Page 67 of Keep Vegas

TONY: The way you love Lizzie. Or the way you describe loving her. Dude, I can’t.

HAYDEN: What if you could?

I shoot him a thumbs-up emoji to stop this conversation. I stare out the window and wonder. Marnie’s words keep running through my brain. Even if it’s all ugliness that gets revealed, I gots to know.

I lift my laptop and begin to unravel what happened over the last thirty-six hours that I disappeared from work.

And then I need to see a man about a post office box.

mak

Imade it to the plane—it was delayed—and I lost a letter grade, and I have to be ok with it all. I’ve talked myself off the ledge. I know I won’t flunk out, but if I don’t get a scholarship, then this dream might die. Now that I won’t be distracted by Tony and all the things that could be, I should be able to pull this off. But instead of getting on a plane back to Vegas, I used the ticket to reroute to Portland.

I’m snuggled on a cozy ecru couch under a soft, fuzzy cream blanket in my best friend’s home. I crashed out for the day when I got here. Then I hid in her guest room for the night. But now, I need to talk about it all.

“There are things you need to tell me. Why did Colton ask me where you live?”

“Shit. What did you say?”

Maggie got a sub for her second grade class and sent her husband out to their hunting cabin for the night. Well, his hunting cabin; she doesn’t like guns. This house is warm and friendly, except for the den and a bit of the living room. There are heads of dead things, and the colors are all of a sudden jarring green and Seahawks blue. Whereas everything else is rich with warm cream and beige tones.

“I don’t lie. And you made me lie so you owe me the details. I said near West Hollywood because I didn’t know how much money you made in your fake life, and I figured that was a neighborhood you could afford that I knew the name of. What is going on, sissy?”

She pulls her legs up underneath her. We’re both in her “cozies,” as she calls them, and they match. The flowy pink pants and floppy V-neck shirts that make us look like we’re in a cult.

“Oh, Mags. It’s a mess. A fucking mess. I told him just about everything.”

“That’s great!” She is so sweet, but she doesn’t know the full extent of my shit show life. I burrow a little deeper into her soft and cozy couch. My pullout is not this comfortable. I’d like to move into this couch and pull this blanket over my head and disappear for a while.

“After we spent the most perfect night together, and I told him I love him.”

“Oh.” She sips her tea.

“Yeah.” I tuck the throw under my chin.

“How did he take it?” Maggie leans forward as if what I’m saying is the most important thing in the world.

“Mags, I’m here. And not with him. How do you think it went?”

“But you saw him!”

I don’t know how she does it, but she seems to make everyone feel that way when they’re talking to her.

I inhale and exhale everything. “Well, I flew to LA to pretend I live there and after we spent the night—”

Maggie puts her hand up like a stop sign. “Wait. You flew to LA?” I sit up a bit to face her.

“Yeah. One of the Slippery Seniors bought me a plane ticket because he was headed to West Hollywood to find me.”

“Why?” She cocks an eyebrow.

“Because he loved me too.”

“Loved?”

“As in before I told him what a horrible person I am. It’s past tense now.” My voice drops a bit as I try to hold off tears.

“We’ll see. Love has a sneaky way of not disappearing.” She shrugs and it’s adorable.