think you might be at the wrong signing.”

I lower my book. Ed smiles, but his eyes stay fixed on his pen that has apparently run out of ink.

He scribbles swirl after swirl on a scrap of paper.

His suit jacket is hanging casually on the chair behind him, his exposed forearms flexing with each movement of the pen.

I laugh, my cheeks burning, and quickly switch the book for the one under my arm, handing him my well-worn copy of Vex.

My heart is in my throat, waiting for him to recognize me.

His lips twist into a frown. “Ah, there it is. Again.”

Is he sick of looking at his own book? No. That can’t be possible. If I ever publish one of my books, I'll paper my walls with the cover. I, of course, have to complete one in order for that to happen, though.

He hasn’t taken a good look at me yet. He seems a bit distracted.

A woman in a navy-blue silk top and thick black pants, despite the sweltering heat, comes over and whispers in Ed’s ear.

His face turns taut, the muscle in his jaw clenched.

He squeezes his fist, his knuckle tattoos that spell out R-E-A-D, stretching with the motion. The woman hovers behind the table.

“Who should I make it out to?” Ed asks in monotone, pen ready to scrawl away. He doesn’t look up when he says it.

My chest fills with tiny pinpricks of excitement. This will do it. If he hasn’t recognized me by now, he’ll definitely remember my name. “Hattie.”

A flicker of something crosses over his face, but I’m not sure what. Recognition? Hope? It’s infinitesimal—a twitch of his lips, a little too slow of a blink.

The woman steps forward and puts a hand on his shoulder. “This is the last one, don’t worry.”

Ed signs the book, handing it back to me quickly, not glancing at me once. I’m frozen, staring at him, willing him to look at me. Look at me, dammit . His eyes flick to mine for a beat as he stands, turns, and walks toward the back of the store.

“That’s all for tonight, I’m afraid. Ed has another signing tomorrow morning in Butte at Isle of Books. Please feel free to join us there.”

My whole body is numb, like I’ve been shot with Novocain. He didn’t remember me. He didn’t know my face. He didn’t even know me by my name. How many Hatties are there in this day and age? Five? Ten? Seventeen tops.

Feeling comes back into my fingertips, and my scalp tingles. Maybe he left me a message in the book. It probably has his number or a place and time to meet. I open the cover with shaking hands. The writing is nearly illegible, but after careful deciphering I read:

Keep on keepin’ on.

- E d

I look up, hoping to meet Ed’s green eyes, for us both to laugh at the absurdity of it. He got me. It was a joke. Of course, he remembers. But he’s gone.

Trudging up to the counter to buy my books, I pass a stack of signed copies Ed left. I open the cover of the top book, tears filling my eyes as I check the inscription . I move to the next in the stack and the next and the next. They all say the same thing— Keep on keepin’ on.