Worth the Wait Read online

  “Emotional intelligence just isn’t your thing. That’s why you’ve got us,” Iliana added. “And I say if you still like her, that’s the longest relationship you’ve ever been in.”

  It was a joke. Merritt the ghoster. The determined bachelor. She played along.

  “Fine. I’m going.” Merritt adjusted her shirt one more time, opening one extra button, a little nod to lost hope. “I’ll go to the reunion, seduce Avery away from Alistair, dump her, get Lei-Ling on the show, and overcome my fear of intimacy through lust.” She checked her pocket watch. “That should take an hour. You want to get pizza afterward?”

  Lei-Ling giggled. She and Iliana were going to make out on Merritt’s wicker chaise lounge under her gazebo, neither of which was intended for romantic purposes. The chaises were there so that customers could take selfies and tag Hellenic Hardware, so their historic-home-owning friends would come buy lintels.

  “You two,” Merritt said, “are disgustingly cute.”

  Chapter 3

  The reunion organizers had set up a stage and chairs in the glass atrium that opened onto the three main hallways of the Vale Academy. Avery sat up front, like a valedictorian, rereading her speech on her phone. The class president, a woman named Olive, welcomed the group, gave a public service award, and turned to Avery.

  “Next I’d like to welcome our distinguished alumni speaker.”

  The crowd murmured.

  “Avery Crown is the star of King and Crown. She and Alistair travel the country fixing houses and decorating them in local style. But that’s not all,” the class president went on. “The Hollywood Insider writes, ‘King and Crown sparkle on- and off-screen, their real-life romance reminding us that love isn’t just in fairy tales.’” The class president smiled at Avery. “What some of you may not know is that Avery and Alistair’s fairy-tale romance started right here at the Vale Academy.”

  The class president delivered the story almost exactly as it was published in the press kit. Avery had been living with her father in Portland but frequently visited her mother in L.A. She had met Alistair King at a Save the Children fundraiser. Although the press was clamoring for photographs of Alistair, he was mesmerized by the bubbly brunette in the blue dress. It was love at first sight. Avery was eighteen. Alistair was twenty-five. But Alistair knew he had to see her again. He took her to her prom, and they knew it was true love.

  In reality, Avery had first met Alistair in the bar at the Four Seasons, Los Angeles. Like a first date for an arranged marriage, they made small talk under the watchful eye of Avery’s mother and one of the executive producers at TKO. If they offer, we’ll say yes, Avery’s mother had said on the drive over. You’re not A-list. No shame. Fact. No one expected King & Crown to last past the first season, but it had, perhaps because it was true love. It just wasn’t prom-queen love.

  Now Avery rose, offering a wide smile to the audience. She cradled her phone in one hand, her speech glowing on the screen.

  “I love to travel,” she began. “There is nothing I like more than being on the go. You know what Alistair and I say. ‘Never the same port twice.’”

  Speeches didn’t make her nervous. She had spoken at more award ceremonies and fundraisers than her Google calendar could remember. Half the time she didn’t write a speech. But she had worked on this speech for days because Merritt might hear it.

  “But that doesn’t mean that the places I go aren’t important to me. Vale has always been so special to me. You are special.”

  The publicists liked it. She was supposed to look directly at the crowd while she spoke, cementing the audience connection. She wanted to speak the words to Merritt. She had imagined the moment as she practiced her speech, how their eyes would meet, how everyone else would disappear. Even if Merritt were furious, there’d be that connection. But Merritt wasn’t there, and the publicity department had also decided on a .5-second quote they wanted to use for a craft adhesive commercial. Avery glanced at her phone. Here it was.

  “When I think about Vale, I think about the friends I made, bonded together by memories and united by the magic glue of dreams.”

  Gould, the cameraman, twirled his finger to indicate go again. He hadn’t gotten the right angle.

  “I think about the friends I made, bonded together by memories and united by the magic glue of—”

  Detroit MagiGlue. That was the name of the product.

  Gould nodded, but another movement caught her eye. The tinted glass doors to the atrium opened. Evening light flashed across the linoleum. The door eased shut. And Avery Crown, who had chatted cheerfully while she tripped over two-by-fours and knocked over garden sheds, found she was speechless. The latecomer stood backlit by the windows. Avery knew that graceful, sullen slouch. The head bowed slightly, hands in pockets. Then Merritt stepped into a beam of light from one of the skylights in the atrium, and Avery was sixteen again, staring across the biology lab at the transfer girl sitting alone, wondering if she could work up the nerve to sit next to her. She had looked around at all the other Vale girls. They were all cool pansexuals who wore Doc Martens and snuck into shows. Avery wasn’t cool then. Merritt’s wry, disapproving smile said Avery wasn’t cool now.

  The moment lingered. The crowd shifted in their seats. Avery realized, too late, that her pause read as disapproval. How dare you arrive late to my touching speech about glue and friendship? She hurried through the last lines. Everyone clapped. The class president concluded, “And even more exciting news! King and Crown is filming their next season in Portland, right here in the Rose City!”

  When Avery sat down next to Alistair, he asked, “Is that her?” his lips moving so little it might as well have been a telepathic message.

  “Yeah.” The word caught in her throat. After all these years, that was her.

  * * *

  Avery walked slowly across the courtyard, past the people enjoying the wine bar and the perfect, eighty-degree twilight. Merritt leaned against a concrete pedestal. Her short, silky black hair fell over her eyes just as it had when she was eighteen. Her dark eyes and dark hair made a striking contrast with her pale skin. She was wearing tuxedo pants, suspenders, and a crisp white shirt that revealed the lace edge of her black bra. She looked at ease in the flock of women in pastel linen suits. Just like always. A half smile played on her lips, saying, I’m better than this, but I don’t care.

  Olive, the class president, appeared at Avery’s side, leading her toward Merritt.

  “Do you two remember each other? Merritt transferred in our junior year.” Olive fluttered a hand over her frizzy hair. “Merritt Lessing was our alumni speaker two years ago.”

  Merritt had always made the Vale girls nervous, and even the straight girls had looked at her at least once and thought, Maybe.

  “The famous Avery Crown,” Merritt said, leaning back a little and pushing her hands farther into her pockets. “Fifteen years.” She eased off her pedestal. “It’s been so long. I thought maybe you were in jail.”

  “Avery is the star of King and Crown,” Olive exclaimed. “That travel decorating show. You’ve got to have seen it.”

  “Oh, I know Avery Crown,” Merritt said.

  She moved toward Avery. Her cologne smelled of fresh cedar.

  Avery felt her heart stop. She had imagined this moment. She’d whisper, I want you. Merritt would brush past her ear, I know. The thoughts raced through her mind. Merritt stepped toward her, her arms open. One hand held her wineglass away from their embrace. The other hand touched Avery’s back. Was it a caress? An inch too low, too intimate, pressing down the ruffles of Avery’s dress. Merritt’s cheek brushed Avery’s. Her breath caressed Avery’s ear. They were pressed, shoulder to shoulder. Avery was aware of Merritt’s strong frame and soft breasts. Merritt had always been a study in contrasts: that runway beauty, that androgynous style, her unyielding strength, her hidden vulnerability. The touch echoed through Avery’s whole body. She wanted Merritt to pull her closer. She wanted to run her hand
s through Merritt’s hair. Fantasy-Merritt whispered, Darling.

  Real-Merritt kissed the air beside Avery’s cheek and said, “Avery and Alistair, the dream team. You look just like you do on TV. I thought all that stuff was fake.”

  “You watch the show?”

  Avery couldn’t tear her gaze away from Merritt’s eyes—such a dark brown they were almost black—or from her perfectly chiseled lips, a dusky red although she appeared to wear no makeup. If she had changed as she aged, it had just made her more beautiful. Avery could look at her for hours. She had when they were teenagers.

  “I saw it at the gym,” Merritt said.

  “What are you up to these days?” Avery asked, surprised that her voice sounded normal. A life in unscripted television had taught her not to flinch.

  “I run a hardware store.”

  One of the women in linen cooed, “Merritt’s amazing. My husband and I bought this beautiful Neoclassical house, and she oversaw the entire renovation. She even did some of the work for us. You can’t trust a regular contractor to install Versailles floors.”

  You have a crush on her, Avery thought. Straight, married, probably 2.5 kids, and Versailles floors and the woman was touching Merritt’s arm with every word.

  “I do a little construction for special customers.” Merritt shot the woman a toothsome grin that said, I will ravage you on your Versailles floors.

  “I love hardware stores,” Avery said.

  “It’s more than hardware,” the class president said. “Everything is vintage. She was featured in Sunset magazine.”

  The president asked Avery how long she was in town. Did her father still live in Portland? Avery managed a few questions about Merritt’s work. Finally, the group dispersed, and they were alone. Merritt glanced at the heavy watch on her wrist…her beautiful, slender wrist.

  “Well, I’m out.” Merritt gestured toward the minglers by the wine bar. “These things, right?”

  “Are you going to the after-party?”

  “I can only drink so much cheap chardonnay.”

  The moment was over. Merritt was leaving. Like a camera that pulled back to show the crew drinking coffee as they waited to do their union-approved jobs, Avery saw reality for what it was. This meant nothing to Merritt. She had been worried for nothing, excited for nothing. Merritt hadn’t been pining for her for fifteen years. She was the one who was regressed, as Alistair put it. She was the one who had made a whole soap opera out of a hug. She looked around for Alistair’s comforting smile, but his back was turned. It struck her that she might not see Merritt again after this night. She felt a wave of embarrassment, but more than that, she felt a stab of sadness, like that strange homesickness that had hit her as she had walked onto the Vale campus.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t Facebook you,” Avery blurted. “Please come to the bar tonight.”

  Merritt gave her that familiar, close-lipped smile: bemused, confident. Merritt might not be in Hollywood, but she had always been on the A-list, and Avery had been a fool to think Merritt would have spent all this time (or even just a little bit of time) thinking about her.

  “Only old people do Facebook,” Merritt said. “It’s good to see you. I knew you’d be famous. You wanted that. I’m happy for you.”

  And then she was walking away. Everything about Merritt’s receding swagger said, Really? You thought this was something?

  “Wait,” Avery called out. “We’re filming in Portland. Let’s get a drink sometime.”

  Merritt touched two fingers to her lips, half kiss, half peace sign, then lifted the plastic wineglass. “We just did.”

  Chapter 4

  Merritt Lessing swung up into the cab of her pickup and rolled down the window to let in the summer breeze. From the vantage of the Vale Academy parking lot, she could see all the way down to the city glowing in the twilight. She pulled out her phone. There were the usual texts. Her contact at the Western Oregon Grange Association knew a farmer who was selling barnwood. Her Realtor had scheduled an inspection for the twelve-unit apartment building Merritt was buying.

  Iliana had texted, So?

  Done, Merritt texted back.

  And Lei-Ling?

  Shit. The story of her life: disappointing nice women. She could disappoint her vendors occasionally, very occasionally a customer. But you couldn’t disappoint the Inner Child. The karmic ramifications of coming so close to Lei-Ling’s dream, and forgetting it, were huge, even if it wasn’t really fair of Lei-Ling and Iliana to ask. How could Merritt stand in front of the woman who had broken her heart while she scanned the crowd for Alistair and remember to lobby for Lei-Ling’s food cart with the words DUMPLING HAPPINESS IS NOW emblazed across the side? Of course, she hadn’t told Iliana the truth. Should have fingered each other in high school! She had wanted to lay her heart down at Avery’s feet.

  Merritt was trying to figure out a dumpling-failure excuse that wasn’t quite a lie when she noticed Avery meandering through the parking lot, not really looking for a car. When she reached the far end, she paused, looking out over the city. Reluctantly, Merritt got out of her truck. Merritt did not feel the dumpling-happiness promised by Lei-Ling’s food cart, but she was a good friend, even though Iliana often told her she was emotionally reticent.

  “Avery,” Merritt called out when she was close enough for Avery to hear.

  Avery turned. She didn’t look like the body snatchers had gotten her. Her chestnut hair flowed over her shoulders, reaching almost to her waist but without looking eccentric. Sometimes long hair said, When I was twelve I decided I’d never cut it because I’m an elven princess. Avery’s gold-streaked hair said, Why would I deprive the world of light? Her brown eyes sparkled with flecks of the same gold. A sheen of iridescent glitter sparkled on her round cheeks. Who even wore body glitter at their age? But it was subtle and caught the shimmer of twilight. Merritt felt defeat wash over her. Fifteen years and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Avery.

  Avery took a step toward her, looking earnest. This was going to be the awkward apology, Merritt predicted. I’m sorry I invited you to prom, stood you up, and showed up with Alistair. If she were shameless, she’d add, We were just going as friends. I hope you realize that.

  Merritt stopped her before she started.

  “I am going to be that person,” she said. “Sorry. I am doing this for a friend. My best friend’s girlfriend is in love with your show. She wants you to feature her on King and Crown, just like every other person in Portland. She’s very cute. She wears a lot of metallic jackets. And her dumpling truck is a Slipstream RV that she’s turned into something that looks like…if you could put it on a string and dangle it on camera, it would look like a really bad science fiction movie. It’s quintessential Portland. There. I’ve made my pitch. You can say no. I promised I’d ask.”

  “Our field producer does all the casting,” Avery said. “He pretty much runs the show.”

  “No problem. I have assuaged my guilt. You have a good night.”

  She turned to go, feeling Avery’s presence behind her.

  “Wait,” Avery said. “Don’t go.”

  Merritt had to turn around. Not turning around said, I still care. But turning around meant looking at Avery’s beautiful expressive face, her rosebud lips. She looked like the silent movie stars Merritt loved. The classic picture of Mary Pickford with a kitten on her shoulders, her smile mischievous and smart. Merritt turned a second too late.

  “Come out with me,” Avery said. “There are people back there who hated each other. Tanya Grish and Sal Morrison? Trent and that guy who played hockey. They’re hugging each other and saying how much they missed each other.”

  “Did we miss each other?” Merritt asked.

  “I missed you.”

  Please don’t, Merritt thought.

  Avery seemed to have resolved something. She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll put your friend on my show. I never ask for anything. I never push. I’ll push this time. Greg will say yes. J
ust walk down to Hawthorne and get a cup of coffee with me. Walk down the path.”

  * * *

  At the far end of the campus, beyond the reflecting pool and the tennis courts, was a long stone staircase that led down to Hawthorne Boulevard. They had always called it the path (like it led to enlightenment, which it didn’t. Merritt was proof.) It was still there, a little overgrown but so familiar.

  “Have you been back?” Avery asked.

  “Once to give a speech,” Merritt said.

  “Why not more? It’s so beautiful, and—” Avery stopped, as though remembering a few reasons why Merritt might not want to relive their high school days. “But, of course, who thinks about high school anymore? You’re not hanging out at Vale.”

  Merritt glanced down at the crumbling steps. On the veranda, the twilight was bright, but on the staircase surrounded by tightly grown blackberries and vine maples it was nighttime.

  “So, tell me about your shop.” Avery touched Merritt’s arm the way she had when they were kids, a gentle pat that lingered a moment too long, the kind of gesture that lesbians had to remember meant nothing when coming from straight girls.

  “It’s all vintage. We sell everything from salvaged beams to curios. And your show? How’s that?”

  “I love it! Alistair. Me. The crew is great. Greg is a total sweetheart, and believe me, that is not normal.” Avery sounded like a nervous interviewee. “We all want to do it forever. You don’t get what we have. Television’s full of assholes, but not on King and Crown. You know, Al and I don’t even have a house. We just rent in between shooting. Someplace fun. We were just on Catalina Island, and we rented this place with real ostriches!”

  “Ostriches. I knew there was a reason to get famous. But don’t you want a home to go back to and your own ostriches?”