You're Magic

When Pete started to date Ashlee I was sad and happy and glad. A big part of me was sad even though I had known he would move on. I didn't hate her; I didn't love her. I wasn't jealous or hurt or anything. I didn't hate Pete or myself, either. I think, in retrospect, I was really happy he found someone. Did I still love him? Yeah. Did that mean I was heartbroken? Not at all. In some ways I think my love for Pete could have lasted better non-romantically. Sometimes I wish it did. My love for Pete runs much deeper than sex and looks and common interests. I think God sent Pete to me, but Pete doesn't believe in God so what does it matter?

One July morning I received a new interview at the magazine. The top of the paper read a name I wished I would never need to be associated with. Ashlee Simpson. I was nervous that she knew who I was or that I would say something and she would know. We got together for coffee three days later on a hot, sunny afternoon. She sipped on an iced vanilla late, peering at me over her sunglasses.

I asked her about everything. Her music, fashion choices, her family and sister, what she thought about politics, food preferences, friends. I tried everything to avoid talking about Pete. At this point I'd been gone two and a quarter years and she and Pete had been together roughly a year and a half. She was a very nice girl and we had a lot in common; we could have probably been friends, even. If she had never found out I dated Pete.

Ashlee sat, chewing on the straw of her drink, leaning over the table and talking about how great friends she was with Pete and she had this gleam in her eyes and she was so... happy. It made my stomach twist in nervous knots.

"He's really great like that," I nodded as she gushed about him being able to remember little things.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, that's what I've heard, I mean," I added, a nervous blush creeping across my cheeks. She shrugged it off and continued. I wanted to hate her. Her life seemed so perfect and great and she had Pete. My Pete. But I couldn't dislike her because she was nothing but great.

"And he's always calling late at night when I'm at home in Texas and I'll tell him I really have to sleep and he'll say--"

"Sorry, he forgets how late it is because he's too distracted by your voice," I laughed, thinking back to when he'd say that to me. Maybe part of me did want her to know that I had been Pete's first choice.

"How did you know that? I've never told anyone that."

"Oh, I uh--"

"What'd you say your name was?" She blinked her wide, blue eyes at me.

"Evelyn Davis?" It came out as a question, not an answer.

"That's why you looked so familiar! You're friends with Pete, aren't you?" Ashlee's eyes lit up excitedly.

"I was," I sighed. "But this interview's about you, not me. So let's pretend I don't know Pete and that every time you say his name I don't hurt a little," I said, bending my straw.

"You left, though. You're the one that left, not him. You hurt him. He never did anything to you." Her tone became dark as she squinted her eyes at me. I was uncomfortable under her scrutiny, shifting in my chair. I swallowed, attempting to regain my composure to no avail. This all hurt too much.

"That's what he tells you, huh?" I barked a laugh, folding my arms across my chest.

"What is he supposed to tell me?" Her voice was sharp.

"How about all the fights we got into? All the things he said, the things he called me? Winning me over with the same, stupid, 'I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean it', pressing those irresistible kisses to my neck and getting me to fuck him so I'd forget? Did he tell you that?" I growled, leaning forward.

"He wouldn't do that," she waved her hand dismissively.

"You haven't been with him for three years."

"He wouldn't!"

"I'm sure I know him better than you, princess," I snapped, getting defensive. "I've loved him four and a half years, I know what he's like."

"If you loved him you wouldn't have left him! That's when he came crawling to me. Do you know how easy it was to hook up with him because he was so heartbroken over a bitch like you?"

"Excuse me? Do you honestly think I wanted to leave? Do you think I wanted to break his heart? Screw you if you think I left because I didn't love him. I love him dearly. Do you think I could sit around living at my parents' house for the rest of my life waiting for the boys to catch a bigger break? Can you blame me for going out and getting a life? I wasn't going to bum around Wilmette the rest of my life, Ashlee. You know that."

The people working in the coffee shop were trying to look like they weren't paying attention, but we both knew they were listening intently.

"If you had any faith in them you would have stayed."

"I had faith in them from the start. I stuck by them and I helped them with everything. If it wasn't for me, they wouldn't be where they are. He wouldn't have been famous enough to date you," I scoffed. "You didn't help them with anything besides shining the spotlight on their overemotional bassist."

"That doesn't mean I don't support them. You left, Evelyn. You abandoned them and they hate you for it." I knew them' meant Pete. "And you know what? They don't want you back."

"That's bullshit! They'd take me back in a heartbeat and you know it. Every. Last. One of them."

"Pete can't fucking stand you anymore! What are you talking about?! He tells me all the time about how annoying you were and how awful you were in bed!"

"I bet if I called him up right now he'd take me back in a heartbeat," I growled, tears stinging my eyes.

"He's over you, so I suggest you stop wasting your time daydreaming, buttercup," Ashlee snapped, baring her teeth at me. Her fingers dug into the edge of the table.

"I'm not going back to any of them because I have a life now. You can fucking have Pete, I don't want him. I'm not wasting my time on any of them!" I stood from the table. "And don't you dare tell him about this conversation. You know how he gets." I added before stalking out of the coffee shop.

That entire encounter stayed with me forever. That encounter, had Ashlee said anything, could have cost me my job. I thought about it all the time. I still think about it. I don't hate Ashlee, I can't. I don't have a right to because that fight we got into doesn't mean a thing anymore. It didn't since they got married. It didn't mean a thing even when Pete and Ashlee were dating because I knew I wasn't going back to him or the boys and I knew she would never say anything. Pete has never said anything about it, either, and I'm beyond glad.

Except I feel like now he has a right to know.

I'm bawling my eyes out and Pete's panicing because he thinks he's done something wrong. He keeps saying, "What's wrong, Evelyn? What'd I do? What happened?" I keep trying to tell him he didn't do anything wrong, but it comes out as hiccups and parts of words and it makes him freak out more. He's sitting up and wiping my face and I hold onto him, desperate.

Eventually I calm down enough to speak. "I need to tell you something," I stutter, "that Ashlee never did. Because I told her not to tell you." I sit up a little.

"What are you--"

"Just let me tell you, please," I plead.

He crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm listening."

So I tell him. I tell Pete everything about the fight Ashlee and I had and he sits there, staring at me with this weird expression on his face. I don't know if he's angry or shocked or sad.

"And I've gone over every nuance of the situation so many times that my head hurts and I'm sorry and I know she hates me but I don't hate her at all," I sigh, looking up at him. "And I probably sound pretty fucking pathetic, huh?"

Pete kisses the top of my head and he's mumbling things like "It's okay," and "It's over now," and he keeps telling me he loves me. He says I just need some sleep right now. I can tell he doesn't want to tell me what he really thinks. I tangle myself around him and let out a quiet, upset whine. He combs his fingers through my hair and tells me to go to sleep and that everything is okay. "I love you no matter what. You don't have to be sad or afraid of what I think," he says, as if reading my mind. "If you want to know the truth, I wish one of you would have told me sooner. I wish that you two had never fought in the first place and I wish you two had never met, even. Now I know why she didn't want me to see you."

"I... I'm really sorry, Pete. I don't know. Maybe I should've told you."

"Yeah," he snaps, "you should have."

"I'm sorry, okay?" I growl, pulling away from him. This conversation has turned sour very quickly. I sit up and hug my knees to my chest. "It's just... I know how you get and I didn't want her to tell you and have you freak out and I sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to tell you back then. And now... I don't know, Pete. It wasn't like I was going to keep it from you forever."

"But you kept it from me."

"But what does it matter, Pete? At least I told you."

"That's not the point. The point is you decided to not tell me for all those years."

"I didn't talk to you Pete! How did you expect me to tell you? Did you just want me to call you up out of the blue and say 'Hey, Pete, it's Evelyn. I got in a fight with your girlfriend about you and said you'd take me back in a heartbeat because I know it's true but she doesn't want to believe it.'? Do you know what that would have done to you? I did this for your own good."

"Maybe I did expect you to call one day," he snaps, rubbing his left eye with his knuckles. "Maybe I wanted to talk to you. Maybe I missed you." He lets out a sigh and I see he's crying. "I didn't--I don't, care what it would have done to me, Evelyn. I just wanted to hear your voice. How do you think I felt when I went to your house and found out that you were gone? Your parents wouldn't tell me anything and nobody else knew where you were. I was scared and hurt and upset and all I wanted was you."

"It didn't stop you from marrying her," I spit out, glaring at him. Which is weird, because him marrying Ashlee had never bothered me before.

"I married her because she was nice and sweet and she took away some of the hurt, Evelyn. But she wasn't you!"

I'm angry and confused and I don't want to hear any of what he's telling me. I kiss him hard on the mouth and in a way it's sort of full of hate, but at the same time I feel like it's all I can do to feel okay; to feel Pete's lips on mine and remind myself of everything I love about him, even when I'm dreaming of tearing him apart. His fingers are curled around my hips, digging into my skin, and I want to tell myself it hurts but for some reason the hurt feels so good. My fingers are yanking at his hair and I pull my mouth away. "I want to hate you so bad," I tell him. "I want to hate everything about you but I just... I fucking can't."

"I spent five years of my life trying to hate you," Pete barks, pushing me away. "It didn't work."

"Don't... don't tell me that Pete. Just... Just let me think that you loved her and that I'm just a rebound. Can't you just let me think that?"

"If all you want to be is a rebound, then I'll fucking make you a rebound," his voice rises and cracks on the last word.

"Pete, I didn't mean it like that. I...I don't know."

"You're just scared, Evelyn. I love you, don't you get it? I fucking love you. And you think something bad is going to happen. I'm different, though." His voice is just above a whisper. "I'm not going to fight with you anymore, I promise."

"Pete, that's not it."

"But that's exactly it! You just don't realize, you don't see! You're just scared and I can't figure out why. Don't you see I'm not the same jerk I used to be?"

"Of course I do, Pete. You're so sweet and you're so good to me. I just... It's not right." The words leave my mouth before I know what I'm saying. "We're not right."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's going to end up like it did last time and I don't want that for you. I don't want that for Bronx."

"But it's not, Evelyn." Pete's voice is desperate and he reaches out for my hand. "It won't be like that because we're going to try harder. I'll try harder. I'll do better, I promise."

The way his voice sounds breaks me down and all I want to do his hug him. I love him, I really do. And I do think it's going to work. I know it's going to work. But I can't find the words to tell him.

I pick up a blanket from the end of the bed and stand up, wrapping myself in it. I kiss Pete's mouth for a second and wipe away a couple tears with my thumbs. "I'm gonna go sleep in the living room. We'll talk about this later," I whisper before kissing his cheek. "I love you."

"But, Evelyn I--" He starts before I walk out of the room, shutting the door.

I don't sleep very well and I'm already off the couch and in the shower by 6:30. My lower back hurts, my neck sore and my head is pounding. My ankle is purple and bruised. My eyes are dry-docked from crying so much. Basically, I'm a mess. I didn't realize that it was so much harder sleeping alone. I feel awful, but I can't miss work again. I make myself some oatmeal and have four cups of black coffee before I put on my makeup and do my hair. I scribble out a note for Pete and tape it to my bedroom door where he'll see it.

Hi Peter,

You're asleepin' like a baby so I won't wake you. I'm off to work but call me if you want to get lunch and talk things over. I'll be home at 5:30 and we'll figure out dinner plans. Have a great day, be a good boy. I love you with all my heart.

-Evelyn Marie

I walk over to the side of the bed and look at Pete. His face is relaxed and he looks so peaceful. Tired, but peaceful. His eyelids are purplish and waxy, his dark lashes thick and long. I can't help but smile and stare a little too long. I grab my Gianmarco Lorenzi high-heeled boots and throw them on despite my bruised ankle and I walk out of the room, quiet as a mouse. I don't want to go to work; I want to stay with Pete, but if I don't go I won't get paid and Mr. Banks will have my head. So I limp out to my car and make the painfully slow twenty minute drive.

Pete calls me at eleven-thirty to ask about lunch and I decide I feel like Italian and that I'll pick him up at twelve-fifteen, so he better be ready. He laughs a little before telling me that he loves me and he hangs up. He acts like nothing even happened, which makes me a little relieved.

At eleven-forty-five Mr. Banks marches into my office with our latest issue, tossing it onto my desk. I'm just about to ask what he's on about when he says, "Turn to page sixty-three." I flip through lazily until I hit pages sixty-three and sixty-four, covered with words and quotes and Pete. I smile a little and I hear Mr. Banks chuckle. Mr. Banks is a middle-aged man on the short side with a bit of a pot belly and no hair. He's an overall nice man, in my book. He always sends me Christmas and birthday cards.

The pictures of Pete are so adorable and attractive. The first sentence is "When I first see Pete Wentz he's sitting beside his girlfriend and our Top-Line Writer Evelyn Davis, his hand resting protectively on her knee." I roll my eyes. Leave it to Olivia to tell it like it is.

The quote in the middle of the right page separating paragraphs is written in medium-sized plum print. "Evelyn...she's just really sweet and fantastic and she gets what she wants out of life. She sets the standard for how I think I should be every day. She's an example of a great person."

I'm smiling wider now, my eyes skimming the article as he talks about Bebe and recording and going on tour in a few places and a couple words about how big Bronx has gotten. And a lot of words about me. He talks about how long we've known each other and how I moved to New York to work at the magazine (sparing the details about fights and phoning me up and flying me out to L.A. years later where we re-kindled our romance). He said stuff about how I always did things for people, especially him, and that I'm super down to earth. They used a picture of Pete and me walking out of Starbucks a few days ago, laughing and holding hands.

This is all so surreal. I never thought I'd be back with Pete again and I never thought there'd be pictures of us in magazines, let alone the one I work for. "So, how'd we do?" Mr. Banks asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"You got a shit picture of me," I mutter, shutting the magazine.

"If that's all you have to say then I'm not worried." Mr. Banks turns on his heel and leaves the room. I throw on my coat with a sigh, running my hands over my face. In the magazines we look happy and carefree, but I can't help but wonder what's going to happen the second we come face to face today.