Colleen Hoover - Maybe Someday

“Oh, my God, that reminds me,” she says. “The funniest thing happened a couple of weeks ago at this Italian restaurant. I was eating lunch with . . . my mom, and we were out on the patio. Our waiter was telling us about dessert, when all of a sudden, this cop car comes screeching around the corner, sirens blaring . . .”

I’m holding my breath, scared to hear the rest of her story.

What the hell? Hunter said he was with a coworker. The odds of them both being at the same restaurant, without being there together, is way more than coincidental.

But why would they lie about being together?

My heart is folding in on itself. I think I’m gonna be sick.

How could they . . .

“Syd? Are you okay?” Tori is looking at me with genuine concern. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

I put my hand over my mouth, because I’m afraid she might be right. I can’t answer her right away. I can’t even work up the strength to look at her. I try to still my hand, but I can feel it trembling against my mouth.

Why would they be together and not tell me? They’re never together without me. They’d have no reason to be together unless they were planning something.

Planning something.

Oh.

Wait a second.

I press my palm against my forehead and shake my head back and forth. I feel as if I’m in the midst of the stupidest moment in all of my nearly twenty-two years of existence. Of course they were together. Of course they’re hiding something. It’s my birthday next Saturday.

Not only do I feel incredibly stupid for having believed they would do something like that to me, but I feel unforgivably guilty.

“You okay?” Tori says.

I nod. “Yeah.” I decide not to mention the fact that I know she was with Hunter. I would feel even worse if I ruined their surprise. “I think the Italian food is just making me a little nauseated. I’ll be right back.” I stand and walk to my bedroom, then sit on the edge of my bed in order to regain my bearings. I’m filled with a mixture of doubt and guilt. Doubt, because I know neither of them would do what I briefly thought they had done. Guilt, because for a brief moment, I actually believed they were capable of it.

Ridge

I was hoping the first set of lyrics wasn’t a fluke, but after seeing the second set she sent me and adding them to the music, I text Brennan. I can’t not tell him about her any longer.

Me: I’m about to send you two songs. I don’t even need you to tell me what you think of them, because I know you’ll love them. So let’s move past that, because I need you to solve a dilemma for me.

Brennan: Oh, shit. I was just kidding about the Maggie thing. You didn’t really dump her for inspiration did you?

Me: I’m being serious. I found a girl who I’m positive was brought to this earth specifically for us.

Brennan: Sorry, man. I’m not into that shit. I mean, maybe if you weren’t my brother, but still.

Me: Stop with the horseshit, Brennan. Her lyrics. They’re perfect. And they come so effortlessly to her. I think we need her. I haven’t been able to write songs like these since . . . well, ever. Her lyrics are perfect, and you need to take a look at them, because I sort of need you to love them and agree to buy them from her.

Brennan: What the hell, Ridge? We can’t hire someone to write lyrics for us. She’ll want a percentage of the royalties, and between the two of us and the guys in the band, it won’t be worth it.

Me: I’m going to ignore that until you check the e-mail I just sent you.

I put my phone down and pace the room, giving him time to take a look at what I just sent him. My heart is pounding, and I’m sweating, even though it’s not at all hot in this room. I just can’t take his telling me no, because I’m scared that if we can’t use her, I’ll be facing another six months of a concrete wall.

After several minutes, my phone vibrates. I drop to my bed and pick it up.

Brennan: Okay. See what she’s willing to take, and let me know.

I smile and toss the phone into the air and feel like yelling. After I calm down enough to text her, I pick up my phone and think. I don’t want to freak her out, because I know she’s completely new to this kind of thing.

Me: I was wondering if we could talk sometime soon? I have a proposition for you. And get your mind out of the gutter, it’s completely music-related.

Sydney: Okay. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, because it makes me nervous. You want me to call you when I get off work?

Me: You work?

Sydney: Yes. Campus library. Morning shift mostly, except for this weekend.

Me: Oh. I guess that’s why I never noticed. I don’t usually get out of bed until after lunch.

Sydney: So do you want me to call you after I get home?

Me: Just text me. You think we can meet up sometime this weekend?

Sydney: Probably, but I’d have to talk to my boyfriend. Don’t want him to find out and think you’re using me for more than my lyrics.

Me: K. Sounds good.

Sydney: If you want, you could come to my birthday party tomorrow night. Might be easier, because he’ll be here.

Me: It’s your birthday tomorrow? Happy early birthday. And that sounds good. What time?

Sydney: Not sure. I’m not supposed to know about it. I’ll just text you tomorrow night once I find out more.

Me: K.

Honestly, I don’t like the fact that her boyfriend might be there. I want to talk to her about it alone, because I still haven’t decided what to do about what I know is going on between that asshole and her roommate. But I need her to agree to help me before her heart gets shattered, so maybe my silence has been a little selfish. I do admire the fact that she wants to be honest with him, even though he doesn’t deserve it. Which makes me think maybe this is something I should bring up to Maggie, even though it never occurred to me before that it might even remotely be an issue.

Me: Hey. How’s my girl?

Maggie: Busy. This thesis is kicking my ass. How’s my guy?

Me: Good. Really good. I think Brennan and I found someone who’s willing to write lyrics with us. She’s really good, and I’ve already finished almost two songs since you left last weekend.

Maggie: Ridge, that’s great! I can’t wait to read them. Maybe next weekend?

Me: You coming here, or am I going to you?

Maggie: I’ll come there. I need to spend some time at the nursing home. Love you.

Me: Love you. Don’t forget our video chat tonight.

Maggie: You know I won’t. Already have my outfit picked out.

Me: That better be a cruel joke. You know I don’t care to see clothes.

Maggie: ;)

Eight more hours.

I’m hungry.

I toss the phone aside. I pull open my bedroom door and take a step back when the shit that’s been piled up on the other side begins to fall in on me. First it’s the lamp, then the end table it was resting on, then the end table the lamp and the other end table were piled on top of.

Dammit, Warren.

These pranks are starting to get out of hand. I press my arm into the couch that’s been shoved up against my bedroom door. I push it back out into the living room and jump over it, then head toward the kitchen.

I carefully spoon toothpaste onto an Oreo, then replace the top of the cookie and gently squeeze it. I put it back into the package with the rest of Warren’s Oreos and seal the package shut, just as my phone vibrates.

Sydney: Can you do me a favor?

She has no idea how many favors I’d do for her right now. I’m pretty much at her mercy.

Me: What’s up?

Sydney: Can you look out your balcony door and tell me if you see anything suspicious going on at my apartment?