Page 42 of American Beauty

Laurelyn shakes her head as she continues looking at my phone. “I’m not sure what happened. All I know is that Magnolia is in love with you. I’m certain. I saw it, and so did Jack Henry. You can’t fake that kind of emotion or the look on her face when she was with you.”

“She must’ve changed her mind. It happens.”

“Not when it’s real,” Laurelyn says.

“If we’d known this was going to end with so much pain, Laurelyn and I wouldn’t have encouraged you. We hoped that you’d find love the way we did.”

“You had no way of knowing that our relationship would go sideways.” And even if I had known, I still would’ve chosen to spend those three months with her.

Laurelyn reaches for her phone on the piano. “She may have blocked you, but she hasn’t blocked me. I could call her for you.”

It would be so easy to say yes.

One call.

One conversation.

One chance at clarity.

But I shake my head. “No. Don’t.”

“Alex—”

“She told me to not contact her because we were over. There’s no point in calling her.”

Laurelyn’s thumb hovers over Magnolia’s number. “This isn’t how someone acts when they’re done.”

She stares at the phone cradled in her hand, and her eyes flick up at me. “You’re still logged in, right? Can you make playlists?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess”

“You should make one about her on her account. Give it a name she’ll notice.”

Jack grins. “Babe, that’s kind of brilliant.”

Laurelyn nods. “Hopefully, she’ll see it and know it’s from you. Maybe she’ll understand.”

“Seems kind of pathetic. Do you think it’ll work?”

“Only one way to find out,” Laurelyn says. “And you might communicate with her through music.”

This isn’t really my kind of thing. “What would I name it?”

“Something from your heart.” Laurelyn hands me my phone. “Just give it some thought. It’ll come to you.”

I nod. “I appreciate everything the two of you have done for me.”

Laurelyn smiles. “We’re still pulling for you two. We haven’t given up hope.”

Hope is foolish. That’s what I keep telling myself. It’s just another kind of heartbreak waiting to happen. A softer edge to the same blade. You think it’ll save you, carry you, pull you from the wreckage—but most of the time, it just delays the fall.

And yet… it’s still there in my heart.

Quiet. Stubborn. Curling around the edges of my chest.

What if she’s hurting too?

I don’t have proof. Don’t have a plan. But I’m not ready to let go. Not yet.

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