Page 3 of One Last Encore

"Eden, why?" Ingrid groaned into the phone.

Eden and Beck were in the same band now. And somehow, they werefriends. Which, considering everything, was strange on more levels than she could count.

They had all met at Juilliard. But after junior year, after Ingrid and Beck’s breakup, their paths had violently, spectacularly diverged.

Then, a few years ago, Eden’s band fell apart. In a moment of desperation, she called Beck and asked him to play drums, hoping to keep her music career afloat.

Ingrid responded to her ex-boyfriend joining her best friend’s band the way any normal person would: by keeping her distance and pretending not to care. Eden’s concerts? Only attended from obstructed seats, where Beck was a vague, human-shaped blur behind a drum set. Mutual events? Dodged like she was training for espionage. She’d dodged him for years, perfected the art of not-seeing.

But now Eden had blown it all up.

"Beck needed a place to stay during his teaching gig at Juilliard. My apartment’s empty," Eden explained, sounding way too chill about the whole thing. "It just makes sense."

"Makes sense for who?" Ingrid snorted, her laugh tight. "You’re basically handing me a VIP pass to my own personal disaster. Do you even hear yourself?"

She dropped her face into her palm, feeling the familiar ache of a wound she thought was finally healing.

"You’ve been dodging him for five years, Ingrid," Eden said gently. "Consider this the universe pushing you to face your fear. Close the chapter."

"I didn’t fear him, I fearedme," Ingrid groaned. "I fear what happens when I’m within a hundred yards of him and my body turns into a hot mess of irrational feelings and snack-driven panic. That’s what I fear."

"Oh, come on," Eden teased, unfazed. "You’re being dramatic. It’s just Beck. He’s not going to bite you." A beat. "Unless you ask him to."

Ingrid blinked. "What?"

"Nothing," Eden said quickly. "The point is you’re going to be fine. This is a fresh start. A new chapter. You’ll be all grown-up and mature about it. No more avoiding. You’ll just… have a conversation. Maybe even have tea."

"Tea?" Ingrid’s voice went dangerously high. "We’re not havingtea, Eden. I don’t even like tea. And what makes you think I’m going to ‘have a conversation’ with the man who still makes me sweat like a hormonal teenager at a boy band concert?"

Eden’s voice softened. "Please tell me you’re not mad at me," she said, guilt creeping in just enough to sound adorable. "I honestly thought it’d be good for you. Like… actual closure, you know?"

"Is this because I haven’t properly dated anyone in five years," Ingrid muttered.

"Obviously," Eden said. "It’s been five years since Beck. You need to let go."

"It’s not my fault! My current options include French ensemble dancers who think monogamy is a suggestion and chain-smoking poets who misquote Kerouac. It’s been a buffet of nightmares."

"You need closure," Eden repeated.

Ingrid knew closure was a myth. Like the unicorn of emotional healing. If she wanted closure, she’d have to travel to the bottom of the emotional abyss and fight a giantfeelingskraken. This wasn’t closure. It was reopening a wound that was barely scabbed over.

"Closure?" Ingrid repeated into the phone, practically choking on the word. "I rerouted my entire subway commute to avoid Beck-infested zones. I have a mental map of emotional landmines—Upper East Side?Boom. All of Brooklyn? No-man’s-land." She paced, voice climbing. "I skip songs that so much as hint at him.Uptown Girl?Billy Joel is dead to me. That song is cursed. I hear those piano notes and my fight-or-flight kicks in."

She paused, then added dryly, "I basically have a PhD in Emotional Avoidance. And you want to dismantle all of that with… tea?" She trailed off. Over the years, she’d become a black-belt-level expert at looking perfectly fine while actively spiraling. She was so good at it because she never talked to Eden about him. Because that would’ve been normal. And healthy.

But now he was about to be right in front of her, and all that carefully honed denial? Out the window. Spiraling was inevitable.

Eden hesitated, then muttered, "Okay… maybe I could’ve handled it better."

"You think?" Ingrid exhaled. "It’s like you woke up and thought, ‘You know what would be fun? Dropping a nuclear ex-boyfriend bomb directly into Ingrid’s life. She’s so ready for that.’"

Eden sighed, clearly backing off. "Okay, okay. I get it. You need time. But seriously, you’ve got this. I believe in you."

Ingrid blew out a slow breath, trying to find some scrap of composure. "This entire situation? A spectacular mess. And I hate messes."

Before Eden could respond, a sharp voice barked from behind her:

"Ingrid, off the phone! I need my Swan at the barre!"

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