Me: What do you want it to be?
Magnolia: I’m trying to figure that out, too.
I rub both palms up and down my face with a strained exhale.
Triple fuck.
This conversation has taken multiple wrong turns into Too-Many-Fucks-To-Count-Ville, and I’m not sure how to get back on track. The truth is, I don’t want to screw up what we have right now because I genuinely like what we have. I don’t have to carry around my heavy armor and back-breaking baggage. I can be… free.
Taking our relationship in a sexual direction will only mess it all up, and I’ll lose that.
I’ve lost enough.
Me: You know we can’t do that.
Her disappointment radiates through the laptop before her words even appear.
Magnolia: I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry.
Me: My fault. I shouldn’t have said all that shit.
Magnolia: No, I’m glad you did.
Me: Are you going to take my advice?
Magnolia: I don’t know. There IS someone who makes me feel… something. But he’s emotionally unavailable. And possibly gay.
Me: Emotions are overrated. Can’t help you with the gay part, though.
Magnolia: Me and my complicated life. Thank you for listening.
I’m mid-response when another message pops up.
Magnolia: Zephyr?
Me: Yeah?
Magnolia: Did you see the sunrise this morning?
My thumb flicks along my bottom lip as I stare at the screen.
Her and the damn sunrise. She asks me this question all the time, but my answer is always the same. It won’t change.
Me: I did. But I don’t think I saw what you saw.
We say our goodbyes a few minutes later, and I shuffle off to bed with Walden at my heels, plugging my phone into the charging port as I climb beneath the slate gray bedsheets. I’m surprised when it bursts to life with a new text message, and even more surprised when I glance at the sender and discover Melody’s name. I swipe it open.
Melody: This is a long shot, and I understand if you don’t want to… but I’m going to the lake tomorrow after the group meeting. I’ve spent over a year of my life being scared. Scared to heal, scared to move forward, scared to be alone. I’m done being scared, so I’m going to dance instead. There’s nothing scary about dancing.
I’m going to dance until I can swim.
One more message follows, and I almost choke on my breath.
Melody: I thought maybe you would want to dance with me.
—EIGHTEEN—
“Peanut butter and banana sandwiches.”
Ms. Katherine’s lips stretch into the sweetest smile, the rouge of her cheeks blossoming like pink peonies, and I consider adding it to my growing list of starting points. She’s a portly woman with a slightly crooked bob, dappled in brindle and silver streaks. A floral-print blouse adorns her ample frame, the fuchsia petals matching the nail polish on her fingers that are curled around a leather-bound journal.
“Did you know those were Elvis Presley’s favorite?”
A chuckle clears my lips as I duck my head. “My mom would always tell me that when she’d make them for me.”
“You should try them with bacon sometime. It’s such an interesting flavor dynamic,” she encourages, shifting her weight on the folding chair.
Amelia pipes in. “That sounds nasty.”
“You’re a vegan, aren’t you, Amelia?” Ms. Katherine prompts tenderly.
“Yep, for almost a year now. Any time I look at meat, I just see Nutmeg’s little face.”
I quirk a smile, braving a glance to my left. Amelia scratches the back of her knuckles with short black nails, causing a cluster of blood dots to speckle her skin. “How is Nutmeg?” I ask her when the starting points shift down the circle.
“She’s good. I just knitted her little booties, but she doesn’t really like them.”
The mental image of a hamster in hand-knit booties sends a tickle to my heart. “Maybe she just needs to get used to them.”
“Or maybe she’s a hamster.” Parker adds his commentary with his arms folded across a well-worn t-shirt as he leans back, his body language oozing casual indifference. But his features look softer somehow, his eyes shimmering when they slide over to me, then back to Amelia. “That could be it.”
“She’s very domesticated and highly intelligent,” Amelia counters, lifting her chin. “I’ll bring her to a meeting some time. You’ll see.”
Parker offers a shoulder shrug, his disposition more playful than hostile. “I’m exploding with anticipation.”
“I can tell. You look like you might do something extreme—like smile.”
“I might.”
His eyes float back to me as he replies, and I look away, worrying my lip between my teeth. That evening in my basement stomps through my mind with angry steps and steel-toed boots, inciting me to cross my legs and fidget with the fringe along my jean shorts.
I don’t understand it. I don’t understand him.
He claims to not like women, yet he held me on his lap like a lover, fisting my hair and digging contradictory evidence to his claim into my thigh.
He’s never kissed anyone before, yet he allowed our lips to brush together through the cloak of darkness, his body trembling beneath my weight, his chaotic heart vibrating straight to my core.
He acts like he doesn’t care about anything, yet he stuck around to help me clean up the neighborhood, silent and stoic for the most part, looking wildly uncomfortable, but he stayed.
And then he ignored my text last night—he left me on read.
It’s not as if I expected him to accept the offer, but he ghosted me when I took a leap of faith and offered him a raw, unguarded piece of myself… and I hate admitting how much that hurt.
Parker’s eyes continue to dig into me from a few feet away, and my lungs feel tight, my skin warming beneath the heat of his gaze. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder what he sees when he watches me like this, so bold and unabashed.
My cheeks grow hot, but I refuse to turn my head towards him, instead focusing on a little string dangling from the hemline of my shorts, longer than all the others. I pretend it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen as I coil it around my pinky.
When the meeting wraps up, fellow members linger for chitchat, strengthening the bonds they’ve established with kindred survivors. Amelia fills me in on an anime series she’s been watching, and as her words trickle into my ears, my focus wanes, shifting over to Parker. He taps his foot against the shiny flooring, appearing twitchy and restless, hesitating for a few beats before rising from the chair.
Then he paces to the double doors and pushes through, disappearing from my sight.
I straighten, compelled to follow.
“Go ahead, you’re fine. We can talk another day.”
Amelia’s voice steals my attention, and I falter. “What?”