Missing Pieces

by Meredith Tate

  My mouth opens, then closes again.

  Constance’s wedding sounds perfect. If I ever someday marry here, it’s exactly what I want—not some over-the-top wealth festival everyone drags me to back home. Definitely not the shit-show people expect from Sam and me in two weeks.

  Could Lornstown be my reprieve?

  Constance butters a roll for her son. Piren engages Evan in conversation beside me, asking all about his friends and preschool, to which the boy animatedly responds. My fidgety hands grow quiet in my lap. Their voices fade. My eyes blur, conjuring images in my mind.

  Piren talks to a different little boy—one with his blond hair and my curls. My best friend is old and gray beside me, in a treehouse cabin on the side of the dirt road. We’re sharing stories at The Lighthouse and laughing with Constance and Mikey. I spin with Piren under the stars, in a simple white farmer’s dress, among a handful of cheery friends. I can see myself wanting all those normal things I didn’t want before. I can see myself being normal.

  But maybe I was always normal.

  Piren Allston

  Two guys and a girl bustle to the front of the room, hauling keyboards and guitars.

  Mikey whips out a fiddle, strumming a chord as he passes us. Half the restaurant gets to their feet, pushing tables to the sides of the wooden-plank floor to form an empty space in the middle. After a few minutes tuning squeaky notes, the band breaks into music, and peppy beats fill the restaurant. One by one, people rise to their feet, crowding to the center of the room to dance. Some of the drunker individuals caterwaul along with the music.

  Trace grabs my hand and yanks me to the dance floor.

  “I don’t know this song!” I shout over the crowd.

  “Me neither!” she shouts back. “Just go with it!”

  I wrap my arms around her waist, pressing our bodies together. Tightly-packed dancers spin and laugh around us, whirling with the music. Several people thump on tables, adding percussion to the array of instruments. The floor rumbles under a hundred stomping feet.

  Trace meets my eyes, and we’re off, galloping around the room with the others. Maybe we look silly together, her being a good eight inches shorter than me, but we’re as swift as anyone else. And in this crowd, I doubt anyone cares.

  “Hey, Piren!” Trace shouts over the music. I twirl her under my arm, and her thick hair whips past my face.

  “Yeah?”

  “Remember when we had to do this in front of the whole gym class?”

  “And everyone thought it was so weird?”

  “I remember thinking, I would never, ever, ever need to know how to do this stupid dance! And now I’m doing it! I’m dancing with you!”

  “Yes!”

  She throws her arms in the air and spins. We dance and whirl until our heads grow dizzy and our ribs ache from laughing. Gasping for air, we collapse into giggles, sweat beading on our foreheads.

  “You guys are on fire,” a woman says, gleefully waltzing past us. Trace gives her an embellished curtsy.

  “Let’s slow it down a bit, folks,” Mikey croons over the microphone.

  The band decelerates, strumming into a romantic melody. The restaurant’s yellow lights dim to a soft, flickering blue. Trace reaches up and slides her arms around my neck. I crane my neck down and touch my forehead to hers. Our feet glide side to side, and we sway together. Her lips part slightly.

  “Piren?”

  I swallow. “Yeah?”

  She kisses me in the middle of the restaurant, in front of a hundred people. My heart leaps. She entangles her fingers in my hair, and the whole world disappears.

  Tracy Bailey

  I want to kiss Piren again. I want to keep dancing and rocking in his arms, but it’s almost one in the morning, and yawning Lornstowners filter out of The Lighthouse one by one. They say their good-byes and head home, wherever home may be.

  I catch Piren’s eye. “Should we go?”

  “Go where?”

  “Oops. I don’t know.”

  “Guess we didn’t plan this one through, huh?”

  “Nope.” A stifling yawn rips through my body. “Typical.”

  The last group of rowdy restaurant-goers empties into the street, their hollers and laughter echoing into the night air. A bus boy in a yellow apron sponges crumbs off the big table.

  “Well, I guess we could camp outside?”

  “Yeah, that wouldn’t be too bad—”

  “All righty, folks.” Loretta hobbles toward us. “Now, I assume y’all are staying here tonight? At the Inn?”

  Piren thrusts his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground.

  I fidget with my fingers. “Oh, um…we don’t really, um, have a lot of money with us.”

  “It’s fine, dears. You aren’t putting anyone out.”

  “Are you sure?” I bite my lip.

  “Of course.” She pats her wrinkly hand to my cheek. “Follow me.”

  We tiptoe after her, into the kitchen, and up a set of rickety wooden stairs in the back. The floorboards creak with each step.

  “All righty, you two.” Loretta’s eyelids droop. “Bathroom’s down the hall. Extra blankets in the closet. Do you want two bedrooms or one?”

  My eyes widen.

  How the fuck do I answer that?

  We’re not married. But when we move to Lornstown officially, won’t we share a room anyway? What if I say I want one bedroom, and the suggestion completely disgusts him? Would he bolt back to town without me? Would Loretta think I’m some kind of pervert? Will they laugh at me? What do I say?

  “One,” Piren says.

  I raise my brows; he shrugs. We both suppress a giggle.

  “All righty. Room three, right here. In you go. I’m in the next building if you need anything, dears. Good night.”

  She shuts the door. We are alone.

  Piren Allston

  One bedroom? What was I thinking? Did I totally freak her out?

  One king-sized bed sits in the middle of the room like an elephant, draped in a fuzzy red comforter. Two plump white pillows perch at the head. Trace pulls down the cream-colored sheets, not meeting my eyes.

  My left knee itches with the desire to bounce, but I force it still. Trace hasn’t said a word since Loretta left. The mattress squeaks as she slumps down on the edge of the bed.

  She smiles. I smile back. We dart our eyes away.

  All I want to do is crawl into that cozy-looking bed with her.

  Is that all I want to do?

  “I…I’m gonna put my pajamas on.” She rises from the bed. “Look over there.”

  I turn toward the wall to the sounds of ruffling fabric and zippers behind me.

  I wonder what I would see if I turned around…

  Something twists in my stomach. I shift my eyes to the wooden plank floor.

  I’m in the same room with a non-Partner. Alone. She’s naked. I’m not married.

  This is so weird.

  Rebelling is fun.

  “I’m going to put mine on too,” I say. “So, no peeking from your side either.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  Keeping my back to Trace, I slip out of my clothes and slide on my plaid pajama pants. Trace stays silent, rustling in her bag behind me.

  What’s on her mind? Is she upset? Happy? Nervous? Excited?

  “Trace?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Is this…all right?”

  “Ha! I was waiting for that question…Yeah, it is.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can…sleep on the floor if you want.”

  “No, it’s cool. I promise.”

  “Okay.” I stretch my arms over my head, pulling on a white T-shirt.

  “So…weird to think we could live here soon, huh?”

  “Yeah…” I twiddle my fingers. “I can see us here, though. You know, happy.”

  “Me too.”

  Silence.

  “You know, I feel a little betrayed, in a way,�
� I say.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They made Lornstown sound so shitty, and it was just a big lie. A farce.”

  “Yeah, I know, right? Kinda makes you wonder…” She trails off.

  “Wonder what?”

  “If the whole Assignment system is a sham.”

  I shuffle my feet in the corner. A warm night breeze drifts through the open porthole window. I close my eyes and inhale. There’s something familiar about this place.

  It reminds me of the treehouse.

  “Piren?”

  “Yep?”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “About what?”

  She doesn’t answer immediately.

  “This. This whole thing. Making our choice.”

  “Nope. Are you? Nervous, I mean.”

  “No,” she says. “Actually, I’m kind of surprised how not-nervous I am.”

  “Me too.”

  Trace is quiet again for a long moment.

  “When did you know?” she asks.

  “Know what?”

  “Know…about us. How you…felt about me.”

  “Oh, wow…I guess…I guess I’ve always sorta known. I just never knew, you know? Never admitted it.”

  “Me too.”

  “I mean there was this one time…” I run my finger down the wall. “You’ll never remember it.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’d just turned thirteen. We were sitting in the school library, and I don’t know. You just…looked at me. And I felt something. I wanted…I wanted to kiss you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. What about you? A specific moment?”

  “Oh, gosh,” she says. “There were so many.”

  “Ha! Really?”

  “Yeah, like, dozens. I think…that time at the Assignment Lab. The field trip.”

  “You mean, the most awkward moment of my life?”

  She snorts. “Yeah. Exactly. I mean, I think I always had the feelings, but when she called our names together…I don’t know…I guess I started questioning everything. All the ‘What if’s,’ you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  We share a jittery laugh.

  “Can I turn around now?”

  “Yeah. Turn around.”

  I step back from the wall.

  My breath hitches in my throat.

  Trace stands before me, blushing and barefoot, draped in a silky pink nightgown. She wrings her clasped hands, smiling shyly. I swallow hard, unable to take my eyes off her.

  “So…should we get into bed?” she asks.

  “Okay.”

  Neither of us moves.

  Do I get into bed first? Do I touch her? Do I leave space between us?

  Coming to Lornstown was bad enough, but jumping into bed with Trace will seal the deal. This sin betrays everything. Once I do this, there’s no going back. My old life is over.

  We face each other, separated by a mattress desert. Warm blankets lie open in the neutral zone, inviting us to a tantalizing crime.

  My leg jitters. No. I clamp my hand over my knee. Stop.

  I take a deep breath and crawl into bed. She follows.

  I lie stiff on my back, staring at the ceiling, blanket pulled up to my waist. We lie in silence, as far apart as two bodies on a king-sized bed could possibly be. The heat from her body seeps through the sheets.

  Maybe once, I’ve thought about this moment, wondered what it would be like, to lie beside her. Now we’re here, together, in a surreal fantasy world.

  My hands dampen, clamped in tight fists over the sheets. Trace’s leg brushes mine under the covers, and she jerks away. Our ragged breathing mingles with the soft hum of crickets outside.

  She rolls onto her side to face me, resting her cheek on her hands.

  “Hi,” she whispers.

  “Hi.”

  Her electrifying gaze churns my stomach, and I brush a curly hair strand from her face. Freckles glitter in her eyes, like a solar system of stars, pulling me closer with the gravitational force of the sun. She strokes my cheek, and I inhale a sharp breath.

  I can’t go back.

  I kiss her lightly on the mouth. She tilts her face closer and presses her lips harder to mine. I caress the back of her neck, relishing her warmth beneath my fingers. The world spins out of focus as her body sways into mine. She runs her hand down my back, and my whole body comes alive.

  Tracy Bailey

  I inhale, and all I smell is Piren; all I taste is his sultry breath. I shudder as his tongue caresses mine, evoking an airy moan from deep inside. He tangles his fingers through my hair, and our limbs entwine beneath the sheets.

  He rolls on top, kissing me deeply, setting my body on fire. I wrap my arms around his neck and press my body to his. His racing heartbeats thump against my chest. My body tingles as he kisses my neck, trailing his lips across my collar bone. Our chests rise and fall together.

  “Trace.” He pulls back.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is this…okay?”

  I lock my lips to his in response. Our dueling tongues ignite my entire body with magnetic longing. I run my hand up his shirt, brushing against his bare skin. Goose bumps prickle along his trim chest as I caress him. I savor every moment, fusing my lips to his.

  His hard mound grows as he thrusts his body against mine. I slide my hand under the sheets, skimming my fingers over his hardening groin. Pressure pounds through my chest; a sweet melody stirs in my belly, yearning for him. Our bodies writhe beautifully together, awakening something deep inside me.

  I shove him to the bed, rolling on top, grinding into him. My body thrums with desire, lost in his gaze as we kiss. He trails his fingers up to my chest, caressing me over the silky fabric.

  I tug my nightgown over my head, releasing my breasts. Piren rips off his nightshirt and tosses it to the floor. I shimmy my panties down my legs and kick them off.

  Naked and vulnerable, I lean back, straddling my best friend. My cheeks grow warm as he meets my eyes.

  He’s looking at me. Looking at my whole body.

  “Trace, you’re…you’re so beautiful.”

  I want him on me, in me. I want him to consume my entire world, breathing in the lust that has become my air.

  I place my hand over his, leading it up to my bare breast. His breathing deepens. I dismount him and yank his pajama pants down to his ankles.

  “Are you sure about this?”

  I take a deep breath. “I’m sure.”

  I press his palm to my lips and kiss it.

  “I want you, Trace. I want all of you.”

  We join as one body, and everything sparks with color.

  Piren Allston

  I fall on top of Trace in a pile of sweaty flesh. Chest heaving, I roll onto my back beside her. Our feet tangle in a heap of blankets at the end of the bed. I prop myself up on my elbow. My best friend lies beside me on the rumpled sheets, her cheeks flushed, eyes closed, hand over her heart. My eyes linger on her body, studying her every curve.

  She’s so beautiful.

  Her stomach rises and falls in perfect rhythm, hair flowing onto the pillow in billowy wisps of curls.

  It’s Trace. My Trace. My best friend. Here. With me.

  Her eyes flutter open.

  I give her a sideways grin. “Well?”

  She smiles up at me. “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  I lace my fingers with hers and fall back to the pillow. She rests her head on my shoulder, nestling closer, draping my chest in a wave of her hair. I wrap my arm around her, holding her body tightly to mine.

  This is where I’m meant to be. With her.

  I kiss the top of her head. She traces her finger in circles around my bare chest. My eyes drift closed.

  It’s seamless. Effortless. Being with Trace feels like home.

  Home.

  I wrench my eyes open.

  Lara.

  Lara’s alone.

  If I stay here, she’ll be alone forever.


  Lara will be doomed to solitude, and it’s my fault. She’s annoying, but does she deserve that? Does anyone?

  Stop it!

  An onslaught of knots pang my stomach.

  My mind flashes to a vision of my Partner, alone on our couch with her knitting needles, in a dark apartment meant for two. My parents bought us that furniture to share. To use in our married home.

  I swallow down a hard lump.

  My parents. I dishonored them. They’ll cower in our house in shame like the Wymans did. All those nasty things Mrs. Wyman said to her daughter will apply to me. Will my own mother wish I’d never been born? Will my father tell his friends I died, rather than bear the shame? Will they shred my baby pictures, the way Mr. Wintle tore my family portrait? Will Mason blacken out my face on pictures of his wedding party? Will everyone gossip about the Allstons’ horrible douchebag son who forced his family into a humiliation-ridden isolation? My mother’s a sweet woman who cares for me no matter what. And this is how I repay her? What kind of sick fuck does that to his family?

  “Piren?”

  I jolt. “Hmm?”

  “Let’s build one of those cabins.”

  Don’t fuck this up! You’re with Trace.

  I shake away the protruding images in my head. “Which ones?”

  “The ones we passed on the way here. The Lornstown cabins.” She speaks in a dreamlike voice, soft and peaceful.

  “Okay.”

  I rotate in bed to face her, but my leg fidgets under the covers.

  “No, I mean, let’s build a special one,” she says, “a treehouse cabin.”

  “Oh, sure.” I look away.

  “Sure?” She rests her hand on my arm.

  “Yeah, I…I love that idea.”

  “You love it?”

  “Yeah.”

  She runs her fingers through my hair. “Something wrong?”

  “Nope.”

  I’m not sure what else to say.

  “Promise we’ll do it, okay?” she asks.

  “I promise.”

  Promises.

  I made a promise to Lara once. I promised I’d never leave her.

  My chest tightens.

  I broke that promise.

  Tracy Bailey