Page 44 of Missed Exit

Stuck somewhere between the crude and the neon

My dreams haven’t hit but I’m hangin’ on

Out here somewhere between the crude and the neon

22

Greta

Reason to Celebrate

Iinsistonopeningthe champagne myself, and yes, I know how to open it so the cork doesn’t pop off and create a geyser. But I let this one fly. It’s a moment deserving of dramatic recognition.

Law has finally conceded that he’s finished with the composition for “Between the Crude and the Neon.”

This bottle has been chilling in my fridge for days, waiting for him to accept that he’s done. That it’s not just good enough, it’s good.

He hasn’t tweaked anything in over a week. I knew the exact moment he nailed it, but he’s played it on his guitar a thousand more times and sung it until I’m almost sick of hearing it. It sounds too good in his voice for me to ever really get sick of it.

Ever since I heard him sing for the first time, I’ve known that he should’ve never given up. If Derringer doesn’t want to sing this song, Law definitely could.

It wouldn’t matter that it’s not about his lived experience. People sing the hell out of lyrics that have nothing to do with their actual lives all the time. I’m the one who wrote the lyrics, and they couldn’t be any more removed from my real life.

Before we show the song to Derringer or consider what comes next if he loves it or he doesn’t, we have to celebrate this moment because Law and I did this. We’re still fiddling with the lyrics and the music for “The Way I Love the Dark” and my other song that doesn’t even have a name, but this one is done. This is our first.

He watches the flow of champagne spewing over my hands and shakes his head.

“I told you to let me do it.”

“No way. You would’ve made it all anti-climactic.”

“As opposed to the mess you’ve made.”

“Oh, this won’t be the last mess I make for you.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and the words replay in my head. I hear it now, but all I meant was that I’m going to keep being me, which is probably going to keep driving him crazy because there are always going to be things we don’t agree on, but my messes will be worth it, and his obsessive need for perfection might make me crazy, too, but—

This kiss will always be the reminder. We work. We’re good together. Whether it’s too soon by traditional standards or not, and no matter how different our ways, the things I feel when he kisses me like this are the realest, brightest feelings, and they make anything I thought I knew in the past irrelevant.

I know things now that I never knew before, like the truth that how long you’ve known someone isn’t the validation people make it out to be. It’s timing that makes the difference, not length of time.

This kiss seals the deal. Every time.

And this song is a wrap. Sealed with a kiss. Done.

“We need glasses,” I murmur against his mouth. “We have to toast.”

“Why not just chug it straight from the bottle at this point?”

When will he learn? I turn up the bottle and drink, filling my mouth too quickly with champagne. The bubbles become foam, shock becomes laughter, and my mouth becomes a fountain just like the bottle when I opened it.

He laughs with me this time. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I honestly have no idea. But if I sit around worrying about whether or not I’m ready instead of going for it, I’ll never know, will I? You never really know if you’re ready for anything until you try.”

“You’re not nervous at all?” he asks.

“Of course, I’m nervous. But before I shared this with you, I was scared shitless. You took one look and said, ‘this could work,’ and I believed you. Do you still believe that?”

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