Page 133 of Over the Edge

“Funny thing happened. We got off the plane, got this text explaining things and we had no choice but to come right back. Your friend only ever has one performance where she outs her real identity to the world,” Oliver explains.

“That and the blueberry wine,” Quinn adds wryly, holding up a plastic cup. “I came back for the blueberry wine.”

“How many flights have you taken for me at this point?”

Quinn makes a show of counting on her fingers. “By the time we go back it will be four.”

“Don’t worry, when you start touring you can just get us the most expensive tickets for free,” Oliver says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“They’re yours. Your sisters are welcome too, Ollie, just say the word,” I promise.

Every show. Every moment. Every triumph and pitfall. If they want to be there, I will invite them in.

I have wasted so much time dwelling on the worst-case scenarios in the back of my mind that I never let myself consider how good it would be if it all worked out. And it feels like this.

It feels like knowing this is just the beginning of so many moments that will string together for us to look back on and find them shining like Christmas lights.

The moment breaks as a crowd starts to form, I hear both my name and cheers calling for Lyla growing louder. I turn to find Fletcher and Pat attempting to hold the people at bay as they attempt to shove forward.

I reach out and take Garretts’s hand then say, “Don’t let go,” before I take off running. He runs with me for a few feet before tugging me to a halt and lifting me in his arms. Then he carries me away from the crowd and all the rest of the way to the rental house.

49

Evelyn

Mist blankets the town, making the morning feel suspended in time as if it would last forever with all of my favorite people crammed inside one house. Last night, Mom and Dad took the largest bedroom, Drew and Lacey took the guest room, and the rest of us crammed into the living room on the couch and an ancient air mattress we found in the linen closet.

I’d woken up in the middle of the night, nose to nose with Garrett and said, “I did it.”

“You did it,” he’d said, and I’d cried. I’d cried silent tears of relief in the arms of the man I love while everyone slept around us.

We all have to be out by this afternoon. Alina has rented the house to a couple who are expecting to love their stay as much as I have. She offered to let us stay in her house, but I think this is supposed to end. Or maybe this is how it’s supposed to begin.

Avery is the first to leave. Technically, she was going to leave last night but something made her stay. I pull her into one last hug before she steps off the porch.

“I’m going to perform with you one day. It’s going to be fucking great and we’re going to wear so much glitter,” she says into my messy hair.

“We are and it’s going to be amazing,” I say as my throat thickens.

“Because you’re amazing. I’m just so happy you’re being brave enough to share this part of you.” With those words she pulls away.

I wait until her car turns off Austen Dr. before I head inside. Everyone is up and cluttered around the table with their various cups of coffee. Lacey brought her own coffee maker; a cheap one she used to brew coffee. It smells foul but she seems to like it.

“I’m going to get pastries in town. Who wants to come with me?” Quinn asks with a pointed look around the room.

“I’m good,” Oliver says, then there’s a light thud under the table. He straightens in his chair and mugs clatter on the table. “You know what? I would actually love to get up and move.”

That’s all the convincing everyone else needs to vacate the room, leaving only me and my parents.

As he passes by, Drew squeezes my shoulder. “I have a good feeling about this.”

“That makes one of us,” I joke. I feel okay about this. Not great, but definitely okay.

I said what I needed to get out in the moment during the last time Mom and I talked, letting out feelings that have festered for years until they turned ugly.

“I forgot how beautiful your voice was,” Mom says, her voice hesitant as I feel.

“I’m sorry,” I start, still feeling shaky despite how much practice I’ve gotten talking about this recently.

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