Revelry

by Kandi Steiner

  My eyes were so dry, yet they stung like tears were ready to build again. I rubbed my lips together, eyes closed tight.

  “I just feel so broken, Momma Von,” I choked out. “I can’t sketch, I can’t help my designers with next year’s line, I can’t even be a good friend or daughter right now. Before Anderson, just waking up and existing was hard. And now, my mom is right,” I finally admitted. “He’s distracting me. He makes me feel good, he makes me happy, and because of that when I’m around him, I don’t think about what I came out here to digest. I’m not thinking about Keith or my life up until this point or what the future holds or what I want. And I don’t know what to do because it hurts to think about those things.” I hung my head, digging the heel of my hands into my eyes. “Everything just hurts.”

  My chest sparked with another ache as if to mirror my words, to prove they were true. Momma Von scooted even closer, pulling me over the small table until she sort of held me in her arms, rocking me slightly.

  “You want forgiveness,” she finally said. “From Keith, from your family, but what you don’t realize, peaches, is you are the only person who can give yourself the forgiveness you seek.” She smoothed a hand over my head. “It will never come from them, and you have to let that go and be at peace with it so you can eventually be at peace with yourself, too.”

  I cried, though no tears came out. Her words hit me harder than any book I’d read, any advice I’d been given from Adrian. She was right. I wanted to be forgiven, and I felt like I never would be. I was so tired of apologizing, and yet it was all I knew how to do.

  “Let me ask you something,” she said, pulling back and holding my arms in her hands as she caught my eyes. “You’re going through a divorce, Wren. Don’t you think it’s about time you let yourself actually go through it?”

  “I am.”

  She shook her head. “No, no, you’re not. You’re trying to move on. You’re trying to keep being the Wren you’ve always been, maybe even a better version of her. You’re trying to sketch, to work, to find love and give love and wake up every day with the mindset that you can still take over the world. You’re afraid to let yourself feel,” she said, calling me out. “You’re afraid of failure, and you feel it in every aspect of your life right now. You think you’ve failed as a wife, as an artist, as a friend. But the truth is you aren’t broken, you haven’t failed. You’re still going through a divorce,” she said the word with emphasis, leaning down until I looked her in the eyes again. “So fall apart. Cry, throw things, remember the good times and the bad and then let them go. And before you close your eyes, each and every night, forgive yourself.”

  I nodded, wiping my nose with the back of my wrist. I wanted to curl in on myself, find relief from the constant pain in my heart and chest and stomach. I wanted to forgive myself, I just didn’t know how.

  After I left Momma Von’s, I went straight home and up into my bathroom. I showered without turning on my speaker, but as soon as I padded back into the living room, I powered it on and poured a tall glass of wine.

  Then, I shuffled through my phone until I found the forbidden playlist, the one filled with songs from my relationship with Keith.

  Our first date, first dance at our wedding, songs that he’d dedicated to me, songs that reminded me of him. I played it loud, drank my wine, and looked through social media at all the photos from our past.

  He called me at ten, the same time he always did, and that was my only indicator of what time it was at all that entire night. Because after I let the rings die out, I stayed there on the couch, laptop plugged in and wine bottle in a bucket of ice on the table. I refilled my glass, replayed the songs, and let myself feel.

  I marveled at the good times, at the days and nights we were happiest. I also sobbed at how far back I could scroll through our pictures and see myself so unhappy. My decision hadn’t been made overnight, but had rather cooked slowly for years. I saw us smiling at a friend’s cookout, but my heart remembered the fight in the car when we left. I saw us holding hands as we walked the Pike Place market, but my heart remembered how that day marked nearly three months of no intimacy between us.

  I understood now why my friends and family had been so shocked at my decision. How could they understand when all I’d shown them for years was endless love and happiness?

  I’d kept my heart covered, my emotions chained, and tonight I would finally give myself permission to let them free.

  By the time my head hit the pillow, I was emotionally exhausted. My eyes were swollen, head pounding, and though it hurt like hell, I knew I had to fight to forgive myself. I didn’t know when it would happen, or even if it was possible, but I owed it to myself to try.

  So, before I closed my eyes, I reached over to the bedside table and pulled up the playlist once more. For a moment I stared at the screen, chest tight with memories, and then I let my thumb drop to tap the delete button.

  I wasn’t going to argue with myself anymore over whether my choices had been selfish or brave. I didn’t care if they were either. Because they were right, for me. This was my life, and I only had one. I didn’t know how long it would be, I didn’t know who would be in it, but I did know that I deserved to live it.

  Happily.

  And that’s what I intended to do.

  METAMORPHOSIS

  meta·mor·pho·sis

  Noun

  A striking alteration in appearance, character, or circumstances

  Dani hated the pig roast.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love being around all our family and friends, but she hated the fact that the day centered around cooking an animal—especially when said animal still looked like a cute little pig. She’d only watched us lower the pig into the ground once, and after that, she’d never eaten at the pig roast again. In fact, she declared herself vegan on that very day, and she was true to her word until the day she passed away.

  I usually woke up sad on the day of the pig roast, wishing she could be here for it, but today I woke up with the worst anxiety of my life.

  I was sad that I didn’t get to see Wren last night, nervous about what that meant, scared of how she felt after seeing her mom, excited to be the one to experience today with her—if she even showed. And while all those emotions were rolling through me about Wren, I also took note of the fact that my guilt over Dani’s death wasn’t what occupied the majority of my thoughts anymore.

  I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I knew it was big. I knew I needed to ask myself more about it. I knew I was terrified to know the answer.

  It was just past ten in the morning now, and Ron and I were checking on the pig in the open lot across from Davie and Yvette’s cabin. It had been filled with long tables and chairs, as well as multiple tents in the back where those not living in cabins would bunker down for the night.

  We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect day—the sun was shining, temperature stretching its legs out to hit the mid-eighties, and there was a nice breeze rolling down from the mountains. The entire community was full of amazing barbecue scents, drinking, and laughter. It was summer in a snapshot.

  And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, Wren rounded the trees at the edge of the lot.

  Her hair was down and straight, blowing back behind her as she walked toward where Ron and I stood. She smiled, aviator sunglasses lifting a little from where they rested on her cheeks, hands tucked into her tiny, ripped up jean shorts. I’d known she was beautiful from the first second I saw her, but now that I knew the girl under the skin? I realized she was the kind of beautiful that made you wonder if everything you’d thought was beautiful before actually was. She was the naked-eye eclipse, sunset over the ocean, thousand feet waterfall kind of beautiful.

  “Morning, Ron,” she said when she reached us, still squinting even though she wore her shades.

  He grunted in her direction and she chuckled before turning to me. Her smile slipped a little.

  “Hi.” She barely
breathed the word, and I felt more than just a greeting behind it.

  I wanted to reach for her, kiss her cheek, pull her in close, but I didn’t know if I could. I didn’t know how she was feeling, or why she bailed last night, or what her mom had said.

  “Hey, you.”

  She lifted up on her toes to kiss me, short and sweet, and then she threaded her arm under mine to rest a hand around my waist. I sighed with relief, putting my own arm over her shoulder and tucking her into my side as we turned back toward the pit. I knew that she wasn’t okay, but she was letting me hold her, which made me think that maybe we were.

  Ron was just putting the last of the bamboo back in place and he stood, wiping the dirt from his hands.

  “So there’s a pig under there, huh?” Wren asked.

  “There is.”

  She laughed. “Never in my life would I have ever imagined I’d be at a pig roast in the mountains.”

  “Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

  “That is yet to be determined,” she said, twisting in my grasp to face me. She hooked her arms around my neck. “Ready to show me the ropes?”

  I grinned. “Are you ready?”

  “Born that way.”

  I laughed, but paused when she lifted her sunglasses and rested them on top of her head. Her eyes were a little puffy, even with the makeup she’d applied, and I reached out to run my thumb along her jaw.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, leaning into my touch. “I am.”

  “You want to talk about what happened yesterday?”

  Wren nodded again. “I do, but not right now, okay? Today I want to play horseshoes and eat pig and run around the loop in a ridiculous costume.”

  I pulled her closer with another laugh, leaning down to kiss her. “Yes ma’am.”

  “She just fits right in, doesn’t she?” Momma Von said with a chuckle, biting into a large chunk of watermelon as she stood next to me.

  We were on the sidelines of the Alder 1k, watching as half the neighborhood attempted to jog the loop in costumes while stopping for Jell-O shots along the way. Wren and Julie were currently in the lead, running toward us in matching, diamond-studded tutus. Wren was laughing so hard she could barely breathe while Julie tugged her along.

  “She really does,” I agreed.

  I’d been looking forward to the day, and so far it’d lived up to my expectations and then some. I’d showed Wren how we cook the pig, pushed her for a half an hour on the giant swing Ron hangs from his tree each year, and we’d even tie-dyed t-shirts at one of the kid stations. Yvette had been there too, with Benjamin, and the four of us had made the biggest mess with the dye. I still had some on my hands and arms, but I was in no rush to wash it off.

  I loved to watch Wren.

  When she laughed, when she learned something new, or even when she just stood beside me, wheels silently turning in her head.

  I’d never met anyone like her—driven, smart, goofy as hell. And yesterday when we were apart, she’d inspired me to do something I never thought I’d do. I wasn’t sure when the right time to tell her about it would be, especially after seeing her swollen eyes from last night. She clearly had a lot on her mind, and I would either make her feel better or exponentially worse. I had no idea which.

  But when she hit the finish line right in front of me and threw her arms in the air, knocking her plastic tiara to the ground as she and Julie hugged and twirled in a circle, I knew I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to know how I felt. I had to.

  “SUCK ON THAT, TUCKER!” Julie screamed behind them as Tucker and Zeek slid in at second place.

  They were out of breath and though Tucker looked annoyed, Zeek kept running until he swooped Julie up into his arms, throwing her over his shoulder and running toward the river.

  We all laughed as they zipped past us, and Wren swiped her crown off the ground, joining me and Momma Von near Davie’s mailbox.

  “Well, that was fun,” she said, out of breath. “I need a beer.”

  Momma Von laughed and I ruffled Wren’s hair, throwing my arm around her shoulder. “I can help with that. Come on.”

  We walked in silence for most of the way down the road to where the kegs were. They were nestled under a small overhang near where the pig was cooking, and we passed by multiple “stations” on our way. The entire community was just one giant block party, and Wren seemed fascinated by it all. I let her take it in, too busy in my own head trying to find the right words to tell her what I wanted to.

  Rev was prancing out of her driveway when we passed it and she kneeled, picking him up and holding him to her chest. He purred, meowing hoarsely exactly three times before he started squirming to be free. She chuckled, letting him down, and then he wrapped himself around my leg with a flick of his tale before scampering off again.

  “How did you even end up with a cat, anyway?” I asked as we started walking again.

  “He just found me,” she answered with a smile, her eyes on where Rev was using his cuteness to get table scraps from a few of the kids munching on turkey sandwiches. “I think he needed a friend. Or maybe he saw that I did.”

  “He’s a character.”

  She laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”

  Davie was just topping off his own cup when we made it to the kegs. He offered to fill ours but I urged him to get back to Yvette. I think he knew by my insisting that I wanted a moment alone with Wren, so he tipped his cup to the two of us and left me with a hard clap on the shoulder.

  “Guess you weren’t kidding about taking the gold, huh?” I asked as I grabbed two fresh plastic cups from the table.

  “Oh, I would never joke about something so serious.”

  She leaned back against the table while I filled the first cup, eyes on the amber liquid running out of the tap. My heart picked up pace.

  “Did you have a good night last night?”

  Wren’s hands gripped the edges of the table a little harder and she shrugged, kicking at the ground with her sneaker. “I don’t know if good is the right word to describe it, but I needed it. The night alone.”

  Her eyes flitted to mine then, cheeks tinged pink with an unsaid apology.

  “I get that,” I said quickly, hoping to ease her mind. “I actually think I needed a night alone, too. And I kind of...” I cleared my throat. “I kind of did something. Something big. Well, for me.”

  “Yeah?” She was smiling now. “What’d you do, Anderson Black? Please tell me you finally wore the tool belt I made you.”

  I stopped pouring long enough to give her a pointed look, handing her the full cup and reaching for the other empty one. “I’m never wearing that fanny pack. No matter how much you bat those long lashes of yours.”

  “No?” she teased, biting her lower lip. “Not even if I beg? Not even if I get down on my knees?”

  I groaned, shaking my head and focusing my attention on where I poured into the fresh cup now. “That’s not even fair.”

  “All is fair in war and fashion.”

  “Anyway,” I said as she laughed, taking a sip from her cup. “So you know how I told you how I’ve always wanted to travel?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, I was online last night, just kind of looking around at jobs that are available in the area, around Seattle,” I threw out casually. “And there’s this older guy living in the city, and he’s taking off in two months on what he’s calling a survival challenge.”

  Wren nodded along, and my nerves kicked in, words coming out faster now.

  “Basically, he’s going to test his survival skills in different terrain across the United States and maybe up into Canada a little. He’s looking for a right-hand guy, someone who knows a little about survival basics and ‘roughing it’ as he put in the job description. I guess if I got it I’d be filming a lot of it for him, too. Nothing professional, just for his YouTube series.”

  I was talking fast, not really sure what else to say, and now that it’d all com
e out I realized it sounded a lot dumber than I thought.

  “I mean, I’m sure I won’t get it, but I just thought it would be cool. You know, to travel and see the country a little. And it’d be doing stuff that I’m good at, stuff I enjoy.”

  I shrugged, taking a drink as soon as I’d finished filling my cup and keeping my eyes on the rim of it when I lowered it back down.

  “Anderson,” Wren said, pushing off from the table to lean into me, instead.

  I loved when she said my name like that, like I surprised her, like I meant something.

  “This is... incredible. I’m so happy for you!”

  I tried to play it off, though her approval sparked another beat in my chest. “Like I said, who knows what will happen—”

  “You’re going to get it,” she said with certainty, moving in closer until she stood right under me.

  I had no choice to look at her now, this beautiful girl in a ridiculous neon-orange tutu with admiration in her eyes.

  “There’s no one better for the job.”

  I swallowed, hand reaching for her like a weed reaches for the sun. It slid up her arm, her neck, until I cradled her cheek. She smiled, and my thumb traced the line of her jaw.

  “Even if I don’t, I just wanted you to know that I did it. I went for something. And I have you to thank for the courage.”

  Her face faltered a little. “Why me?”

  “Ever since the day I met you, you’ve challenged me, Wren. You’ve asked me to think about things I haven’t in years. First with remembering Dani as she was when she was alive, not dead. Then about who I am, who I want to be, where I want to go, what my dreams are. Don’t you understand?” I asked when she shook her head, as if it couldn’t possibly be her who made me see my worth. “I’ve never met anyone who takes responsibility for their own happiness the way you do. You inspire me. I want to be better. Hell, I want to live—not just exist—because of you.”