Nobody Screws Up a Second Shot

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18. The Longest Day

The next day at work is the longest day. I can't seem to accomplish anything. I spend most of my time watching the clock slowly tick away while composing letters of apology to Mark in my head. When quitting time finally comes around, I can't bear to go straight to Elise's and have the conversation about how Eliot and I will not, after all, be joining in holy matrimony. I decide instead to pay Maggie a visit. I didn't see her at all at the birthday party, and it puts off the inevitable.

Maggie is alone at home when I arrive. She answers the door in a track suit, holding a half gallon of mint-chocolate chip ice-cream and a spoon.

"I'm pregnant," she says. "I can eat whatever I want."

"Where's Jim?" I ask, as we walk back to her couch and sit down. She's watching some made-for-TV movie on Lifetime.

"He went out with his sisters for a while, thank God," she says, putting the television on mute. "Peace and quiet for once. Although they should be back soon. I like Laurel and all, but sometimes they're like a little bit too much for me, when it's all of them at once."

I smile sadly, remembering this was why she asked me to go on vacation with her this summer in the first place, which is how I met Mark again, which is what got this whole thing started. I kick my shoes off and pull my legs up under me onto the couch. I lean back and close my eyes.

"Maggie," I say. "Did you ever know I was engaged?"

I open my eyes and she's frowning at me. "Nuh-uh. When were you ever engaged?"

"Five years ago. It was when you were away at school, and I was at college. I don't think you ever heard much about it, but I was engaged."

Maggie taps her spoon thoughtfully against her lips. "Maybe that kind of rings a bell. Yeah. It was, like, somebody totally gross and Elise had to talk you ought of it or something."

"It was Mark," I say. "It was Mark Salvo."

Maggie stares at me for a good minute and then she solemnly hands me her spoon. "You probably need this more than I do," she says, tipping the ice-cream container towards me.

I accept the spoon, and feeling suddenly shattered, I lean my head on Maggie's shoulder as I take a scoop of ice-cream from the offered container. "It's been a really long summer," I say. "And after this I've got to go tell Elise that I broke up with Eliot. He was sleeping with Tina. I'm not going to tell her that part."

"Shit," Maggie says.

"I know," I say.

"That is totally gross," she says. "Eliot and Tina, I mean. Not Mark."

"I know," I say.

And then the front door opens, and in files the merry lot—Jim, Bianca, Laurel, and Mark. Mark is with them. I don't bother to sit up. I just sigh, and give Maggie the spoon back. Ice-cream really isn't going to cut it.

"Hello my beautiful pregnant wife," Jim says merrily to Maggie, completely oblivious to how quickly Mark's face changes to grim when he sees me. Bianca just sort of looks at me apologetically and shrugs. I again start composing apology letters in my head and trying to send them to Mark via mental telepathy.

But the problem—other than an inability to communicate telepathically—is that I can't put my fingers on exactly what I'm sorry for. I have done anything wrong, exactly. And at the same time I've done everything wrong. And what I'm sorry for, I guess, is screwing up my second chance. Who does that? Nobody screws up a second shot.

Meanwhile, Jim has sat down on the other side of Maggie. Laurel wanders over to the window and looks absently down at the street below.

"Where's Todd?" I ask Bianca, since Jim and Maggie are have some quietly exclusive conversation and the rest of us are awkwardly quiet.

"Dunno," Bianca says. "Fending for himself. I told him I wanted to spend a little alone time with my siblings while Laurel's up, but then Mark ruined it by coming along."

"I suppose I ruin a lot of things by coming along," Mark says in a joking voice. But he's still standing, and he looks helplessly at Bianca as if she's going to provide him a way out of here.

"I suppose you do," Bianca says.

And then Laurel, still looking out the window, starts a little and involuntarily yelps, "Oh my God!" She glances nervously at me, like there's something she should tell me but doesn't want to, and then out the window again.

"What?" I ask. Marks walks over to look over Laurel's shoulder at whatever it is she's seen.

"It's just this guy out here," she says hesitantly. "I thought he looked like that guy you were with at the party, Eliot? But I don't think it's him. He's sucking some girl's face off. It's not him. It just looks like him."

But Mark has looked out of the window, and now he's looking at me, and I can tell from the look on his face that it is Eliot Camden

"No," I say, "It's probably him. We broke up. For obvious reasons."

"Or maybe not so obvious," Bianca mutters, not quite under her breath, and Mark's eyes dart to her. But she is examining her fingernails all innocently and doesn't return his gaze.

Then Laurel stifles the awkward and changes the subject by resolutely shutting the curtains and declaring, "Guys are assholes. All of them." She falls into the nearest chair and crosses her arms over her chest, ready for someone to challenge her.

"Nothing like a hasty generalization," Mark says with a smile, turning to face Laurel, which effectively turns his back on me.

"I think Mark's wondering what he ever did to you," Jim says to his sister.

"He hasn't done anything to me personally," Laurel admits, "But I'm sure he's done plenty to other girls." She looks up at Mark and asks, "What about that poor girl you wrote the book about?"

"What about her?" Mark says. And although he's looking at Laurel, and speaking to Laurel, it still feels like a challenge.

I say, "Well, she breaks up with you and instead of reacting like a normal person you go all Count of Monte Cristo and try to destroy her."

Now Mark does look at me. "I was the victim," he protests.

I stretch my legs out in front of me and cross my ankles. "So was the Count of Monte Cristo," I say ruefully. "I was hoping you would appreciate my clever literary reference."

Mark stares at me blank-faced for a minute, and then he smiles. Really more like grins. "Fine," he says. "I'm an asshole."

"That's okay. We can still be friends," I tell him, still light, still like we're just joking. Although I hope he realizes, I'm trying to apologize.

He looks at me with this inscrutable expression, but tips his head forward a little like it's an agreement. Then Laurel, who knows nothing about the situation and is therefore oblivious to all subtext, says, "See, we've all agreed? Mark's an asshole. And so is Eliot Whoever-He-Is. Total asshole. Don't worry about him, Cameron. You can so do better. And the girl he was making out with looked like a total skank."

"It doesn't matter," I tell Laurel. "It was just a mistake. And by far not the worst one I've made."

Then the conversation turns. Laurel starts telling us all about her fabulous new life in Florida. Without anyone really noticing aside from me, Mark drifts to a corner. He's produced a pen and a loose sheet of paper from somewhere and is feverishly scribbling notes on the page. I'm not sure what to think about it, and I try to concentrate on what Laurel is saying. Eventually, she realizes that Mark isn't paying any attention to her and asks him what he's doing.

"I've had in inspiration," Mark says. "I have to write them down when I have them or I forget. I support myself by inspiration, you know."

"Stop being anti-social," Bianca says.

"Leave me alone," Mark replies, and only sounds like he's half joking.

In a little while, though, he's done writing his inspiration and joins us again. The conversation turns to baby names, with all of us giving our suggestions to Maggie and Jim. All of us, that is, except for Mark, who is mostly looking agitated and folding and refolding the paper he was writing on.

Eventually Laurel's cell phone rings. It's Grant Beckett, and she leaves the room to talk to him. Then Bianca leaves to meet Todd and Mark says he has to go to. And he leaves. Doesn't say a word to me, just leaves.

Once the door is shut behind him, I lean back on Maggie's shoulder. "Well, that's over," she says.

But it's not over. Almost as soon as she says it, Mark magically reappears. I sit up.

"Hey Camry," he says. I notice that he has my copy of his book is in hands. "Keep forgetting to give this back to you," he says, and hands it to me.

I'm not sure what to say, so I just say, "Thanks."

"Right," Mark says, a little awkwardly. "Okay. See you all around." And he leaves again, this time for good.

Maggie and Jim begin chattering to each other again, while I stare at the cover of the book, wondering if it means anything that Mark finally gave it back to me, and if it means something what it could mean. I absently open the book. It opens to a page where a sheet of paper has been wedged. A sheet of paper that looks as though it's been folded and refolded over and over. I start to freak out a little, and even though Jim and Maggie aren't paying any attention to me, I angle myself away from them. I unfold the piece of paper.

It's definitely Mark's handwriting; I know that right away. My head is spinning a little. I smooth the paper with one hand and I read:

Oh, Cameron, what can I say? I wish I could tell you how impossible it is for me to be in the same room with you anymore, a knife in my heart – however cliché that may be. Ever since I came back from Florida – I came back for you, Cameron. It's the only reason. I had to see you. Bianca will tell you. And there you were in my book store with Eliot Camden stealing you umbrellas – but I won't talk about him, because it doesn't matter. I don't know what matters anymore. I've got David on my ass night and day about how I'm supposed to have him a draft by now. But it's as impossible for me to write as it is for me to be in a room with you. I can't do anything anymore. I can't do anything but think about you, all the time, constantly. I can't shut it off. It's agony, and hopelessness, because there you sit, all composed, asking Laurel how she likes the tropical weather,, like it's no big thing at all. There you sit, saying, "We can still be friends." I can't be friends, Cameron. I'm not angry anymore, and I know you were right about the book – it was horrible, and vindictive, and self-righteous and I apologize. But I can't be friends. Tell me it's not too late for us. I know it's not. And of course you know by now what I'm meaning to say, but I've gone to far not to say it out right. And so:

I still love you, and always will.

-M

PS. Either way, I promise not to write a sequel.

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"Camry?" Jim says. "You okay there, Camry? You're looking a little pasty."

I quickly fold the note—which I've already read twice through—and tuck in back inside the book. "Yes," I say to Jim. But I can't breathe. I need to leave. I need to leave now. I say, "I forgot, I told Elise I'd be over after work. I have to go."

I stand up, and Maggie says, "Jim will drive you."

I try to protest. I don't want to waste Jim's time, I say. Because I don't actually want to go see Elise; it's about the last thing I want to do right now. That was just an excuse. I just want to find Mark. I need to find Mark. But I can't come up with any good reason why Jim shouldn't take me to Elise's, and there's no stopping them.

So in the end, I follow Jim down to the parking garage, impatient and fidgety and wondering how I'm going to stand sitting across the living room for Elise while she talks at me about Eliot and second chances when the only second chance I've ever wanted is somewhere out there waiting for me.

But then it happens. When Jim and I have walked halfway to his truck, we both spot Mark. He hasn't left yet. He's resting on the hood of his car, talking animatedly into his cell phone. Then he sees us. He looks at me, up and down, trying to read me. He says to the phone, "Listen, I have to go." He slowly rises from the car.

Jim says, "I thought you were in some big hurry."

"I got a phone call," Mark says, eyes still on me, looking very uncertain. I'm holding the book, and I unconsciously shift if from one hand to the other. Mark's eyes travel to the book for a moment, and then back to my face. Looking more uncertain now.

"Well, if you not in a big hurry, you could take Cameron to Elise's on your way," says Jim, who couldn't possibly know that this is a horrible thing to say.

"Yeah, of course," Mark says, looking like he might throw up, or die.

"Right, then," Jim says cheerfully. Then to me: "See, you're not even wasting my time."

Somehow I manage a smile. Then Jim walks away whistling, and Mark and stand I there staring at each other, only a few feet apart. We stare at each other for a while after Jim's gone. I can't think of what to say. How is it that I can't think of what to say? I'm getting ready to blurt out something—anything—when Mark breaks the silence.

He says, "Fuck, you read it."

Which throws me a little. "I thought that was the point."

He stares at me, his jaw working a little.

"Are you taking it back?" I ask.

Mark breathes in and exhales, long and slow. "No. It's true. No take backs."

"Okay," I say. "Good."

Mark narrows his eyes at me, and then he starts to grin, because I start to grin, and then he starts to laugh. "For heaven's sake, Camry, you didn't have to stand there for ten minutes looking petrified and not saying anything. What are you trying to do to me?"

"Sorry," I say. Somehow the distance between us has closed, although I couldn't say who walked toward whom. One of Marks hands is gliding behind my back, pulling me against him. I'm still holding the book, and I push it against his chest. "You deserve it a little. It is a really mean book."

He takes the book from me. "Put that away," he says, and tosses it behind him onto the hood of his car. My hands are empty. One of them finds his hand. He says, "Now Cameron, do you have something to say to me?"

"Oh," I shrug, "just, you know, I love you."

And then he kisses me, his lips against mine, gently parting them, his arms around me pulling me in. And something inside of me explodes, and I press myself against him and feel his lips and his arms and his body and the world begins and end and begins and ends and begins. And then I remember I have something to tell him.

"Mark," I gasp, breaking out of the kiss just enough to say this. "I didn't sleep with Eliot."

It might not register immediately what exactly I'm saying. Mark just murmurs, "It doesn't matter," against my face.

I lean back a little farther, to make sure he's paying attention to what I'm saying. "So it doesn't matter at all whether or not I had sex with Eliot."

Mark thinks for a minute. "Well, now that you mention it, I do immensely prefer that you haven't slept with Eliot. But even if you had, I don't think I would've let that be the thing that came between us. Or anything. Ever again."

I smile. "That's a really good answer."

"It's the truth," he says, and he kisses me again. And then he asks, "So am I really taking you to Elise's?"

"Oh, God no. Take me anywhere but there."

"Now that," he says, "is a really good answer."

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A/N: Greetings to reviewers and lurkers alike.

There will be one more chapter. But review now!!!!!!! Make me happy!!!!!!!!!!

I've been thinking about whether or not I'll do another one of these modernization thingys once this one is done. Haven't decided yet. I might continue with my Emma adaptation "Stage Effect" which has been on hiatus for a v. long time, or I have noticed a dearth of Northanger Abbey fiction (which I don't understand, because it might be my favorite), or I might just call it quits.

Anyway, one more chapter for this one. Thanks for all the reviews and support thus far.