Disclaimer: I don't own the show, although I wish I did so I could release it on DVD and make a movie out of it… and I also don't own the Beatles songs "I'll Follow the Sun," which is briefly mentioned in this story, and "I Don't Want to Spoil the Party," from which I stole the title.
A/N: This story was partially inspired by Trivher's story "Conversation of Marriage" and the Beatles' song "I Don't Want to Spoil the Party," which I was listening to as I read Trivher's story. Also, sorry I suck at keeping up with my fics… maybe I should just stick to stories I can finish in one sitting instead of long stories that I never update.
It's been ten years since the tour ended and we're all back together again for the most unlikely occasion. It's been ten years since we've all been together in the same room at the same time. It's a time of celebration, of reconciliation, of reminiscing, of laughter and happiness. And I just feel like… shit.
"Oh, shahm-pahn-yuh!" Annie exclaims giddily, suddenly appearing at my side. "I just love reception parties. Don't you? In fact, I have a theory that the reception for any event is guaranteed to be a thousand times better than the actual event. I'd skip the actual events and just go to receptions, if I could."
"Hmm," I respond dully, trying to feign interest. "So why didn't you?"
"And miss this once-in-a-lifetime event? Are you kidding? I thought this day would never come. I mean Molly getting married! It's about damn time!" She let out a long hearty laugh and gulped down her champagne. "So anyway. What have you been up to?"
"You know, gigs here and there—"
"Oh, you have a band? That's great. I never really thought you'd stick with the whole 'I wanna be a musician!' thing. You know, if you ever want to open for me at a concert, you're more than welcome to."
"Thanks." Leave it to Annie to make it seem like she cares when all she wants to do is talk about herself.
"Yes well, it's a shame we don't see each other more often. Clu always comes to visit us, but Jacque and I often wonder why you never stop by." She was referring to Jack—Annie's pet name for him was "Jacque." She thought it made him sound more sophisticated. They had been married for a year and a half.
"Yeah. I've just been busy. I'll try to make more of an effort."
"Good, good. Well, I'm going to go mingle." This is Annie's way of saying that I was too boring and depressing to talk to for another second. "I'll see you later, sweetie."
"Bye." I scan the room, seeing smile after smile and hearing nothing but rapid chatter and frequent laughter. Music is blaring, people are dancing, and everyone seems disgustingly happy. I decide to pour myself a large glass of wine and retreat into the corner.
One day, you'll know I was the one…
But tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun
Why did they pick this as their wedding song? I wonder. It's not exactly romantic. It's about leaving the one you love. And why the hell am I so damn unhappy? I need to go back home and hang out with the guys. I need to sit down with a notebook and pen and write a song. I need something stronger than this stupid wine.
"Hey there," someone says behind me. It takes me a fraction of a second to place the voice, and then I realize… it's him.
"Oh… hi," I reply, turning around and forcing a smile.
"Why aren't you out on the dance floor?" he asks.
"I don't like to dance," I respond automatically, and add quickly, "and also I twisted my ankle a couple weeks ago."
"Oh, that's too bad," he replies, clearly not caring. "So is the ankle also making it impossible for you to walk around and socialize, too?" My eyebrows narrow in anger, and he laughs nervously. "A joke. Obviously."
"Right. Of course." I don't believe him in the slightest.
"Anyway, Carey," he clears his throat, "I just wanted to talk to you. Molly told me a lot about you. She said you used to play in her band."
"Yup, that was me," I respond without enthusiasm.
"You two were good friends?"
"Yeah."
"So why don't you come around anymore?"
The question startles me a little. "A lot of people have been asking me the same thing," I reply vaguely.
"Been too busy?" he continues, a trace of a smile playing on his lips. I don't trust him.
"Yeah. I have a band. So how's married life?" I ask quickly, hoping to change the topic.
"I don't really know. I've only been married for an hour," he says, walking away. What a bastard. I can't believe Molly married that creep. I sit down and pour myself another glass of wine… and another, and another. Soon, everything around me is just wobbly enough to feel imaginary. I'm light-headed and numb and good. And Molly's approaching me.
"Hi Molly," I say, and I laugh, and grin widely. "I've been wanted to talk to you." I stand up and envelop her in a giant hug.
"Carey…" she says slowly, sounding a little confused. "Are you drunk?"
"No, of course not. How dare you accuse me of such a thing!" I laugh again, and begin to pour myself more wine, but Molly snatches the bottle out of my hand. "Come on, this is a celebration…"
"I think you've celebrated enough," she says, smiling. Then she lowers her voice to a whisper. "Can we talk?"
"Aren't we?"
She smiles charmingly. "No, I mean privately."
"Oh, of course," I whisper back, all smiles. "Of course we can talk, Molly."
She takes me by the arm and pulls me into the hotel lobby, closing the doors behind us. Away from the crowd and noise. "I like this," I say. "This is better. It's way noisy in there."
"I know this is probably the wrong time to be asking, but is everything okay with you? I noticed you haven't really been… mingling."
"The mingling life is not for me!" I say emphatically.
She smiled politely. "Okay. Fair enough. I just thought you'd want to talk to everyone again, since we all haven't been together in such a long time."
"I like talking to you," I respond, suddenly feeling more confident in myself.
She ignores the statement. "I saw you talking to Peter before…"
"Peter's your husband now!" God, am I drunk. I hear how idiotic I sound, but I just can't help myself. I reach over to stroke her hair, and she gently pushes my hand away.
"Yes… he is. So what do you think of him?"
"He's a bastard." Her eyes widen in shock. "Kidding. Of course. Oh P.S., I think he knows…" I lower my voice to a whisper. "About us."
"What?" She jumps back, startled.
"You know."
"Carey…" she glances away. "That was one night. And no, he doesn't know. I never told him. I never told anyone."
"I'm still in love with you," I babble.
"You're drunk."
"I'm not drunk enough to think clearly," I say, and she just shakes her head.
"That was a long time ago."
"I think you and Peter should get divorced. I think we should get married. You don't even have to change your clothes."
"Carey, you're not making any sense. Do you hear yourself? I'm going to go get you a glass of water."
"Don't." I grab her arm, and she gives me a look of mild terror. "Don't bother. I'm not that drunk."
"Yes, you are. Let go of me."
I do so. "I let go of you a long time ago and it was the biggest mistake of my life."
"Carey…" she sighs. "Getting together was a big mistake, do you understand that? And we both agreed about that the very next day. And we said we'd never talk about it again, so why are you bringing it up?"
"Because that was the best night of my life," I say honestly. "And I'm never going to forget it." I'm starting to realize it was a bad idea to drink all that wine. The depressive effects of alcohol are beginning to kick in.
"You're going to feel very silly tomorrow if you keep talking like this. That's just the wine speaking."
"Maybe you're right," I say, trying to appease her. Feeling sick of it all. Suddenly we both hear a door open.
"Hi honey," Molly says, looking over my shoulder. I turn around. Peter.
"I was wondering what happened to you," the bastard says.
"I just wanted to talk to Carey, that's all," she replies. I stand there numbly.
"Is everything all right?" the moron asks.
I turn around sharply and look him right in the eye. "Yes, it is. Molly doesn't need your help. In fact, Molly doesn't need you, period." Then, to the shock and dismay of them both, I grab Molly's face and kiss her passionately on the lips. I feel her struggling but I refuse to let go. Finally she frees herself and runs over to Peter, who is marching towards me with clenched fists.
"Stop, stop!" She holds him back. "He's drunk. He doesn't know what he's doing."
"Yes, I do," I argue. Molly holds him back more fiercely.
"I think it's a good idea if you left," she tells me.
I stare at her, slightly taken aback. "Okay. Fine. I'm going."
"Carey, if you feel bad about this tomorrow… don't, okay?"
"I feel bad about this right now," I say softly, and walk away. Out through the doors, onto the sidewalk, down the road. To the train station. Wow, am I an idiot. I shouldn't drink alcohol.
I go up to the ticket window and reach into my pocket for some money. Instead I find a piece of paper. Confused, I pull it out of my pocket. It must be old… it's clearly been folded and refolded countless times, but I don't recognize it at first.
Dear Molly,
I know you probably regret what happened, but I don't. And I know that if you could take last night back, and erase it from history, you would. But I don't want to forget it. Last night was a dream come true for me. I'm not sure if you'll ever fully understand just how much you mean to me and always will mean to me. I know you want to pretend last night never happened, and you probably will, because you're stubborn like that and it's the logical thing to do. You'll move on—you probably already have—and so will I, eventually. But it's always going to be there, no matter how hard we try to pretend it hasn't. This is always going to be a part of us, and I have no regrets. I know you won't change your mind, but don't blame me if I keep hoping you do. Destroy this letter, if you must. I'm crazy, aren't I? It was just one night. I must be out of my mind. And if you get your wish, I'll soon be out of yours, too. Despite everything, I'd do it all over again. I love you.
Carey
Beneath it was a response, which I had never seen before.
I read this at least a hundred times, and each time I wanted to pick up the phone and call you, or drive and see you, or write a response… but I resisted. I'm a fool. Can you ever forgive me? I plan to give this back to you the night of my wedding, because I doubt I'll have the courage to tell you in person. I never forgot that night either, even though I tried. And I'm sorry for causing you so much pain. I guess more than anything else I just wanted to thank you for showing me how to love again. Before that night, I didn't think I was capable. You allowed me to have faith in myself, and for that I am forever indebted to you. Thank you.
Molly
I pour out my heart and soul and all I get is a thank you note? I crumple it up and throw it away before paying for my ticket. That's the last reunion I'll ever attend.
And still I can't help thinking that one day she'll come around… and that I won the battle. Just a little.