"Ahhhh," I whisper-groan, reaching up to massage the back of my head as I lift it from my arms. I squint into a mass of green, music with so much bass that each pulse seems to make the air shimmer, and lots of drunk college students.
My eyes snap to the back of the bar. Amy serves other customers, but I see her eyes cut to me between each one.
Finally, she sidles over to me. "Are you okay?"
It's not the first time she's asked me that here, but this time it carries a different undertone. Like she genuinely doesn't know the answer.
"Am I dead?" I ask.
She shakes her head slowly, almost warily.
"You remember me," I state. It's not a question. I know she knows. I know she's been with me on this whole journey, watching from the sidelines. No, not the sidelines. She's in the game. She's the one who kicked it off.
"I've never seen you before in my life," she says calmlyâonly her eyes, flicking over my head to scan the other patrons, betray her.
"Amy," I call as she turns away, and she freezes. "Amy, I know the truth. The Star Trek? The always ending up in this town? Trading shots for information? You remember all of it."
She refuses to meet my gaze, but she doesn't try to refute my claim, either.
"Why are you doing this to me?" I ask.
But the answer comes to me on its own, her voice from the past echoing in my head. Sometimes people have to figure things out for themselves.
"I figured it out," I say desperately, almost begging. "Nessa and I aren't meant to be. And that's okay. I'm okay with that."
She finally looks up from the floor, and I feel a little pullâlike if gravity wasn't anchoring me to the floor, I might just fly over the bar toward her.
"And Cam," I add. "This town has grown more than just intolerance. It made him, it made you. And I guess it made me, in a way."
Something suddenly diverts Amy's attention, and when I turn around, there he is. Connor, standing aimlessly by the door.
I heave a giant sigh. "I have to do it, don't I?" I ask Amy. "I have to do everything exactly the way I did it before."
When I turn back around, she's busy at the other end of the bar, but I imagine her answer would be silence.
I suppose it wouldn't have been right to leave Connor and Nessa the way they'd been on the last round. Full of doubt. Connor would have questioned every day of his life, since he apparently didn't believe me when I said I was over it.
There was never really anything wrong with the way they met in the first place. Besides the fact that it was awkward as hell. And it's still awkward as hell to think about doing it again, but I have to.
"Hey," I say as Amy passes me again. "I think I might need to be drunk for this."
She has a drink in my hand in seconds. It's green, just like it was the first night.
"Better hurry," she comments before disappearing again.
"Excuse me," Connor's voice comes from behind me. "Is this seat taken?"
I cast another glance toward Amy, standing a few seats over behind the bar, and then give him my best smile. I shake my head, and he sits down beside me in all his paper-shamrock-and-plastic-tiara-clad glory.
He looks a little lost, and I remember that he was actually the one that took the shot. Are we both aware now? My first time through I thought it was just a dream, so maybe he hasn't jumped to the whole time travel conclusion yet.
I need to head it off before it can balloon again. I'm tired of reliving their wedding over and over again.
I shoot another surreptitious look toward Amy and inhale deeply, steeling myself. This is it.
"A little overboard, don't you think?" I call, nodding at his decorations.
It's the final step over the edge of a cliffâthe step into thin air.
It's time to put things back the way they were meant to be.
* * *
"Lana! Lana, are you okay?"
"Alana, wake up!"
With a gasp, I wrench my eyes open. All I see is stained glass arching high above me, painting the floor a mosaic of sparkling colors.
"What happened?" I ask, trying to sit up. The last thing I remember is talking to Connor in the bar. I never had to do the rest of it. Does this mean I failed? Game over? I'm stuck now with whatever fate I've sealed for us?
"You fainted," Nessa informs me, and I notice her poofy white dress. Connor and the bridesmaids are gathered around my other side.
The wedding. I'm back at the wedding. Fainting in front of everyone.
I squeeze my eyes shut. "God dammit, I said I wasn't going to do that. I locked my knees, didn't I? You're not supposed to lock your knees."
"I think she's fine," Connor says, and I flash back to the last time he said itâstanding over me at the reception as Nessa asked if I was okay. Right before I ruined their night.
"Wait," I blurt. "Are we good? I'm sorry I wrecked your wedding, I didn't mean toâ"
"Lana, it's fine," Nessa assures me. "People faint at weddings all the time. We used to watch YouTube videos of it in college and laugh."
"Yeah," Connor adds unhelpfully. "Now you can be on YouTube."
His tone just passes the "joking" bar, but I can hear a slight bite behind it that tells me things are back to normal between us.
"Thanks," I mumble, smiling thinly. As they help me up, I look out at the crowd of their family and friends and wave, like it was all a performance.
"Can you walk?" Nessa asks.
I nod. I don't even feel weak or wobbly. Just disoriented.
"Shall we carry on, then?" Connor suggests, and the minister gestures them on their way back down the aisle.
Cam takes my arm, and we follow. "Don't blame yourself," he whispers under his breath. "It was a long kiss."
I glance up, biting the inside of my cheek. I fainted. So was everything a dream? It felt so realâit still does. I remember everything he told me, but was it all a figment of my possibly concussed imagination?
And Amy? Was she even real? Or just a hopeless fantasy that somewhere out there, someone who isn't Nessa exists that I could feel for?
"You okay?" Cam asks as we reach the exit and step out into the falling sun.
Everybody keeps asking that, but I'm finally ready for the truth.
"Yeah," I answer honestly. We stop beside Connor and Nessa, waiting for the rest of the wedding party to catch up and then the guests to follow.
"Hey Cam?" I ask, turning to him. When he tilts his head in an invitation, I continue. "I know there are a lot of things Connor would judge you for. Like your car. Or the operating system on your phone. Or having those little fuzzy dice hanging from your rearview mirror. Orâ"
"Lana, do you have a point?" Cam interrupts.
"There are also a lot of things he wouldn't judge you for," I finish.
I hold his gaze, trying to give meaning that I can't with words, at least not without sounding like a creepy stalker.
"I'm not sure what you're saying," Cam says after a moment.
"Just that we both did pretty wild things in college," I say carefully. "And I can only speak for my own intentions, but I think we have a lot in common. There are some things that are too beautiful to keep locked away from the world."
Cam squints at me, but I'm already turning to greet the guests with a smile.
* * *
I reuse my toast from the last reception. Who's going to know the difference? I think it was pretty damn good, if I'm allowed to toot my own horn for a second.
I still don't know if I hallucinated the whole thing while unconscious, or whether I really became a time-traveling stalker with the help of the bartender next door. I can't tell if Cam knows what I was hinting at earlier, or if it's even close to the truth, so I have no barometer.
Where before my mind had only been full of my unrequited love for Nessa, now it holds only one question, blinking over and over again in neon lights.
Is Amy real?
Part of me knows she can't be. She's too perfect. What I felt on the last iteration of the receptionâthat gravity was the only reason I wasn't pulled to her sideâthat wasn't real. It doesn't exist. Not for me, at least.
I'm a wanderer. A user. And I've been okay with that, because I could never imagine wanting any one person except the one I couldn't have.
Until now.
I accidentally step on Cam's foot as he tries to transition from a slow dance Mr. Brightside, and I back away. "Sorry," I call over the music, "I think I need to sit this one out."
I wander over back to our table, watching everyone else enjoy the party. Connor detaches himself from Nessa, heading for the drinks, and an uncle takes his place as her partner.
I take a deep breath. I know what I have to do.
I march purposefully across the room and tap him on the shoulder. He turns around, smiling, and then struggles to keep it in place as he realizes who I am.
I can't really blame him. If everything really happened the way it did the first time, then I've given him hard times. I've made jokes that weren't really jokes. I've been cold and distant ever since the night we spent together.
"Hey," I venture, pointing over my shoulder to an empty corner of the room. "Can we talk for a minute?"
He glances toward the dance floor, where Nessa is surrounded by people and laughing. "Uh, sure," he agrees hesitantly.
I lead him to the corner and then sigh, letting it puff my cheeks out as I exhale. This is necessary. That doesn't make it easy.
"I wanted to apologize," I begin.
"Look, you didn't ruin the wedding. The important part was over, anyway."
"No, that's not it," I break in, shaking my head. I rest my hands on my hips and look up at the ceiling, because I know exactly how he'll react about the next part. "I've been...rude."
I cut my eyes to him, and his right eyebrow has predictably arched. "Go on," he encourages, a tiny smile forming on one side of his mouth.
I roll my eyes. "You're an asshole," I announce.
"Is this supposed be an apology?" He really is grinning now as he takes a step closer.
"Yes," I correct myself quickly. "I'm sorry, it's just...."
I bite my lip, watching the swirling mass of people on the dance floor with my best friend at its center. My best friend, nothing more, and that's okay.
"It's hard," I continue, "when you're close to someoneâmaybe even closer than they knowâand then you watch them get pulled farther away by some stupidly strong magnet that just, like...." I slap my hands together hard enough that the sting travels to my wrists. "Bam. Have you ever gotten your finger caught in between those things? It's a total bitch."
Connor blinks, perhaps mentally rewinding my tangent. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Speaking from experience, probably not," I sigh, bracing myself for him to start making assumptions again.
Instead, he tilts his head. "Do you remember the night we met?"
"Unfortunately." I grimace. "And I don't really think your wedding is the time or place to bring that up."
"Oh, no." He shakes his head. "I'm not asking if you remember the sex, I'm asking if you remember the bartender."
I freeze, only my eyes moving as they widen several centimeters. "What?"
Was it real?
"I mean, the way you looked at her...." He folds his arms, studying me closely. A fewâwhat? Hours? Days?âago I would have glared at him, or turned around and marched off, but now I wither under his scrutiny. "You know, I always wondered why you did what you did with me. You never seemed that into guys."
Okay. Did I check out the bartender the first time around, or was the time travel real? "It was more just the fact that I was into one girl," I explain cautiously.
He nods. "It was Nessa, wasn't it?"
I open my mouth to protest, but I know he already knows. "It was Nessa," I affirm, careful to emphasize the past tense. "But you guys are too perfect together for me to want to change any of this."
"I appreciate that," he says honestly. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I wasn't more sensitive. I wish it hadn't taken me so long to figure it out."
"And what exactly would you have done?" I ask skeptically, because I know, even if he'd known my feelings back then, he never would have given up on Nessa.
"Set you up with my cousin," he deadpans.
My mouth falls open.
"I'm kidding!" He jabs me with his elbow, and I pick my jaw up off the floor long enough to give him a characteristic glare. "But at the very least, we could've been something other than enemies for so long."
I offer him a small smile. "There's always the future."
"Indeed." He shoulders past me, and I trot along behind him as he weaves his way across the dance floor, grabbing the microphone from the DJ. "Hey everybody," he calls, his voice booming as the music fades. "Let's move the party next door, huh? Drinks are on me!"
I gape as he drops the mic, and the guests start to pile out.
"Come on," he says, grabbing my arm, and then we're swept up in the current.
"Coming through!" Connor calls as he pushes the door to Carlow's open and wades into the crowd with me in tow. He drags me all the way to the bar, and there she is.
I didn't dream up Amy. She existsâphysically, at least. But is she a Star Trek fan? Is her favorite episode still The Trouble With Tribbles? Has she still seen the world, but ended up back here? And would she still flirt with my invisible female friend? Or did I make all that up in my head?
"Hi!" Connor shouts over the bar, pointing to me. "This is Lana!"
Amy smiles at me, but with my heart in my throat all I can force past it is a breathless, "Hi."
"Hi," she returns. "Amy. What can I get you?"
"Um...." I scan the bottles behind the bar, and sure enough, the orange one sits in the center. But I tear my gaze away from it and clear my throat. "What do you recommend?"
With a slow grin, she pours me a glass of something. Not green, not clear, but deep amber. Something new. I accept it and take a sip.
"Not bad," I comment.
"What time do you get off?" Connor interrupts loudly. "Asking for a friend."
I shove him as he side-eyes me pointedly. "Go find your wife. Third-wheeling is just sad when you're married."
He laughs, taking the hint, and I watch him disappear. I feel weightless all of a sudden, with the rest of my life stretching before me and no hard feelings left, no angst. Except....
I turn back to Amy, who smiles. Someone whoops behind me, and I wince. "Sorry about all this. I think it's my fault."
"That's okay," Amy says. "I think it was worth it."
I feel a hot flush creeping up my neck.
"The answer is three, by the way," she adds. "If you can stay awake that long."
That's fairâI don't have the best track record for passing out at this bar on this night. But this time is different.
"I think I can manage," I comment, taking another sip. "What's the prize?"
She pretends to think for a moment. "Well, I have extra-butter popcorn and every Star Trek box set."
My eyes narrow. "How do you know I like Star Trek?"
She pushes off the bar, shrugging, but I think I see a twinkle in her eye that hints at something more. "Wishful thinking," she says airily, leaving me to wonder.
I can't help the smile that sneaks its way onto my face as I watch her walk away.