A couple hours locked in a car with someone you used to know (however vaguely it was) could either be a long, awkward trip or a refreshing time to catch up on how our separate ways had been treating us. For me and Chris, it was the latter.
Although neither one of us was nearly as successful as some of our other former classmates, in that moment, there wasn't the competition of a reunion where everyone needed to know who didn't have money, who managed to escape our small lakeside town, and who got fat. And it was nice to have an actual conversation with someone after spending all my time trying to fight information out of Mason or being talked over by Blake.
I was from a small town a bridge away from the roller coaster capital of the world, so bridges certainly didn't intimidate me, but Pittsburgh was a city with many of them, and that was enough to be a little scary. Or maybe it was the fact that I had dropped everything on a whim to go somewhere where I had never been before to surprise someone who was practically a stranger that was enough to bring a little nervous energy straight into my heart.
Both Alex and Blake probably would have laughed at me for being ridiculous and falling for a pseudoscience scam, but a little bit of lavender essential oil sounded great right about then. As the conversation dwindled down along with the minutes on the ETA, there was nothing to focus on but my own feelings.
That was never a good thing for anyone.
But before I could work myself up any further, we arrived in a small parking lot outside of an charming, old-looking building, and with that, I had survived the first step of my brilliantly bold plan. That had to be a positive sign from the universe, right?
"Well, I hope everything works out for you, Marigold," Chris said. "This guy, the craft store, everything."
I smiled. "Thank you. I hope it does too." Of course, I wanted some things more than others, but any small victory was welcome with me. "It's been really nice seeing you again."
"You too," Chris said, and it sure seemed that we both meant it. I knew I did. I didn't have life figured out the same way that everyone from high school did (on Instagram at least), and Chris was a lot more like me than them.
It was reassuring, even if it was a little pathetic.
"Well, if you need a ride back to Marblehead, let me know," he said, and after he gave me his number, he drove off into the busy Pittsburgh street.
If. The word brought butterflies to my stomach, but I couldn't stop now. If I had followed my half-felt thoughts out to Pittsburgh, there was no option but to peek inside to see what was going on.
It was a small restaurant—smaller than The Lakeside Daisy, but just big enough to be able to breathe—and although the tables seemed way too classy and expensive for someone like me, there was a bar tucked away in the corner, and that was more my speed.
On the opposite side of the room, there was a piano elevated just inches above the rest of the floor, and there sat Mason at the keys.
With a glass of the cheapest rosé they had in hand, a tiny sigh escaped my mouth as I watched him play for who knew how long. He didn't seem impressed with the music scene back in the Sandusky area of Ohio, but Mason was probably right about it. He was better than that, and the beauty of his playing spoke for itself. It spoke to me.
People came and went throughout the evening, but I wasn't sure where they were going that could possibly be better than the ambiance of this place, decorated with the delicate melody from Mason.
Before the night was over, Mason finally stood up at the end of his set, and when he looked across the room, his eyes settled on me.
"Marigold?" My name left his lips, and by his tone, I couldn't help but think that he was surprised in a different way than I was hoping.
He walked over to me, even though I didn't really have anything smart or deep to say.
"Hi. You did really well today," I said, and before I could offer any more of an explanation, he continued asking questions that I probably didn't have a good enough answer for.
"What are you doing here? How did you find out where I am?"
"Well, we work at the same place, and everyone knows that work secrets don't stay secrets for very long. But I don't know why you doing another gig in a whole different city would be a secret," I said.
"That's kind of stalker-like, don't you think? Or did that thought not register in your head?"
My mouth fell open and I took a step back. "I know it's a little crazy, but this isn't going to go anywhere if one of us doesn't try—"
He interrupted me. "What's wrong with just talking?"
"I'm sorry, but the talking stage requires actually talking, and I just wanted to be supportive."
"I really don't know why you think I need your support."
"Because it's nice to be supported."
Wasn't that what everyone wanted? Was I missing something?
What was there to miss? Literally everyone wanted to feel supported.
He didn't respond to that right away. Instead, he stuck his phone in his pocket, and before he headed out, he went to talk to someone who I assumed was the manager.
That was the other thing. Literally everyone just wanted to get paid for their work.
With him still in my line of sight, my shoulders slumped, and in my heart (which was now located in my stomach) I knew that I had messed up.
Well, Marigold, that was probably one of the worst possible outcomes to your stupid impulsive decision. How the hell did you think that would work out for you?
I frowned. Yes, it was definitely a bad idea, but it didn't kill me, so that was promising.
My mother would be so proud.
But even if I was definitely disappointing her from a distance, she did teach me that if I wanted something, I had to work for it, and that was not a lesson that I took lightly. There was something about Mason that interested me, whether that was that he acted uninterested or the possibility that he owned a boat.
"Mason," I said before he could walk away from me. "I'm sorry. You're a private person, and I should have respected that."
He hesitated. "Well, I don't really know what I'm supposed to say right now."
"You don't have to say anything. I'm the one who crashed the gig, so I should be the one to apologize and leave you alone."
"You don't have to leave. You came all this way to watch me play the piano. What's really the harm in that?" he asked, and it seemed like a question aimed more for himself than for me.
"And now that I've done that, I can just head back, and we never have to speak about it ever again," I said. Of course, we'd probably never speak to each other again in general, but that was a given.
"You ever been here?" he asked, which was just as startlingly abrupt as when he first raised his voice at me. "To Pittsburgh, I mean."
I shook my head. "Never."
"Well, there's no point in letting you waste your first time here," he said.
A small smile snuck onto my face. In an unfamiliar city with a guy who took forever to respond to my texts, what could go wrong?
The whole situation definitely sent the wrong message about what kind of girl I was, but the damage was done, and as long as I eventually made it back home, that was a win in my book.
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Hello, and thank you so much for reading! I appreciate your support, especially as we enter the new year 2023! Does anyone have any resolutions?
I want to do a better job of taking care of myself this year. That's really my only goal, which isn't exciting at all, but it's true, and I hope you join me in that endeavor. 2023 is the year of self-care.
But for our real question this week, do you have any scars and how did you get them?
I only have one that I know exactly when it happened, and it's on my shin. I dropped a bottle of wine when I was maybe twelve or so, and it cut me pretty good. Once again, that's not very exciting of me, but the truth isn't always a good story. That's why I write fiction.