The Best You Ever Had

Guess We Hate Each Other

I never loved Brendon Urie, but I do feel bad for screwing him over some days. The magazines like to say we hate one another because of what happened, but the truth is, I don’t think either one of us has enough time to hate the other. We both have thriving, successful music careers, and live actual lives. He may not even think about me that much. I know I don’t think about him unless something or somebody drudges up a memory or points him out to me.

We used to be friends and bandmates. We were lovers briefly. It was a fling and didn’t mean anything. And then we got the call. We weren’t getting signed as a group, but they were interested in signing me solo. You can imagine how well that went over. And you can imagine the fallout when I left the band and started out on my own. Piper James, rebranded as P!per. The last text I got from Brendon, so many years ago now, simply said “you even stole our punctuation”. I dropped the exclamation point. It’s been radio silence ever since.

So why was I thinking about him again? Because I was looking at the list of other bands and solo acts that were lined up to play the festival my manager had booked me for. My band and I would be playing four nights of the Hearts and Guitars Fest, and three of them would overlap with Panic! At the Disco. In fact, it was my understanding that all the advertising was bragging Piper James and Panic! were the two big acts. Our names were on posters together. Awkward.

A pair of strong hands rubbed at the knots in my tense shoulders. “Worrying about something?”

My boyfriend, Brian. Famous in his own right- a photographer to the stars. He shot everything from magazine spreads to the artsy portraits the rich and famous clambered for. So in demand, he would fly halfway around the globe at the drop of a hat. I’d been seeing less and less of him lately.

I sighed and handed him the list. “Hoping I don’t run into Brendon.”

“At least you won’t have to worry about seeing the other guys,” he joked. Brendon was backed by an entirely new band now. None of the people I had left in the dust remained.

I stood and walked into Brian’s arms, running a hand through his golden hair.

He knocked my hand away and neatened it up again.

“It’s only three days. I can avoid him for that long,” I said, determined.

We were in the large living room of our house, and I fell onto the couch, leaving Brian to look over the list of bands.

“There are a lot of good acts here,” he observed. “You’ll be in good company.”

“Company would be better if you could be there the whole time,” I whined. He’d only be able to join me for two of my four days.

“Maternity shoots wait for nobody, Piper, believe me,” he said with a wink, picking up his bag from where he’d set it near the entrance to the front hall. He was leaving again; some shoot in Majorca.

“I know. Still sucks.”

He was busy grabbing the last of his things and barely seemed to notice I was talking now. He headed for the door.

“Love you,” I called.

“Yep,” came his response, and just like that, I was alone in a giant house with nothing to do but worry that I might run into Brendon Fucking Urie.

****

 
Two months passed. Brian went away four more times. The band had rehearsal nine times and hammered out four set lists- one for each night of Hearts and Guitars. I wrote half a song. I’d been having trouble with that lately, but the point was, it was busy, and I had almost entirely forgotten about Brendon. It was as I was rolling my luggage through the airport, hiding half my face from photographers with my floppy hat, that I remembered, really. My stomach twisted.