“I love him, Amy.” Greta draped her arms around her friend.
“I know. I always knew.” She wasn’t even going to argue the point, to try and save face. That was something the old Greta would have done. Now she was an adult, and such maneuvers were far beneath her. Amy disentangled, and tossed a toothbrush on top of her duffel bag.
“I love him, Summer.” Greta knew better than to drape herself on Summer, but she still wanted her friend to understand her sincerity, so she settled for meaningful eye contact.
“Stop staring at me. I’m still pissed at you.” Sweet Summer. She was the most sensitive of the three of them, but sometimes Greta thought the three of them were the only ones in the world who knew that. That scowling face hid a heart that was bigger than her culinary ambitions. Clearly, Greta had really messed her up.
Well, she’d make it up. She’d fix it. What was it Summer had said when she and Amy had been fighting? That they were always going to be friends, so it didn’t really matter if they stopped talking for a while. That meant she could spend the rest of her life being the best friend ever. Now that she was already going to be adult and be loving and even paying her own bills, she might as well toss some more lofty ambitions on the list.
“Not too pissed to drive to Vegas, though?” Greta needed the reassurance.
“Don’t think too highly of yourself. My prospective boss owns a fusion place out there I want to try.” Summer zipped her own overnight bag and raised a brow at the other two. “Shall we?”
“It’s totally you,” Amy whispered. “Took her hours to invent that excuse.” Greta felt enormously better. All was well that ended well. Assuming, of course, that they could drive to Las Vegas before the festival closed. Otherwise, that really would be an embarrassing anti-climax.
“Do you need to pee?” Summer was asking Amy, who was shaking her head. “Do you want to at least try?”
“Stop it, Mom, I don’t have to pee.” She slung her duffel over her shoulder and opened the front door, leading the others out to Summer’s SUV. “Bestie roadie!” she squealed.
“Bestie roadie!” Greta agreed.
“Bestie. Roadie.” Summer reluctantly tossed her hat in the ring. She fired up the car, and they were off.
“Hey, Summer?” Amy said. “Can we stop? I have to pee.”
Greta’s heart grew even another size, if it was possible. Any more of this nonsense, and Greta would be completely out of Summer’s doghouse. God bless Amy’s predictably tiny bladder.
“Did you tell her yet?” Amy said, when she climbed back in a moment later.
“Tell me what?” Greta asked. She truly didn’t think she could take any more paradigm-shifting news.
“My company got a big-ass grant! I’m an official employee again!” Greta couldn’t honestly tell if the beam on Amy’s face or Summer’s was brighter. “I’m moving out!”
“That’s great news, Amy.” Greta meant it. The girl was only marginally employable, she really needed to stick with what was working. “When’s the big day? I can … help…” It was the only downside to having friends that knew you that well—you really couldn’t fake sick on moving day. Unless you started laying the groundwork a few days in advance.
“Stop fake-coughing, Greta, I’m not moving for a couple months. I have to find a whole new apartment, after all.”
“And speaking of,” Greta said conversationally. “I’ve recently come into a bit of money of my own.”
“Explain,” Summer sternly ordered, meeting her eyes in the rearview.
“Remember how you guys were the only ones who bought my last book? And the one before that?” Amy was bouncing in her seat without even hearing the punchline. “Well the publishing industry as a whole was as impressed with this one as you two were with the last one. There was a big bidding war and everything. Anyways, I’m rich now. At least for the next two years.”
She settled comfortably back into her seat, slurping a bit of soda through a straw, enjoying the countryside as the girls shrieked. It reminded her of Jon, another little twist in her chest. What if they got there and he refused to see her? What if the love that she had recently discovered wasn’t enough? He had no reason to trust her, after all. The only thing she had to offer was her heart, and she’d just casually broken his.
“Hey, do you guys think there’s any way I’ll actually pull this off?” She was going for casual, but her voice was definitely wavering. There were just so many ways it could go wrong. And Jon was the biggest variable of all. The worst thing was, if he didn’t take her back, she wouldn’t blame him one single bit.
Things had gone quiet in the front seat, so she tuned back in, but the two of them were whispering without her.
Perhaps they were planning an appropriate congratulatory gift for the book. Perhaps she ought to get Amy one too. It would be polite, especially since the two of them were planning something for her. She practiced her surprised face a couple times until she realized Summer was staring at her in the mirror again.
“We need to talk. In fact, we may need to stop and wine for this one.” Well this was an interesting turn of events. Champagne to celebrate her success? What was the talk about, then? Undoubtedly Summer had some ideas about investment strategies. That was fine, Greta really didn’t know much about that sort of thing except that she didn’t want the sort of mess Bob had left.
“I saw a sign for a winery,” Amy helpfully added. “Five miles back.” Summer glared at her before getting off and then back on the highway. Terribly inefficient, and very un-Summer-like. Still, it was only a matter of minutes before the three of them were happily seated around a table made of a wine cask, sipping their preferred styles of juice.
“Before you start protesting, hear me out,” Summer said seriously. And then she proceeded to suggest something that shocked Greta to her very core. Again.
The worst part of all was that she was right. How come everyone else knew so damn much?
* * *
Some people were more creative when they were sad. That was just a fact of the artistic world. Heartbreak and heroin were the two quickest channels to a hit. That was the dirty little secret as to why agents and managers only suggested therapy or rehab when things were completely out of control. Because most of the time, it behooved them to keep their stars sad and stoned.
Jon was rapidly discovering that this did not apply to him. He was playing what had to have been the worst show of his career, in front of the biggest audience he’d ever been unfortunate enough to embarrass himself in front of.
CeAnna was only a minute away from coming out to perform their big single, but she’d already sent out several shots of Fireball ahead of her. So even she could tell he was sucking. And if he knew CeAnna, which he certainly did by this point, she was likely to be half-sloshed herself. If his set was bad enough to penetrate her pre-gaming …
Well, he was expecting DJ Force to be raked over the coals in tomorrow’s press, and not booked for another festival this size for some time to come. If ever. Careers had ended over sillier things than this.
Great, not only had Greta broken his heart, she was ruining his entire life. Boom. But there was no pleasure left in a beat drop.
Wait—why was Nevaeh on the stage? His bodyguard was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. It was supposed to be time for CeAnna—was she going to turn this into some sort of performance? Jon was starting to sweat. The only thing worse than putting on a bad show was not having any idea what the show was at all.
Then someone else walked out, with a microphone. A tiny little someone in a vintage dress and sky-high heels. The crowd had no idea what was happening, but they cheered anyways. Jon had no idea what was happening either, but his heart leapt.
Why was Greta on his stage?
“Hello, Las Vegas!” She managed, before turning a violent shade of red. Next thing he knew, she was demonstrating a few of those peculiar dance moves that had caught his attention on the very first night. What was she doing? CeAnna came charging out and grabbed the mic.
“Yo, Vegas! My girl’s a little shy, let’s show her a good time, huh?” There was an answering roar from the crowd. As lost as Jon felt, he had to admit that it was the most responsive the audience had been in the entire hour he’d been spinning. “All right, this dancing queen right here’s Greta, and she’s got something to say to your favorite DJ and mine.”
“I’m sorry,” Greta muttered into the microphone CeAnna was waving in front of her face. She steadied it with one hand and said it again, louder. “I’m sorry I was an asshole,” and the feedback screeched. The crowd cheered again. They loved assholes, apparently.
“So will you marry me?” She asked into the microphone, as she stared him in the eyes behind his decks. At that, the crowd fell silent. So did the decks, as Jon did something he’d never done in his life—shut down in the middle of a gig. Full sonic train wreck.
“You’re serious?” He asked into his mic. Which maybe came off a little asshole too, but—how was this really happening?
“I’m serious. I love you. I was just being stubborn before. And childish. And frankly, a little bit mean. Let’s get married.” Her voice was wavering again, but her eyes were steady.
“You were under a fair amount of stress, I suppose. Yes. Okay. Right, then.” Jon was at an utter loss. This was not at all how he had seen this day going. Or his engagement, for that matter. He looked out at the audience, waiting for him. Then he looked back at the girl he’d been waiting for his whole life. “Let’s get married!”
CeAnna had taken the mic back and was serenading them a cappella, but all Jon could hear was his own heartbeat in his ears as he climbed out from behind his equipment to get to his fiancée. His fiancée! Crikey, this set went from worst to best in a hurry.
Jon picked her up and held her, like he’d thought he would never do again. “What—why?” was all he could get out. How had she changed her mind? More importantly, how could he ensure she’d not change it back?
“First I realized I love Mina. Eventually I realized you too. Don’t ruin this with I told you so’s, Jon, or I’ll sell your ring and buy wine.” Wait, he hadn’t bought her a ring. She held up her left hand and displayed an antique diamond. “If you had said no, this would have been beyond embarrassing.”
“Just the buying-your-own-ring part? Not the turned-down-in-front-of-a-hundred-thousand-people part?” She was so damn cute, and she was all his, for always. She was still in his arms because he wasn’t going to let her go.
“I think you’re supposed to finish the show,” she said into his ear as CeAnna ran out of things to sing at them while they enjoyed their moment.
“Not without you,” Jon said, tugging her back. “I’m not doing anything without you ever again.”
“Cool,” Greta agreed. “You spin, I’ll dance.” Oh dear God please no. But yes. She was going for it. Someday, someone was going to have to gently teach her some new moves. But here was CeAnna, that lovely, lovely, girl, using Greta’s moves. He owed her so much Fireball for this.
Jon caught a glimpse of movement from the side of the stage. Rice was there, giving him excited thumbs-up and money signs. Of course that guy was interested in it from the business end. Nevaeh was towering above his diminutive agent, offering to kick him out. Jon grinned and shook his head at both of them.
This was the most intensely private moment of his life, but in a weird way it felt fitting to have shared it with the world. Because he wanted every single person in that audience to feel as good as he did right then. Jon dropped some new samples in, remixed the song live, felt the immediate positivity of the fans. This was the greatest show ever.
He wrapped things up with a dubstep wedding march. “I’m getting married!” He screamed at the sky. Greta crowd-surfed. CeAnna poured a bottle of Fireball over herself. Nevaeh and Jack danced out to lick it off. Greatest show ever.
* * *
A few hours later, Amy was sobbing already, and the Elvis impersonator hadn’t even walked in yet. Summer smacked her. Greta smacked Summer for smacking someone in her wedding. Nevaeh made a threatening noise and everyone calmed down.
“Are you sure about this?” Jon whispered. Greta didn’t blame him for asking. Even though he’d asked approximately every ten seconds since she’d proposed. She realized it had been an abrupt turnaround. Only in her realization, though, because in retrospect it had always been coming to this.
From the first glance at Angie’s wedding, there had been something so familiar about him. She realized now it was a premonition. All her efforts to keep him at arm’s length were nothing more than a futile effort to keep herself from admitting how wrong she’d been. Of course love was a real thing. It’s just that assholes like her father were a real thing too. The trick was not to fall for one.
Or be one. But she’d apologized. Publicly.
Elvis was now in the building, and Greta suddenly found herself blinking back tears, too. How had she never noticed how romantic Fat Elvis was? That white rhinestoned jumpsuit, like a wedding outfit of his own. A few tears spilled over. Jon smacked her.
Time simultaneously lasted forever and sped by as they repeated their vows. It was just like their first kiss all over again, and then suddenly it was their first kiss all over again, as Elvis pronounced them man and wife. This time, even Jon was teary.
Greta tilted her head up to him, and their lips met in a gentle promise that meant even more than the ones they’d spoken. After hopping from job to guest room to couch—Greta had finally found home.
They parted to uproarious applause from the gathered witnesses. Nevaeh was sobbing onto CeAnna, Amy was flirting with Jon’s agent, Summer was casting dark looks at the provided cake while Rust cast longing looks at both her and the cake. All in all, Greta believed it was probably the best wedding she’d ever been to, and she’d been to more than she cared to admit. Everyone should elope! It was totally the best thing ever.
Greta sneaked off to the side to call her again-favorite sister Angie as Elvis cut the cake and poured sparkling wine that would have been right at home at one of Amy’s fundraisers.
“Greta, where are you? Amy had texted you and Jon broke up so I came over to get you and I’ve been frantic!” Oh, Amy. Always quick to notify, not so good on the follow-up.
“I’m in Vegas.”
“Oh my God, tell me you didn’t gamble away all your new money. Damn it, Greta—”
“Angie, I didn’t gamble away all my money. And Jon and I aren’t broken up anymore,” she was so excited to tell her, “We’re married!”
There was a dead silence from the other end of the phone.
“You’re what?”
“Okay, I realize it seems a little fast, but listen to me, Ang. No one is ever going to love me like Jon does. He sees exactly who I am and he likes all that stuff. Even the very super unadult stuff. We have so much in common, and the things we don’t are still interesting. I knew all that already, but it wasn’t until last night that I realized the missing piece of the puzzle. I’m never going to love anyone like I do him, either. And I really hope you can accept this, because it’s not changing. Unlike our parents, I mate for life, I have decided. What?” Angie was laughing at her. “What?”
“I knew you loved him, I just think it’s funny to hear you defending yourself. Everyone knew but you, of course.”
“I’m getting a little sick of hearing that. Oy, save me some of that cake!” she called over to Summer, who thought she was being sneaky scooting the cake closer and closer to the trashcan, likely in some misguided attempt to salvage the wedding party from bad taste. Too late on that, she thought, as Elvis shimmied his way around topping up glasses.
“Well, you know you have to do the whole thing over again, right?” Wait—what? “After bridesmaiding for all of us, you know it’s time to have all nine married ladies return the favor. Also, mom will be pissed if she can’t be there. Was it even a Jewish ceremony? What about Jon’s family?”
It was Greta’s turn to be silent, then she hung up on her sister.
“Fuck!” she said. “We moved too fast!”
There was some small satisfaction in learning that Angie was on the hook for all the beers at her next reception, though it was slightly overshadowed by being the subject of yet another bet. Amy thought it was awfully funny she needed a do-over, and so did Summer, but Greta knew exactly how to put them in their place.
“Hand me some cocktail napkins, Jon,” she said. “I have grooms to find for my bridesmaids.”