All Was Golden in the Sky

The meeting with Pete’s connections went way better than I expected. Pete tagged along and did a lot of the smooth talking for me, working out logistics about funding and other business aspects that went over my head. I was mostly there to sit and look pretty, only opening my mouth when the conversation turned to the designs I had prepared to show. The people seemed to really like them, and were tickled that I had even worn one of my own creations to the meeting. They said they admired how confident all my pieces were, and were eager to start producing them for the public.

When Pete and I got back to the house, Brendon shot off a bottle of champagne in celebration, and all night the two drunkenly went on about how brilliant I was going to be. I don’t think having Brendon Urie and Pete Wentz as my two biggest friends will ever be something I’ll grow used to, but it sure was nice to have them in my corner.

Patrick and Elisa were married in a small and intimate ceremony towards the end of September. They both looked radiant and in love when they faced us all after their kiss. Brendon held my hand through the entire ceremony, occasionally giving it excited squeezes. I knew he was imagining our own ceremony nearly seven months away. We spent the next month happily day dreaming about our own nuptials, even booking a venue in the countryside we had driven past on a road trip before.

“I feel like we’ve already gotten a lot done pretty early,” I said one evening. I was packing my bags for an impromptu visit to Maryland in the morning to see my family and talk to them about wedding details in person before flying up to New York for more discussions about the new line. Brendon, like the completely mature adult that he was, lay pouting on the bed, trying to distract me with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever known to man. He ‘mmhm’d to my comment when he realized I’d said something, and then sighed when I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do you HAVE to go? I’m going to be so lonely.” He stretched, the flannel of his shirt tugging up and exposing a bit of his stomach. I looked away, sensing the trap—I knew Brendon had a weakness to shiny things, and Brendon knew I had a weakness to him.

Instead I focused on folding all my clothes with the precision of a Hollister employee. “I’m not even going to be gone that long, goofball. With all the time you’re in the studio you’ll hardly even notice.” He and the boys had started work on the newest album, although they were still in the brainstorming-slash-screwing around on their instruments phase, if what I heard in the music room was any indication of the progress being made.

Brendon scoffed and opted for a new pose for his tactic; he rolled onto his stomach, making the sweet curved silhouette of his butt prominent and essentially in my face. “Of course I’ll notice, you silly girl. Whoever will make my sandwiches this whole week you’re gone?”

I stuck my tongue out at him and zipped my bag shut, tugging it onto the ground with a big plop. “You’re right. You’re going to be such a mess without me. I’m sure I’ll come home and find you topless and scrounging for crumbs in the couch.”

“Topless, maybe, but I’d like to think I have a little more dignity than to dig around in the couch. Take out exists for a reason.” He rolled back over and patted his chest, inviting me to lay with him. I happily obliged, resting my head on his shoulder and practically splaying the rest of my body over him. It was our favorite cuddling position—Brendon said I was warmer than a blanket. It was a skill I’d had ever since I was a baby.

“It’s good to know I could be so easily replaced by Panda Express,” I joked.

Brendon ruffled my hair with a goofy smile. “Nah. Papa John’s.”

He didn’t seem too happy dropping me off at the airport the next morning. It was an odd feeling being the one to wave goodbye on the way to a flight. I was used to tearfully saying goodbye to him whenever he had to leave for tour. It was probably good to leave for a bit—let him see what it was like so he didn’t make fun of me the next time I sobbed when he was leaving for Europe.

Dad was stoic again on the drive to my hometown. I couldn’t call it home anymore. That word officially belonged to Brendon. Mom was all kinds of jittery and excited when we walked in the house, grabbing at my wrist to admire the ring and scolding me for not visiting sooner after the proposal and wishing Brendon had proposed when we were visiting and many other run on sentences that I soon found myself spacing out during.

It was weird not having Brendon next to me in bed that night. Sure, the bed in my old room had been too tiny for us both when we visited, but there was always something comforting about his presence, even when it was squeezed awkwardly next to mine. As long as he held me, I didn’t care if we were too close for comfort. I was always comfortable with Brendon.

It wasn’t until after I got a sweet goodnight text from him that I could even think about falling asleep, and even when I did I slept restlessly. I wondered around 3 if Brendon was just as exasperated as I was trying to find sleep. I could picture him tangled up in our sheets now, huffing and pouting and wishing I was there to shake awake to tell about some brilliant idea he dreamt and didn’t want to forget, even though we both usually forgot it by the next morning.

When I woke up for real, I felt like death. My bed in Maryland was one of the coziest in existence, and for the first time in many years it had failed me. I wandered downstairs in a daze, led by the bread crumb trail of the scent of Mom’s coffee. I could hear music gently rumbling in the basement. Dad was probably already started on the Christmas decorations down there, setting up his Christmas train village.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!” my mom grinned. She was unsurprisingly sitting at the table with a coffee in hand and an unfinished puzzle before her. All the edge pieces were neatly linked together. I knew that meant the real fun was only beginning.

“Morning,” I yawned, plopping down in the seat next to her. Sawyer happily trotted over to me and placed his big head in my lap. I gave his ears a quick scratch and giggled when I heard his tail thump against the floor. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Mom sipped her coffee and shrugged. “Whatever you want, really. Everyone’s coming over tomorrow so—“

“Ugh,” I couldn’t help but groan. “Ma, do you guys seriously have to have a party every time I come home?”

She laughed, and I could feel some of my grumpiness subside. Mom had such a nice laugh. It came from her gut but bubbled out like a happy song. “Don’t flatter yourself, kiddo. It’s Ravens Sunday. They’re coming over for the game.”

I almost smacked my head. “Oh, duh. I forgot what day it is. Dude, we are so winning the Super Bowl this year. We have to for Ray.”

Mom lifted her hands up, making an attempt to raise the roof. “Holla!”

We ended up spending the morning just giggling and talking, listening to Dad jam out downstairs and discuss what Brendon and I had planned already for the wedding. I couldn’t help but laugh when I heard Panic! play on Dad’s Pandora playlist. He surprisingly didn’t rush to switch it. Maybe he was warming up to Brendon after all.

I offered to go pick us up some lunch and drove to the Panera just outside our neighborhood. Unsurprisingly it was busy, as one would expect such restaurants to be during the lunch rush hour, but I managed to place my order anonymously and waited to the side for it to be prepared. I blushed when my phone started blaring out Hot In Heree, and hurriedly dug it out to avoid further staring.

“You would change your ringtone to that,” I sighed into the phone, wishing I could melt into the ridiculously artsy picture of a salad behind me when a curious table looked over at me.

“Hello to you, too, baby doll. Why yes, I miss you as well, oh sunshine of my entire heart.”

I giggled and turned away from my audience. “Of course I miss you, you goofball. What’s up, buttercup?”

Brendon laughed. “Cute. Nothing much. Spence is recording the drum tracks for one of our songs so I thought I’d call and see what you were up to.”

The crowd was growing a little bigger in the restaurant. I pushed closer to the wall to give the expanding line some room. “Just grabbing us some lunch from Panera to take home. It’s a mad house here.”

“Annie? Oh my God, Annie Greene?” My head snapped up at the sound of my name, and I felt the desire to blend in with the painting grow tenfold. It deflated only slightly when I found the face behind the exclamation—a girl I had graduated with, Leslie.

“Oh, Bren, one sec,” I muttered quickly into the phone. I plastered on the smile customary for running into high school friends and waved at Leslie, who had somehow pushed her way through the irritated crowd to stand right in front of me. “Oh my gosh, Leslie! How are you?”

I grunted when she pulled me into a quick hug, but tried to play it off as a quick cough. Either way, she didn’t seem to notice. “How am I? How are you, ya big star? I hear you live in California now, and dating a rock star!”

I could practically hear Brendon’s grin over the phone, but luckily he stayed silent in my ear. I knew he was curious and eavesdropping the hell out of my conversation. “Oh, I don’t know about rock star,” I sighed for his benefit. “But we’re actually—“

“Oh my God, is that a ring? Are you engaged? Annie! Congratulations!” She grabbed my hand and stared at the rock on it. Her enthusiasm obviously hadn’t left her since our drama club days. I smiled weakly at her, offering my thanks, and could hear Brendon chuckle. I decided to hold my phone by my waist so he wouldn’t have the pleasure of distracting me.

Before I could say anything else, Leslie had switched gears. “Oh, Annie, I’m so glad I ran into you! We’re actually having a get together tonight with all the drama alumni from our years! If I had known you’d be in town I wouldn’t invited you sooner! Please say you’ll come. Everyone will be so happy to see you.”

Lord knows how badly I wanted to say no. Her excitement was exhausting me even more, but we had had some fun in high school. I thought about how nice it might be to see everyone again after so many years, and decided to go with a why-the-fuck-not attitude. “Leslie, that sounds great. I’d love to!”

She squealed and half of the place noticeably winced. “Oh, yay! That’s so great, Annie. We’re having it at my family’s place. You remember where it is?”

I smiled. Of course I did. Her parents lived in one of the only houses with an apple orchard around. “Sure do.” As if a reward for my good attitude, the number for my order was finally called, and I happily accepted the bags from the Panera employee. “Thank you very much,” I smiled. He just smiled back shakily, giving me a look as if he was in absolute awe of me, which didn’t make much sense considering I was still wearing the sweats I had slept in and had put little to no effort in my hair or make up.

I waved goodbye to Leslie and hurried out before she could talk my ear off, instead turning back to my phone. I could hear Brendon laughing in the background. “Tell me you’re laughing at one of Dallon’s jokes and not the joke that my life is,” I moaned as I slipped into my car.

Was there anything more precious than Brendon’s giggle? Nope. “Sorry, honey, but that was all at you. Your enthusiasm sure radiates even thousands of miles away.”

I groaned and threw my head back on the headrest. “I’m not sure if you know this about me, but I can be a bit anti-social.”

He gasped, and I heard Dallon join in. “Fuck, I had no idea! Shit, Dallon, how could that be something I wasn’t aware of in my future wife?”

“Goodness sake, Brendon, I haven’t the foggiest!” Dallon exclaimed. I pouted, even though they couldn’t see it. Brendon however seemed able to pick up on it through our couple-telepathic connection.

“Annie, please. I know you hate people.” Again, my ears were blessed with the glorious sound of that giggle. “Just go and get drunk. Maybe partake in some improv shit. It could be fun.”

I thought about the possible guest list to this soiree, and my heart sank. There were quite a few people I really did not want to see. “If it gets really bad and uncomfortable I’m texting you to save me with a phone call, got it?” I said, though my voice held less of a command and more of a genuine plea.

“You got it, Annie. Now go, embark on a journey of merriment with those of which you were once acquainted. Speak long into the sunset of your glory days—“

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yes, well, you still love me.” I could never argue with that.

--

It turns out that drama parties are infinitely more enjoyable when there is alcohol involved. My dear friend Jack Daniels brought me out of my shell, even pushing me so far over the edge as to actually hug my acquaintances of old. They all were beyond shocked to see me, quite understandably. I hadn’t spoken to the good majority since graduation. A couple of my former good friends were there, thankfully. They helped make everyone’s stares a little less uncomfortable.

I tend to lose my filter, both verbal and facial, when I’ve had a bit to drink. The dumb whores from high school remained dumb whores in young adulthood, and my friend Harry and I exchanged looks every time one tried sounding intelligent or pushed her boobs together while talking to one of the other guys. He mimicked one of them, and I nearly spilled my drink onto Leslie in my fit of giggles. Luckily everyone else was pretty tipsy, too, so my party fouls went on the whole unnoticed.

It came to a point where a group of them decided to start the improv games I absolutely dreaded, even with a fair amount of liquor flowing through me. I excused myself to sit on the sofa as the majority of them convened in the next room to begin the games. A few stragglers lingered in the same room as I did, catching up with one another. I blinked when I felt the couch dip with the pressure of another body, and looked up into eyes I hadn’t seen for nearly six years.

“Oh, fuck,” I said.

He chuckled and scratched his head awkwardly. “Hi to you, too, Annie.”

I should explain. Andrew and I had met during one of our school plays. Our roles were cast opposite each other, meaning we were meant to fall in love on stage. The resulting emotions and feelings landed us into what was later dubbed a “showmance”—a relationship that started innocently enough with the script and developed into a real world courtship. We dated for nearly all of senior year and into my sophomore year of college. He was my first, and damn it all if I didn’t put my heart and soul into making that boy happy. You can imagine all the Raggedy Anne and Andy jokes made about us.

It should also be said how idiotic showmances are. While the love seems to be beyond words during the show, the reality of who this person really is sets in after the curtain falls. Apparently Andrew decided he didn’t like the way my real life character was written, and he ended up breaking my heart to date someone four years younger than me. Last I’d heard he’d gotten her pregnant pretty early and had to marry her to make up for it.

You can imagine, then, my absolute mortification to have found myself sitting a foot away from this man, drunk and with no verbal feeder, with the majority of the party in a different part of the house. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or throw up. Luckily God decided neither of those would be appropriate.

“You got fat,” I said. Oh, that glorious word filter. I couldn’t even tell if I was blushing. My face was in a permanent state of red every time I had alcohol in my veins.

Andrew stared at me for a second and then laughed. My face filter decided it wanted to give up on me then, too. I felt my nose scrunch up in disgust. His laugh was too gravelly. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as Brendon’s.

“Wow, I forgot how blunt you are,” Andrew laughed, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled at me. I blinked hard, trying to make my eyes focus, and immediately felt bad. Andrew wasn’t fat—he just wasn’t the skinny little thing I had dated in high school. He had some muscle now, but I wasn’t so sure I liked it on him.

He seemed to be waiting for me to say something, but when it became clear my mind wasn’t really going to help the conversation move along, he decided to take the lead. “How have you been, Anne?”

How have you been? The most fucking cliché thing to ever say to anyone. He was using a tone that made it sound like he was concerned for me, as if he was trying to be careful in his word choice so as to avoid me breaking in front of him. I guess I got that. I wasn’t exactly all together the last time he had seen me, but I could hardly be blamed for that.

“I’m engaged.” Was I shouting? It felt like I was whispering. Better to be super loud anyway to make sure he could hear me over the laughter in the next room.

His face tensed for a minute, like he wasn’t expecting that. “Oh, wow. That’s great. Congratulations.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m fucking stoked. My fiancée is like the best person ever in the world that there is. Ever.” Ah, drunk Anne. A pleasure to be around, I’m sure. I wouldn’t personally know. I’ve only heard about her in the stories Brendon’s told me. Apparently he thinks she’s quite a hoot.

Andrew smiled softly, and I felt an overwhelming desire to punch him. “That’s great, Annie, I’m really glad to hear that.” Was he purposefully talking so softly? It felt like he didn’t want anyone else to know that we were sitting next to each other. I looked away and stared at the other people in the room, unsurprised to see their eyes quickly snap away from me.

“Everyone’s been staring at me all night,” I whispered, as if suspicious of a conspiracy.

Andrew laughed again—damn, was that all he knew how to do? He needed a better talent. “Well, you’re kind of a local celebrity around here, Anne. Everyone’s in awe of you.”

I snorted and shook my head. “Psh, why? Just because I’m dating a celebrity? That’s a little shallow.”

Andrew shook his head, and the softer his eyes became, the tighter my fists clenched. “No, that’s not why,” he said, and I stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He sighed and looked down at his hands. My eyes followed and I noticed him playing with a band around his finger.

“It’s because you got out,” he said, so quietly I couldn’t hear him the first time. He looked back up at me, looking so sad and tired, much too tired for a twenty-five year old to look. “You got out of this town and you’re actually doing something worthwhile. That’s the kind of shit people around here just dream about. But you actually did it.”

I rolled my eyes and leaned back into the couch. It was leather, and I instantly regretted sitting back. I knew there was going to be an awkward farting noise the minute I tried to readjust my position. “I moved to California, Andrew. What’s the big deal with that?”

He scooted closer to me, turning to face me more head on. My glare seemed to remind him to keep his distance, and he scooted a little further back. “It is a big deal, Anne! Do you know how many people here want to leave this little town but can’t? Or don’t? Everyone here has heard about you landing that disco dude, and now apparently you’re making a fucking clothing line?” Suddenly his face was growing redder, and his dark eyes bore into mine. “When the fuck did you become a celebrity stereotype, Anne?”

I’ve been slapped in the face a few times, mainly by the people in the next room during shows, but his words hit me harder than all of their hands put together. “Excuse me?” I asked, instantly feeling sober.

He straightened his back, and I was suddenly reminded of little fights we’d had when we had dated. He always puffed up like this, like he was trying to seem so authoritative and in charge. Well, I hated to break it to him, but I hadn’t changed since those days. I still wouldn’t put up with his shit.

“You heard me,” he said, and I could picture the venom dripping off his lips. “When the fuck did this become who you are? You don’t even like fashion, and now you’re making a clothing line? C’mon.”

“I make some of my own clothes,” I said, my jaw hurting as I clenched my teeth. He shot me a look that said something to the effect of ‘Sure, that’s cute.’ In the most fucking sarcastic way possible.

“Whatever. What happened to the girl that wanted to be a writer? Or work in music somehow? Or maybe fucking this fiancée of yours is your way of getting into the music business, hm?”

I noticed the other people in the room had begun to listen, and I knew it would only look bad if I blew up at him. So instead, I decided to try a route I hadn’t traveled before—the calm and cool oh-honey-go-fuck-yourself classy route.

“Is there a reason for all this animosity right now, Andrew?” I asked. “Last I checked, I haven’t exactly done you any wrong for you to be insulting me or my fiancée like this.”

Andrew scoffed, “Fiancée.” The word sounded so ugly coming out of his mouth. I sniffed the air quickly, wondering if I could smell any alcohol on him. Nope, all clear. Meaning he was still as much a complete and utter dick sober as he was all those years ago.

“Look, maybe I should go,” I said, and I tried standing up. The world didn’t feel as shaky as it had a few minutes ago, but I still came crashing back down when he grabbed my wrist and harshly pulled me back onto the couch. I glared at him and the grip he held on me. Fights with him hadn’t changed much.

“What are you doing, Annie?” he asked, his eyes dark against his skin. He’d been attractive in high school, with the tan skin and dark curls to make any girl swoon. Now he just looked sad, like a heartthrob gone wrong. I wanted to stop looking at him.

“I’m trying to leave, actually,” I said, and tried tugging my arm away from him. His nails dug into my skin harder to keep me in place.

“Why?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes again, always a bad habit with him, and tried pulling away again to no avail. “Um, probably because you’re being a creepy weird ass dick right now and I don’t feel very much like talking to you. Would that be reason enough?”

Andrew looked hurt, but for once I didn’t really care. He pulled my arm harder, making me face him full on, but he looked down at his hands. “No, I mean, why did you leave?” He looked up at me, and I felt my heart turn to stone. This asshole was really going to play the victim years after it was relevant and expected to earn some kind of pity from me? Maybe he was drunk, or maybe he didn’t think I’d remember this conversation in the morning. Well, the joke was on him.

“Wow, Andrew, you really need to go fuck yourself,” I murmured. He looked shocked when I shook my arm out of his grasp, but I held up a finger at him accusingly. “You have no right to accost me like this. What was I supposed to do? Stay here and be miserable in Maryland just so you could feel like you won? I’m sorry if I’m happy with my life.”

I shook my head, ignoring the dizzy feeling in my brain. “Actually, fuck that, no I’m not. I will never be sorry for that. I’ve found the love of my life and every day with him is a damn gift. He makes me want to be more than I ever dreamed I could be, and he loves me no matter what happens. It’s not my fault you fucked up any chance of going through with your dreams and getting trapped in this town.”

Andrew looked furious to have been found out. He’d always been a shallow kind of loser. From the looks of things that band on his finger didn’t really mean shit to him, but hey, commitment had never meant shit to him.

“You’re too fat to have a clothing line,” he snapped at me. There were a few gasps from our eavesdroppers, and I realized this entire thing was just an interesting alternative to the improv games in the next room.

His words cut me—deep. My size had been a concern of mine for years now, and Andrew knew that. He relished in the blush that spread across my face at his words, and for a moment I thought I saw a small flicker of triumph in his smile. I couldn’t have that.

“Your dick’s too small to shoot anything but blanks,” I snapped back. “Better check with dear Carlee about that whole little fiasco.” I wasn’t sure if my words left their full impact, because I stumbled out of the room before I could gauge his reaction. I didn’t want to be anywhere near that jerk for the rest of the night. I just kept staring at the background on my phone while I nursed water until I was sober enough to drive, wishing Brendon was with me. I didn’t do so well on my own.