“I’ll be waiting.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll be hunting her down.”

TWENTY-TWO

MY FRIEND MELANIE SAYS NOT TO WAIT FOR PRINCE CHARMING—HE COULD BE STUCK AT A CONCERT

Pandora

So I heed her advice.

The flight triples my anxiety, but I’m starting to become a pro at this. Once on board, I pop my clonazepam and apologize to the guy in the seat next to mine, saying, “If you need to use the toilet, just wiggle past me, ’cause I sleep like the dead,” and he laughs and says, “No need.”

Next thing I know I’m being shaken—rather violently—by the flight attendant, letting me know we’ve arrived in New York.

New York.

Madison Square Garden.

And Mackenna Fucking I-love-you-you-delicious-motherfucker Jones.

I hail a cab at the airport, lugging my roll-on suitcase behind me. I packed enough for a week, but I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t really know anything except that he didn’t walk away. That he came back for me.

The minutes stretch as we head toward the concert. I drum my fingers on my thighs, fidget with my fingers, my hair, peer restlessly out the windows. We’ve barely moved three feet in the last half hour.

“Oh my god, this traffic,” I tell the cabdriver, my legs aching with some first-time impulse to run. Just run to him, get him back, talk to him. Come clean at long last . . .

“There’s a concert happening . . . hard to get close.”

“I’ll walk from here,” I tell the driver, slipping him a couple of bills and then, regretfully, hauling out my luggage and looking toward the entrance to Madison Square Garden.

The stage is set up and lit with warm light. I spot one of the roadies and rush forward. “I need to get in,” I say, breathless. He instantly recognizes me—I can tell by the twinkle in his eye as he pulls open the rope and ushers me inside. “Head to the back. I’ll take care of this for you,” he says, gesturing at my suitcase.

“Thank you.”

“Opening act’s about to be done,” he says.

That very instant, the wild music playing in the background shuts off, the lights shut down, and I shuffle to the lower side of the stage, holding my breath as I hear a violin playing in the dark. My flesh pebbles as a soft, haunting tune begins, and when the lights turn on, my eyes fixate on the exact figure they illuminate.

Gah, I love him so much my heart aches in my chest.

He’s down on one knee, a headset with mic curled around his jawline, his head down, and as the rest of the orchestra begins to follow the tune of that haunting, slow violin, Mackenna starts singing.

Like a sleepwalker, I take a step closer to the stage, not close enough to be seen, for he’s in the opposite corner, lost in his own world as he starts a slow and mournful verse.

You flick the candy cotton pink strand in your hair

And I pray to the gods that you’ll be there

In my dreams, fantasies, and nightmares

I’m so scared I’ll never see you again

His words start building with the music, now sounding hopeful.

And you can try hiding behind your anger

And I can try running away

But at night as I sleep, you come crashing in on me

And I’m scared, ’cos you’re the only girl for me

And a big instrumental climax joins in as he sings, louder this time.

You’re my girl

You’re my girl

Pandora, you’re my girl

I can’t ignore ya

I’ve always adored ya

Pandora

I implore ya

You’re the only girl for me

It’s written, it’s meant to be

You’re my girl

You’re my girl

Pandora, you’re my girl

Sky high, thigh-high leather, in all kinds of weather

Tonight, now, then and forever

Come on over, my girl, sink your claws into me

I’m not scared, ’cos you’re the one and it’s meant to be

You’re my girl

You’re my girl

Pandora, you’re my girl

I can’t ignore ya

I’ve always adored ya

Pandora

I implore ya

You’re the only girl for me

It’s written, it’s meant to be

You’re my girl

You’re my girl

Pandora, you’re my girl

The rest sounds almost improvised, chaotic even, as the sound comes to an end.

I should never have dissed ya

Lied about how much I missed ya

I need your sexy fire in my life

No one else can hold a match

To the candle that’s you, you’re a catch

You make me mad

You drive me nuts

You fill my heart

And kick my guts

There’s nowhere I’d rather be

My vampire queen

Yelling, touching, kissing, fucking

Pandora, you’re my girl

When the song ends, there’s a beautiful silence while thousands and thousands of lighters shine in the darkness, the last verse echoing throughout the stadium.

Emotions tighten my windpipe to the point where it’s hard to breathe. This is why he wanted me here.

You think I’ll show up, you’ll sing to me, and we’ll live happily ever after?

That’s what I’m going for . . .

Happiness and love curl like partners in my tummy. I could be seventeen right now. I’m chronologically older and outwardly bitter, but inside, I’m still his girl.