Ripped
Page 85
And I know Mackenna well enough to know that, tough call or not, he’s very sure about this.
EPILOGUE
Pandora
Seattle is wholly different when you change the lens through which you see it. One day, it’s a place where you got your heart broken. A place that feels lonely even with thousands of people driving, walking past you. One day it is the rainiest, most depressing city in the world. And another day, it’s the place where you want to live the rest of your life. Because it’s the place where you have your little cousin, your friends, your job, and your boyfriend.
Your boyfriend.
Did I just sigh?
Me. Sighing.
Grinning.
Happy, hopeful, forgiving.
How can all this happen in a few months?
I know now, from life, that it takes only a second to break you. But with time, with effort, it takes a little longer, but you can make it. There’s something about someone knowing your deepest, darkest secret and still loving you despite what you did that gives you hope. That makes you want to be better. Never disappoint yourself, and them, ever again.
There’s also something about learning to forgive . . .
Both others, and yourself.
I feel different now. I feel it every morning when I wake. The sense of looking forward to your day. Life doesn’t suck anymore. People don’t suck—well, not everyone.
During our first week back in Seattle, Kenna and I found an apartment close to where we’re opening a rock bar.
The idiot wants to call it Pink, and all my friends—Mel, Brooke, and Kyle—wholeheartedly approve. I’m decorating in my trademark silver and black, and, now that we’re owners of a future establishment, I decorate by day while Mackenna heads to the studio he bought just three floors above.
He’s recruited a couple of bands to play at Pink during the week. And, even better, as a special favor, Jax and Lex and Crack Bikini will be performing opening night.
They call all the time, those two goofballs. Trying to coax Kenna back to the band. He laughs and banters with them, says, “Hell no” and “Fuck off.” He’s currently working on a new album called Bones. I’m crazy about the songs. They’re so bare, different from what he created during his time with Crack Bikini. Edgier. More raw.
At night, he takes me out, whether I protest that I’m tired or not. He’s a prowler—another wolfish trait.
On the weekends, we invite Magnolia over. She loves it with us. Even my mother is trying to make amends, so even if she doesn’t like having to let me take Mag some weekends, she lets us have our way. Her way of trying to make peace with Mackenna.
I still remember the first time they met—Mag and Kenna.
Mom dropped her off. We’d prearranged the visit, so we were expecting Magnolia. I rang her up from the lobby, and suddenly the door of the apartment swung open and there was Magnolia, her eyes bright with curiosity as she asked, “Pan, Pan, who is he?”
She curled around my legs like a cat, and I clutched her to me as Kenna set aside the guitar he was fiddling with and headed over with a smile I remember finding heart-meltingly adorable.
I noticed her study him.
And I noticed him study her.
“Aren’t you going to let our guest inside, Pandora?” he asked me, intrigued.
“Who are you?” she asked in return, frowning.
“Who are you?” he shot back, lifting one eyebrow and reaching around me to shut the door behind us.
“I’m Magdalene,” she said.
“Magnolia,” I corrected, laughing.
He smiled down at her while she surveyed him.
“Magic Mike, say hello to my boyfriend, Mackenna,” I said, giving her a little nudge forward.
“What does this mean?” she went on to ask of the tattoo on Kenna’s forearm. “Why are you wearing bracelets? You like boys, don’t you?”
“Mag!” I laughed, ushering her into the kitchen. “Come on, we’re making homemade pizza.”
Over the mozzarella sprinkling, Mackenna looked at me, as intent as ever. “She’s—?”
“A little older than our . . . um, yes.”
We shared a moment of sadness, then he came up behind me, took my hand, and set it over the five Chinese symbols on his forearm as he whispered in my ear, “It means ‘I Live For You.’”
“What?”
He laughed and moved to help Magnolia add the pepperoni slices. “I’m not repeating it. I was drunk and had one thing on my mind and one thing only.”
“Me?”
“Yup. That wasn’t the best tattoo to help me forget you, was it?” he murmured.
“But you wore it proudly?”
“Only because it was the truth.”
A month before the movie premiere, we hear that the movie trailer is becoming famous for showing me charging across the stage to kiss Mackenna, whispering with ferocity, “You’re mine. I claim you. I love you. You’re mine.”
Surprisingly, this has gotten me an online fan club. So unexpected! I even interact with the fans sometimes. As long as Kenna’s fans don’t lynch me at the premiere, I’m good with anything. He’s promised me, they won’t touch me.
And I believe him, because, sadly, they’ll probably be too busy trying to reach out over the red cords to touch him.
Anyway, just a week before the premiere, I find myself calling Melanie with my most excited voice yet. I’m so happy, my voice has a new tone even for me.
“We’re getting married.”
EPILOGUE
Pandora
Seattle is wholly different when you change the lens through which you see it. One day, it’s a place where you got your heart broken. A place that feels lonely even with thousands of people driving, walking past you. One day it is the rainiest, most depressing city in the world. And another day, it’s the place where you want to live the rest of your life. Because it’s the place where you have your little cousin, your friends, your job, and your boyfriend.
Your boyfriend.
Did I just sigh?
Me. Sighing.
Grinning.
Happy, hopeful, forgiving.
How can all this happen in a few months?
I know now, from life, that it takes only a second to break you. But with time, with effort, it takes a little longer, but you can make it. There’s something about someone knowing your deepest, darkest secret and still loving you despite what you did that gives you hope. That makes you want to be better. Never disappoint yourself, and them, ever again.
There’s also something about learning to forgive . . .
Both others, and yourself.
I feel different now. I feel it every morning when I wake. The sense of looking forward to your day. Life doesn’t suck anymore. People don’t suck—well, not everyone.
During our first week back in Seattle, Kenna and I found an apartment close to where we’re opening a rock bar.
The idiot wants to call it Pink, and all my friends—Mel, Brooke, and Kyle—wholeheartedly approve. I’m decorating in my trademark silver and black, and, now that we’re owners of a future establishment, I decorate by day while Mackenna heads to the studio he bought just three floors above.
He’s recruited a couple of bands to play at Pink during the week. And, even better, as a special favor, Jax and Lex and Crack Bikini will be performing opening night.
They call all the time, those two goofballs. Trying to coax Kenna back to the band. He laughs and banters with them, says, “Hell no” and “Fuck off.” He’s currently working on a new album called Bones. I’m crazy about the songs. They’re so bare, different from what he created during his time with Crack Bikini. Edgier. More raw.
At night, he takes me out, whether I protest that I’m tired or not. He’s a prowler—another wolfish trait.
On the weekends, we invite Magnolia over. She loves it with us. Even my mother is trying to make amends, so even if she doesn’t like having to let me take Mag some weekends, she lets us have our way. Her way of trying to make peace with Mackenna.
I still remember the first time they met—Mag and Kenna.
Mom dropped her off. We’d prearranged the visit, so we were expecting Magnolia. I rang her up from the lobby, and suddenly the door of the apartment swung open and there was Magnolia, her eyes bright with curiosity as she asked, “Pan, Pan, who is he?”
She curled around my legs like a cat, and I clutched her to me as Kenna set aside the guitar he was fiddling with and headed over with a smile I remember finding heart-meltingly adorable.
I noticed her study him.
And I noticed him study her.
“Aren’t you going to let our guest inside, Pandora?” he asked me, intrigued.
“Who are you?” she asked in return, frowning.
“Who are you?” he shot back, lifting one eyebrow and reaching around me to shut the door behind us.
“I’m Magdalene,” she said.
“Magnolia,” I corrected, laughing.
He smiled down at her while she surveyed him.
“Magic Mike, say hello to my boyfriend, Mackenna,” I said, giving her a little nudge forward.
“What does this mean?” she went on to ask of the tattoo on Kenna’s forearm. “Why are you wearing bracelets? You like boys, don’t you?”
“Mag!” I laughed, ushering her into the kitchen. “Come on, we’re making homemade pizza.”
Over the mozzarella sprinkling, Mackenna looked at me, as intent as ever. “She’s—?”
“A little older than our . . . um, yes.”
We shared a moment of sadness, then he came up behind me, took my hand, and set it over the five Chinese symbols on his forearm as he whispered in my ear, “It means ‘I Live For You.’”
“What?”
He laughed and moved to help Magnolia add the pepperoni slices. “I’m not repeating it. I was drunk and had one thing on my mind and one thing only.”
“Me?”
“Yup. That wasn’t the best tattoo to help me forget you, was it?” he murmured.
“But you wore it proudly?”
“Only because it was the truth.”
A month before the movie premiere, we hear that the movie trailer is becoming famous for showing me charging across the stage to kiss Mackenna, whispering with ferocity, “You’re mine. I claim you. I love you. You’re mine.”
Surprisingly, this has gotten me an online fan club. So unexpected! I even interact with the fans sometimes. As long as Kenna’s fans don’t lynch me at the premiere, I’m good with anything. He’s promised me, they won’t touch me.
And I believe him, because, sadly, they’ll probably be too busy trying to reach out over the red cords to touch him.
Anyway, just a week before the premiere, I find myself calling Melanie with my most excited voice yet. I’m so happy, my voice has a new tone even for me.
“We’re getting married.”
