What If (If Only.... #2)(64)

My wool coat and hat are nothing against the biting wind of an early Minnesota December. But the bus stop is close, and I’ve timed it perfectly. Within seconds of my arrival, I climb into the toasty vehicle and pull out my phone to double-check time and location. It’s only nine fifteen, and I should be there within ten minutes. The Kitty Cat Klub. 315 14th Avenue.

My stomach fills with a butterfly dance party, and I giggle out loud, a mixture of nerves and excitement because tonight marks both an ending and, hopefully, a new beginning.

I look back through a week’s worth of texts on my phone, each one a different form of Griffin double-checking that I’ll be there tonight, as if I didn’t already feel the pressure of how important this is to him—the importance of me being there. I’m still having a hard time digesting that and what everything about tonight means, which is why I never answered him with more than I’ll be there.

As we approach my stop, I stand and hoist my bag over my shoulder, proving that while Griffin may have started as a distraction, thoughts of him—of us—are now a motivation, and I’m the first off the bus as soon as it comes to a halt. Scratch that. I’m the only one exiting at this stop, so there’s no delay as I head in the direction of the party. It’s only when I slip my hand into my pocket to retrieve my phone that I realize the best laid plans…

No phone in my pocket. I check my bag. It’s not there, either. Because it’s on the bus. And now, no bus.

I can do this. I remember the name of the club and the street it’s on. Fourteenth Avenue. Wait, maybe it’s Fifteenth. There was a fifteen in the address for sure.

No big deal. I can do this. It’s only two blocks to Fifteenth and then at most a few blocks to the club. But my senses overload, and I second-guess myself. I’m already moving, though, so I keep going.

Only when I turn onto Fifteenth, the first two blocks are purely residential. Block three begins to populate with more commercial properties, and by the time I’m several blocks in, I decide that I f*cked up. So I pop into a restaurant, the entrance packed with waiting patrons.

“Excuse me.” I tap a stranger’s shoulder, an older woman, and she raises a brow at me in response. “Um, do you know where the Kitty Cat Klub is? I think I made a wrong turn.”

The woman rolls her eyes under a veil of severe salt-and-pepper bangs.

“Do I look like I know where a club is?”

She turns away from me and back into her conversation. Way to be helpful, lady. At least I caught sight of her watch. Nine-thirty-two. I need to go now before Griffin thinks I’m not coming.

The noise of the crowded restaurant reverberates in my ears, disorientation affecting my equilibrium.

Come on. If I can get there, get some caffeine in me, I’ll be fine.

I decide to cut through an alley that looks like it connects with the next block, Fourteenth Street, which is where the club must be. In my head Miles asks me what the f*ck I’m doing, but I rationalize the alley as a shortcut and remind myself a can of pepper spray lurks somewhere at the bottom of my bag.

I don’t recognize the alley when I enter it, but once a few feet in, I know exactly where I am…or at least that I’ve been here before. Because there it is, our wall. My silly mantra, What If? and Griffin’s three memories, each in its own language. Forgetting for a moment the perils of a girl hanging out in an alley alone, I approach the wall, hand outstretched, and run my bare fingers over the words, his words: Souvenir. Memoria. Cuimhne. Griffin’s memories for me, and a wave of recognition hits, knocking the cold air from my lungs.

I haven’t forgotten anything about our time together. Not really. I had a couple lapses, but being with him triggered the familiarity I needed to remember. For the most part, the whole past month is crystal clear. He is crystal clear, even as the throbbing between my ears begins.

I feel around in my bag for the can of paint that’s still there, and I add our names—Pippi and Fancy Pants.

Then I reach for what I need, the prescription bottle. Because caffeine won’t be enough, and I can’t let tonight end like our night in Chicago. But the flashing red-and-blue lights to my right tell me I won’t make it farther than the distance I’ve already gone.

As the officer approaches, I back away from the wall I was lovingly stroking seconds ago.

“Miss, did you paint this wall?”

I close my eyes and shake my head, futile gestures since the can is still in my possession.

“May I look inside your bag, please?”

Laughter comes without the accompanying smile. What would Griffin say if he saw me like this, ready to lose my lunch and a cop about to restrain me if I don’t dial down the hysteria? If he couldn’t handle me ruining our night with a debilitating headache, how would he handle this? He told me he was all in, but I never let him know what he was really in for. All I had to do was make it from point A to point B, to be there for him when he needed me, and instead… The hysteria morphs to tears. No one should have to handle this.

His hand rests on the cuffs at his belt.

“Those aren’t necessary,” I say. “I’ll go with you.”

He sighs, a look of resignation on his tired, aged face. “Follow me, then. The building owner has been on our case to find the person responsible for defacing his property. I gotta take you into the station.”

The tears flow freely, but I still try to swallow back the knot in my throat, the rising bile resulting from the growing headache and my realization of what a mess I still am. I wanted to be ready for the full deck, to be what he saw in me. How can I let him see this?