Maverick had left for Windsor at the end of November—waited two weeks before jetting off. Everleigh hadn't seen him, or spoken to him, in 12 days. 288 hours and counting. Almost two weeks. She wished she wasn't so fucking good at math—needed Jun to tell her statistics were disgusting so she stopped trying to crunch the numbers of whether or not her and Maverick were going to make it through January and any month in Vegas that followed.

Roman and Florence had done their best to fill the gaps Maverick had left. Whether it was trips to Tesco or one of them sleeping on her couch purely to hear breathing in the flat. Everleigh tried to tell them that she would be fine, but they wouldn't listen. It was nice having someone to talk to while she walked Dewey, though. Roman brought Navi in her stroller and Everleigh walked the dog and he usually showed up with an oat latte for himself and raspberry lemonade for her and somehow that felt entirely normal even though Everleigh had never gone for a walk in her damn life.

"I brought chocolate croissants," Roman said.

Sometimes he brought pastries, too.

Everleigh clicked her tongue and Dewey followed her. Maverick had taught him a little too quickly to carry his leash in his mouth. He was mostly a good dog, stayed beside Everleigh's ankles while they walked, didn't stray too far from the sidewalk. It was only when he was in the flat that he got antsy and wanted to be outside.

"Happy birthday," Roman said, tossing a croissant bag at her. Everleigh hoped it wasn't one he'd already bitten into again. "Even though you don't like that kind of shit."

"Thank you." It was nice to be done. Practicum. Exams. Everleigh was terrified of what the world held for her after her graduation in a month, but she never had to open another textbook. That was something. Final grades would be in soon, and she would find out whether or not she was valedictorian sometime around Christmas. She could breathe.

"How are we this morning?"

"Roman, you don't have to ask me that every time."

"I do, though." Roman looked at her, sipped his latte with one hand on the stroller.

"Why?"

Roman rolled his eyes. "It's not a secret you're family."

"By marriage."

"Don't make me say something you're not going to like."

Everleigh stopped beside Dewey. His favourite tree was just off the sidewalk, a good spot to stop the conversation. "I never like what you have to say."

Roman sighed. "I know you got that romper tailored for our wedding. And I know you told Florence you didn't."

"How would you—"

"Because the tailoring was on my credit card," Roman said. "I checked the statements. I paid for everyone's tailoring because I'm nice."

"Nice people don't spend this much time saying they're nice," Everleigh said. "Or cool, for the record."

"Most of our wedding party went the same day," Roman said, "there was one transaction that was done separately that was, you know, clearly one person."

"How do you know it was me?"

"Because everyone else let me know when things were going to be charged to my credit card," Roman said. "You know, so I wouldn't freak out."

"Sorry."

"Everleigh."

"What?"

"I know I'm not your counsellor..."

"Roman—"

"And I don't know how to ask this properly."

"Don't ask it—"

"Do you have an eating disorder?"

"Roman—" Everleigh was going to turn around and go back to her flat. She wanted to vomit, badly. Instead, she whistled so Dewey got the message he wasn't to sniff the tree anymore and they needed to get going. A singular note that was likely the final nail in her coffin. Dewey fell into stride beside her as she started walking again. Part of her wishing Roman would leave in the other direction, even though she knew he wouldn't.

"I'm not trying to upset you."

"Then don't ask."

"Everleigh. Can you please let someone care about you for two minutes?" Roman asked. "You already pushed your boyfriend away—"

"Don't."

"—Don't push me away too."

"What do you want me to say?" Everleigh's lip trembled. She refused to look at him. If she looked at him, she'd cry. She didn't do that.

"I want you to admit that every outfit I've seen you in in the last... I don't know, month, has been hanging off you like you're a... a fucking scarecrow?" Roman asked. "Like you're not even living in your own life?"

"Roman."

Roman grabbed her wrist. Gently. Like he always was.

Everleigh tore her wrist from his. Angrily. Like she always was. "Don't touch me."

Roman held his hands up. "I'm sorry."

"You—" Everleigh looked up from the ground at him. Still a little shorter than her. "I—"

"Everleigh." The soft look Roman gave her was enough to break her.

For someone who wasn't a hugger, Everleigh had been hugging people a lot, lately. For someone who didn't like people seeing her cry, that seemed to be happening a lot more, too.

"Okay, it's okay." Roman rubbed between her shoulder blades. "I'm sorry, this was a bad time."

"You think?" Everleigh asked. Still crying. "You twat."

Roman let out a weak laugh. "And she's back."

"I don't know how to exist sometimes." Everleigh wept into his shoulder. "He... Fuck."

"Mav was a good distraction?"

Roman spoke Everleigh like no one else. Where she swore, he heard everything he needed to. No wonder he was so sought after as a counsellor. He knew exactly what to say even when nobody wanted to hear it.

"I love him," Everleigh said. "And I know that it's reciprocated. I don't want to... I don't want to be someone he doesn't recognize when he gets back. But I can't stop hating myself."

What a fucking statement for the middle of a fucking sidewalk.

"What have you eaten today?" Roman was too gentle for anyone. Too patient. Too kind. Too Roman.

"I've had a couple sips of lemonade." Everleigh's voice was raspy already. God damn.

"I said eat, Everleigh."

"That's all I've had today. I don't know what you want me to say."

Roman hugged her a little tighter. "Well. You're coming over. Obviously."

"Roman—"

"Not up for discussion. I was going to make you Thai for lunch anyway, but now you're eating all of it."

"That's not how this works."

"It is now."

"Roman—" Everleigh tried to pull away from his hug, which only made him hold her tighter. "Roman—"

"Specifically told you don't push me away," Roman said. "Means you're stuck hugging me until I let go."

"You're a twat."

"I know."

Everleigh hugged him a little tighter.

*

"You know," Troy said, "birthdays are supposed to be fun."

"I've never enjoyed my birthday, you know this." Everleigh didn't look at him. Kept her eyes on the sink, elbow deep in suds.

"You've never done dinner dishes on your birthday either, Leigh," Troy said. "Or spent all of dinner staring off in the direction of the front door."

"Maybe I just hate Roman's cooking and couldn't bear to look at him because of it."

"Nobody hates Roman's cooking."

It was true enough. Everleigh had spent the day with him and he'd fed her homemade pastries and pad Thai all day and it was so good she didn't want to vomit it.

"Maybe I hate Roman."

"I don't think so." Troy leaned on the counter, back facing the wall, gaze staring down at Everleigh. "Want to tell me what's really going on?"

"Not particularly."

"Leigh."

"Pa."

"Everleigh."

Everleigh winced but continued scrubbing profusely at the plate that was likely already clean enough.

"Everleigh Jane."

Crack.

Everleigh had never broken a plate after the age of, say, five, maybe six and a half, but it was in pieces, lost to the soap bubbles. Like spilled milk, she was certain that a broken plate wasn't worth crying over, but the tears pooled in her eyes anyway. She looked at her father. "I'm so sorry."

Troy scoffed. Pulled the shard from her hand and dropped it into the bin hidden behind a cabinet door. "We can buy other plates."

"But you already owned that one."

"Don't be daft, kiddo. It's just a plate."

Everleigh was pouting to keep from crying. Like a child. "But what if it was your favourite plate?"

Troy raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you have a favourite plate at your flat?"

Everleigh felt a tear run down her cheek. "Maybe I should."

"Leigh," Troy said. "Stop worrying about plates."

"What if my favourite plate flew to Windsor and won't come back?"

Troy crossed his arms. "There are other plates."

"I don't want other plates. I want this plate. And I feel like I've fucked this plate up."

"You know, that plate could've been glued back together," Troy said. "We're simply too fuckin' lazy to do it."

"That doesn't make it better."

"Plates can be fixed. Just gotta put the effort in."

"What if this plate was too good to be true? That it was the best plate? That there's never going to be another plate?"

"Funny," Troy said, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a cake. God, Everleigh had eaten a lot. "All this talk about plates..."

Everleigh stared at him.

Troy smiled at her. Started to walk her cake out to the people waiting for it. Like it wasn't her birthday and her candles to blow out. Like her wish wouldn't be that she wasn't the greatest at pushing people away. Like if she had a genie, her other two wishes would be for Maverick to be there and for him to still have every opportunity in the world in spite of her.

"And not one mention of spoons."

Everleigh raised her middle finger up at Troy. Even if he was right.

*

"Cheers."

Just because Everleigh was depressed didn't mean they were going to skip out on traditions. Roman had bought Fireball, grabbed Everleigh's wrist, and dragged her to the front lawn in spite of the shitty mood she'd been in all night. She wished whiskey didn't make her think of Maverick's eyes.

Clinking their shot glasses together, Roman and Everleigh threw back the Fireball like they had every night that they celebrated something. Birthdays, Christmas, his wedding. Some things never changed. The cinnamon burn down her throat was almost welcomed; it felt normal. The shot glasses with Flo & Ro – November 16, 2022 were new to the tradition, though. Someone had gifted a set of four to them for their wedding.

"Happy birthday, you're almost 30."

"Shut the fuck up." Everleigh punched him in the shoulder.

Roman laughed. "Believe me, it just gets worse from here."

"I need another shot if you're going to talk about this."

Roman held the bottle out to her. Everleigh poured a messy shot and down it, wincing at the burn. Her brother-in-law laughed again. Roman was always laughing. It was probably one of the reasons why nobody actually hated his company. He could light up a room simply by existing. Then again, maybe that was one of the reasons why he was so fucking annoying. Food for thought.

"I can't believe how old we are," Roman said.

"No, no," Everleigh said, "You're old."

"I'm only seven years older than you."

"Old."

"I can't wait until you're 30."

"Want to talk about how your daughter's almost a year?"

Roman snatched the Fireball from Everleigh's hand and poured himself another shot. "You win."

"She's going to be a great kid."

Roman looked up at her from the ground. "Can I tell you something?"

"Oy!"

Roman and Everleigh looked over to see Florence walking toward them. Like two delinquent teens, they both moved their hands behind their backs to hide the shot glasses and the Fireball.

"Oh, piss off," Florence said, "we all know you two come out here to get pissed together, don't try to hide it. I'm not stupid."

"Do you want a shot?" Roman asked.

"Obviously."

Roman poured some of the whiskey into his shot glass and held it out to Florence, who graciously took it and thew her head back as she downed it.

"That's revolting." Florence wrinkled her nose and handed the glass back to her husband. "Oh my God."

"I know," Roman said. "It's... something."

"It tastes like being a teenager," Everleigh said. "Like mum and pa's liquor cabinet."

Florence laughed. "That's the one."

"No way are the Meadowlarks admitting to raiding a liquor cabinet."

"I think you forget the drinking age is 18 here," Everleigh said, "we were drinking with Pa in secret at... what? 14? 15?"

Florence nodded. "He didn't tell mum but he said he'd rather we drink in the house."

"He's a cool dad," Roman said.

"He was cool until Leigh ruined it." Florence laughed. "Downed a tequila shot on her 18th like she'd been doing it all her life right in front of mum."

Roman snorted. "Loser."

"This is the reason Navi's going to ask me if she can have parties at my flat," Everleigh said, "and I'll boot for her."

"I won't pick you up from jail," Florence said.

"... I'll bail you out," Roman said. "I guess."

Everleigh laughed. "Thanks for the enthusiasm."

"Only because you're bonding with the crotch goblin," Roman said.

"Not you too," Florence said. "You two are the only ones who will ever say that."

"Stevie says it too," Everleigh said. "That's enough for a cult."

"Crotch Goblin cult." Roman poured another shot and downed it. "Cheers."

Florence pressed a hand to her forehead. "You two are the worst."

Roman held a peace sign up.

"Do not say peace up, A-town," Florence said. "Crikey, dude."

"Dude?" Roman coughed out a laugh.

"You listen to Usher once and constantly say it when you're drunk," Florence said, "you deserve the dude."

Roman wrapped an arm around Florence's shoulders and pressed a stupidly messy kiss to her temple. Florence laughed and pushed him away.

"My God, you smell like booze."

"At least it's cinnamon booze."

"I'm not sure that makes it better."

Roman barely noticed that Everleigh took the bottle from Roman, drank straight from it. It was her birthday, she deserved to walk up feeling like shit in the morning. Like she had the last couple weeks. Like she had all night, from the moment she realized Maverick was not showing, even for one night.

*

"Hiya," Everleigh said, "I'm sorry to bother you."

"You're not a bother, Everleigh."

Everleigh bit her thumb. "Right. Sorry."

"Are you okay?"

Stevie was too calm. Maybe that's what it meant to be in love. Her and Brendon had moved onto being semi-official. In the way that Everleigh knew the backstory and each Instagram post with their smiling faces made her squeal. It was nice seeing people fall in love—even if Everleigh had only caught the last year of it. She was sure that MARS was relieved that Stevie had finally admitted those long-supressed feelings for Brendon. She deserved to be happy, to be loved.

"I just..." Everleigh wasn't sure why the hell she'd called. She didn't even know where Stevie was in the world. It was late for Everleigh, but what if it was early to Stevie? Instagram was a friend, Everleigh should've checked where she was. Fucking idiot. "Can you check on Kingston? When you have a moment. No rush. I just... I think he's overworking himself."

"He told me about Vegas," Stevie said. "Is something else happening?"

"He..." Everleigh frowned. "Did you know about Superhero?"

"Superhero?" Stevie asked, Everleigh could practically see the agape look on her face. "Did that little shit start a new album and not tell me?"

Everleigh bit her lip. "He was working on it and—and I don't know. Files corrupted. Something happened. He lost it. And now he's re-recording everything and I know he's panicking about it. And I feel like there's nothing I can do to help him, so I thought maybe you could?"

The silence that fell over the phone made Everleigh check that Stevie hadn't hung up on her. When she spoke again, her voice was neutral, despite the words. "I'm going to kill him."

"Stevie—"

"Oh, I'm going to fucking kill him." Stevie sighed. "He knows he should tell me things like this. I can help him."

"I'm sorry," Everleigh said. "But would you be able to check on him?"

"I'll check on him before I smack the shit out of him. Again."

"Thank you."

"Is he there? Can you put him on the phone?"

Oh. Oh, good. Maverick hadn't told Stevie he'd gone home, either. Beautiful work. Amazing. Thank God. Incredible.

"Um. I think he's still at the studio. You might be able to catch him there."

"Is there anything else I should know before I shout at him?"

Everleigh swallowed hard. Fought herself on it. "No. I don't think so."

"Thank you for telling me," Stevie said. "I'm sorry he's a little shit. Emphasis on the little."

Everleigh let out a weak laugh. "Can you keep me posted?"

"Yeah," Stevie said. "I've got you."

"Thank you."

"Oh, Everleigh?" Stevie said.

"Yes?"

"Happy birthday," Stevie said. "If Mav is being a dumbass, I'll give you the 28 birthday kisses he's skimping out on."

Everleigh laughed. "Thank you."

"The Grammys won't know what hit them," Stevie said. "Forget boy wonder, we'll make the front page with belated birthday kisses."

Everleigh hadn't even thought about the Grammys. Christ.

"You're coming to the Grammys, right?" Stevie asked.

"Um." Everleigh looked around her flat. Tried to calm herself a little bit by scratching Dewey behind the ears. "Potentially. Gotta work out the... logistics."

"I'll get Jenny to get you and my stepson on the guest list whether Mav is doing it already or not," Stevie said. "Especially if he's going to be a corpse the moment I'm off the phone with you."

"Thank you, lovely." That was for more than the Grammys invite. Everleigh hoped Stevie knew that.

"Anytime, Leigh," Stevie said. "Enjoy your night, babes."

*

Happy birthday, Meadowlark. I love you.

12:39am, December 13. Everleigh knew he was behind, time zone-wise. Frankly, she knew he ran on Maverick time. A time zone all his own that no one knew the hours to.

But it stung like the many shots she'd had that night knowing that a year prior, the Kingston Maverick who wasn't dating her was more on time than the Kingston Maverick she called her boyfriend. And Everleigh hated birthdays and she knew he wasn't necessarily someone to do things on time and she had accepted that they were in a rough patch and maybe she wasn't the number one thing on his mind while he prepared an album, a soundtrack, and a tour. But she would've rather he said nothing at all.

Everleigh would've rather been forgotten entirely than be an afterthought.