Everleigh never should have agreed to be her sister's maid of honour. Because Florence showed up at the crack of ass—also known as eleven o'clock, but Everleigh was jetlagged—wearing a bright smile and requesting Everleigh join her for a food tasting for the wedding. And the only reason Everleigh actually got out of bed?

"Hiya," Florence said, "Can I please get a large iced espresso with two extra shots? And can you make them blonde?"

"Flo, I hate coffee—"

Florence slapped her hand to Everleigh's mouth. Everleigh fought the urge to lick her palm like she would've when they were kids.

"For sure, large iced shaken espresso with six blonde shots. Anything else?"

Florence shook her head. "That's everything, thank you."

The barista read Florence her total and instructed her to pull forward to the window. Everleigh rolled her eyes but stayed quiet.

Florence even paid for Everleigh's espresso and handed it to her wordlessly—which was her favourite version of her sister. Wrinkling her nose at the drink, Everleigh sipped at the espresso as Florence drove.

"Where are we even going?" Everleigh asked.

"Food tasting. I told you that."

"Where are we going?" Everleigh repeated. "Not what are we doing?"

"Drink your espresso, please," Florence said. "I don't want you talking to the caterer like that."

"I only talk to people I know like this."

"Bet you Maverick would say something different about that." Florence, although she stared at the road in front of her,

Everleigh's jaw dropped. "Did Roman—"

Florence laughed. "Roman didn't snitch, but your expression did."

"You're such a shit."

"I'm happy for you."

"Be quiet." Everleigh took a long sip from her drink and tried not to wince at the bitterness of the espresso. "I'm drinking my coffee."

"I thought you didn't like espresso."

"I don't." Everleigh took another long sip and crossed her arms. "I would've been fine with an English breakfast. Probably the same caffeine level."

Florence sighed. "We're going to the caterers. It's just a little hole in the wall ma and pa shop that serves Indian food they loved as kids that'll serve us a few tastings of happy hour snacks, appetizers, mains, and dessert."

"Sounds like shit."

"Can you please try to be tolerable?" Florence asked. "For once in your life?"

"I was happy in Tokyo."

Florence sighed again. "Are you actually upset I'm bringing you or are you honestly this jetlagged?"

"Both," Everleigh said. "I hate weddings and jetlag makes them even less tolerable."

"Do you want me to take you back to your flat?" Florence asked. "I can just do this alone if you're going to be grumpy the entire time."

Everleigh looked at Florence. Really looked. At the slightly more creased crow's feet around her eyes, the more indented and darker eye bags. How Florence had a few more streaks of grey in her hair than Everleigh had ever remembered; silver dancing on a bed of chestnut brown. Florence looked tired and Everleigh was being more exhausting than her newborn.

"No," Everleigh said. "It's fine. I'll go with you."

"Thank you."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. I'm used to it."

"Hey."

"You're not exactly welcoming or easy to get along with, Everleigh. I think you know that," Florence said. "And that's fine if that's what you're wanting to do with yourself. But know that sometimes, it's a bit much."

"I know I am."

"I said it's."

"About me, Flo. Whatever. I'll go to your stupid tasting with you."

"It's not stupid to me," Florence said.

Everleigh took a quiet sip of her espresso. "I—never mind."

"Oh, don't stop now."

"I don't understand why it's such a big deal. It's food. It's going to turn into shit anyway," Everleigh said. "Why spend hundreds of quid on it when you could get everyone Maccies?"

"You can serve Maccies at your wedding if that's what you desire to do," Florence said. "But Roman and I are actually trying to enjoy our meal."

"How many people have you invited?"

"You don't want that answer."

"Fuck off. More than 100?"

"Roman has a big family."

"One of his relatives better be your fuckin' babysitter," Everleigh said. "Shoddy not taking care of Navi."

"Navi'll be, like, 11 months at that point."

"I standby what I said."

"What if Maverick wants to hold her?" Florence asked. "Men holding babies is cute."

"He can babysit, but I won't."

"One day you're going to have kids of your own—"

"I'm not, though." Everleigh made a face that in the right light might've looked like mimed puking.

Florence stole a look at her before directing her attention to the road. "Never mind, then."

"Babies are disgusting. And expensive. I only like them even slightly because I don't have to bring them home with me after," Everleigh said. "That's the only way it's gonna be."

"I get it, Leigh."

"Bloody awful. Why would you want to be forced to take care of something that just shits and pukes and eats all day."

Navi cried out from the back. Clearly woken from her nap.

"Place your bet whether she's shit, puked, or needs fed."

"Ha ha."

"Would be lovely if her aunt could help her out."

Everleigh took an interest in the lid of her espresso and shrugged. "Didn't come out of my vagina."

"You're so stubborn."

"It's been known."

*

In front of Everleigh, Florence, and Navi were too many dishes that made her head spin in too many different directions. There were curries and dals and samosas and tandoori chicken and fish and chickpea masala and naan and more. Don't get her wrong, it was delicious. The caterer was incredible. Everleigh's problem was that there were too many plates in front of them and it scared her to death how much she'd eaten.

The struggle between enjoying what was in front of her and knowing she'd want to vomit it later. That she would pick herself apart in the mirror and pull at her skin and wish the tears would stop rolling down her cheeks as she repeatedly stuck her fingers down her throat.

"We have shrikhand on the way. I promise it's last."

"What is it?"

"It's yogurt," Florence said. "Strained yogurt and some spices, I think. Roman loves it, I thought it would be nice for him."

And there was the dairy fears. The bloating. Anything with dairy had always been a fear food for her; some days were better than others. (Croissants? Fine. Grilled cheese? A horror film—some dairies were the Happy Death Days and the Freakys, some were A Clockwork Orange and Blue Velvet.) Everleigh's breath hitched in her throat. She didn't mean to. But there had been a lot of food and Everleigh hadn't eaten much in days, anyway. Not since she'd landed back at home to an empty fridge and pantry. It wasn't that she didn't want to grocery shop, it was that there were too many labels that had too many numbers and numbers scared Everleigh.

Everleigh wished that she could see herself in the future. That there was a future for her where each meal didn't make her contemplate how much space she took up if she really wanted mashed fucking potatoes and something in her ridiculous brain decided she wasn't allowed them.

"You look pale."

"I'm fine." Everleigh said it like it was true. Like it wasn't the fakest answer she could've given. As if her mind wasn't racing at the thought of eating more and as if eating wasn't something she needed to do to survive.

The caterer walked the dessert to Everleigh and Florence. Placed plates in front of them and wandered away while there was a taste test.

Florence picked up her spoon and ate a bite of the shrikhand. "Oh my God, this is delicious."

Everleigh tried not to let her hand shake as she picked up her utensil. A small bite was scooped into her mouth. Attempts failing to silence the thumping in her chest, blood rushing through her ears. Christ almighty, was she having a panic attack?

"God, if we get this at the wedding, I'm going to burst the seams in my wedding dress."

Everleigh's eyes darted to Florence. No. No, no, no. Don't start.

"I already don't think it's going to fit," Florence said. "With the baby weight and all."

No. Everleigh gulped. "There's nothing wrong with gaining weight, especially after having a baby, Flo."

"Need to bounce back faster if I don't want them to have to alter it again. I should've postponed the wedding so I could lose more."

Everleigh stared at her. Mental shutdown. Too many words swirled around her brain all at once and none of them should've been said in the first place.

"I mean, look at you! If I looked like that, I could eat whatever the hell I wanted," Florence said. "Get off this shitty diet that trying all these foods is going to throw me off of."

Everleigh didn't mean to slam her hands on the table when she stood up. "I—um, can I step out for a minute?"

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." Her heart pounded in her chest, part of her wanted to claw it out and leave it behind. A bloody trail.

"Are you sure?"

"I—my phone. Is ringing. Gotta answer it." Everleigh pulled her phone from her pocket.

"I can't hear it."

"On silent." Everleigh had already started walking away as she waved the phone at Florence. "I'll be back. Enjoy your yogurt."

"Okay, hurry back."

Everleigh walked out of the building entirely. Not even just the separate dining room her and Florence were in to have some privacy from the rest of the restaurant. London always smelt like piss, especially when Everleigh was in a shit mood. It was practically instinct to pick up her phone. Dial the number she didn't need an eidetic memory to know by heart.

It took three rings for a tired, strained, "Hello?" to answer.

Everleigh hung up the phone. Pressed her hand to her lips as her heart leapt in panic and in guilt. Crouched against the side of the restaurant, ready to burst into tears if even a scraggly-looking pigeon cocked it's head in her direction. Anyone who passed her would've likely assumed she was smoking a cheeky cigarette. She'd never felt like she needed one until diet talks started. Then she wanted to ruin herself with an entire pack.

Her phone vibrated in her hand. Everleigh shouldn't have picked up again. It was fucking noon in London. Which meant that it was four o'clock in the morning in Los Angeles—she shouldn't have called in the first place. She knew better. If Everleigh was going to complain that Florence woke her up at the fake crack of ass, the least she could've done was not wake up Maverick at the actual crack of ass.

"Hi." It was all Everleigh could manage. She was ready to, quite literally, spill her guts on the sidewalk.

"Everything okay?" Maverick's voice had never been deeper. Lost in the sleep he should've still been in if not for Everleigh. (God, she needed to stop being such a fuck up.) (Or she needed to stop thinking she was a fuck up.) (One of the two and she was leaning toward the former.)

"I—" Everleigh pressed her hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the sun that continued to threaten them. "No."

"What can I do?"

"I, um." Everleigh pressed her finger to the bottom of her nose. Trying desperately not to cry. She sniffed loudly as her eyes followed a man with a dog walking past her; the man none the wiser and the dog staring at her like it knew something was wrong. To the best of her ability, Everleigh attempted to ignore the panic building in her chest. "There's that thing. I told you I'd save it for another day. And I'd still rather tell you in person. Or, um, face to face. But. But I wanted to hear that I'm... that you... I wanted to hear you. Yeah."

"Anything you wanted to hear from me specifically?" Maverick asked. He sounded less asleep with each calm word. Everleigh had really taken everything out of him; moved him to alertness in a millisecond. She tried to swallow the apology that prickled on her tongue; razor sharp.

"I want to jump in front of a car for asking this."

"Everleigh."

"Not really. I'm outside a restaurant. Leaned against a wall. I will not actively harm myself while you're on the line."

"Should stay on the line 24-seven, then?"

Everleigh stared blankly at the sidewalk. He really hadn't the faintest what her toilet was going to experience when Florence dropped her off; that her toothbrush would act as a bandage to help her take the taste of vomit away from her and try to help her convince herself nobody would ever know.

"That was a joke, Meadowlark." Maverick's voice had risen slightly, panic dressing his tone. "But now I'm actually offering."

"No, it's—I'm okay." Everleigh had really gotten into the habit of saying that when not one singular part of it was true, huh? Her chest ached in response to the lie.

"Clearly. That's why you're calling."

Everleigh stayed silent.

Maverick's voice was like a waterfall when he spoke again; not in the sense that it was a rushing current that never stopped, but more like Everleigh was observing it from a bank to the side. Listening to the water as it cascades and letting herself relax in the safety of the sound. "You had a question, Everleigh."

"I—um." Everleigh sighed and pressed her hand to her forehead. Slapping it a couple times with the heel of it as she spoke. She was nothing if not her own worst fucking enemy. "I hate that I need reassurance here. I want you to know this."

"I don't answer the phone this early in the morning for anyone. It's on do not disturb," Maverick said. Reassuring without even hearing the question. Everleigh still cringed that she'd woken him up because she was too lost in her own bullshit to think about where he was in the world for even a singular moment long enough to remind her he was eight hours behind her. "I think it's mom, Esmé, Stevie, and you that can bypass it. Not even my manager can."

"I—" Everleigh stopped herself. Was it too early to say that? (She'd said it for a fucking MARS concert, surely she could try and say it then.) (Absolutely not.) The recovery felt like vinegar: "I'm sorry that I need you to say this."

"You don't have to keep apologizing to me," Maverick said. "I'm here. I'm yours."

"I need you to tell me that I'm who you need me to be right now." Everleigh covered her face with her hand. "I... Would you change anything—"

"No." Everleigh could practically picture the frown on Maverick's face. Brow crinkled like a plucky child told they couldn't have an extra cookie. Hand run through soft curls. "Everleigh, what's going on?"

"I just..." Everleigh bit the inside of her lip. "There's nothing that you would change?"

"You're stubborn as fuck," Maverick said. He was still trying to make Everleigh laugh. "But that's part of your charm."

Everleigh knew Maverick was kidding. Teasing her, even. She knew that. But no part of her was ready or willing to laugh. Not even a gentle snort to substitute a full laugh.

"Everleigh," Maverick said. "Nothing about you needs changing."

"Are you sure?"

"What's going on?"

"Are you sure?" Everleigh asked. "I'm not going to make you be with—"

"Everleigh, come on," Maverick said. "I want to be with you."

"You're sure?"

"There are few things I've ever been more sure of than wanting to be with you."

"I need constant reassurance," Everleigh said. "And I'm so sorry."

"You're lucky," Maverick said. "I have plenty of reassurance to go around."

"Kingston, I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Spare some change?"

Everleigh looked up from her spot on the sidewalk, a rusted tin can being held out in front of her by someone who was probably having problems that made Everleigh's meltdown even more embarrassing. Digging into her pocket, Everleigh dropped a bill and the couple pound coins she had, giving them a small smile. Probably not happy enough to look truthful, but she meant it all the same. The clang of the change in the can was enough to give Everleigh a moment to breathe.

"Bless you," they said before walking away.

"Everleigh, I don't know exactly what's happening," Maverick said. "But please don't doubt my feelings for you. I'll mail you this damn notebook if I have to."

"I decoded that song you didn't think I would. I forgot to tell you."

"Did you?"

Everleigh almost smiled again. "Did you write a love song about Dewey Riley?"

(Came in riding a wrecking ball like Miley / Didn't know I'd have to fight Dwight Riley / for your heart / should've known from the start / he sees you as a young Meg Ryan / I see you as Hayden, we're flyin'.) (Everleigh would give him bonus points for having not even seen Scream 4 yet but already knowing that Kirby was one of her favourites. And one of the reasons she'd cut her hair.)

"I wrote a love song about you," Maverick said, "you ass munch."

"What a cute pet name. So unique."

"There's my girl," Maverick said, a small click away from his phone. Sounded like a lighter. Voice slightly slurred—probably a joint between his lips. "Welcome back."

"Thank you for being here," Everleigh said.

"It's what I'm here for."

"I... I will eventually tell you." Even though the thought made Everleigh also want to vomit, she figured at least having Maverick know the thought was there would help her actually go through with telling him. "I... It's... weird."

"I can handle weird," Maverick said. "I'm good, Meadowlark."

"Thank you."

"I also, just, really enjoy telling you that you're amazing and exactly who I want to be with," Maverick said. "Call me anytime when you need that. It's my favourite thing."

"You're a dork."

"You're welcome."

"You should go back to sleep."

"I've got a joint lit," Maverick said. "Moon's out. I could probably stay a while. I'll be writing."

"I'll leave you to your writing."

"I'll be writing all day."

"I'm okay."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Only a month now, Meadowlark."

"And you still can't tell me?" Everleigh teased.

Maverick chuckled; Everleigh could imagine the puff of smoke disappearing into the chilly early morning air. "I still can't tell you."