by Tawna Fenske
Kyle nodded, not willing to taint her memory of Matt. “Matt always liked this place.”
He stood there with his hands dangling at his sides, not sure what to say. She made it easier for him by sliding to one end of the bench and gesturing toward the empty space beside her. “There’s plenty of room,” she said. “If you wanted to sit here, too.”
Kyle hesitated, then took a few steps forward until he found himself settling onto the cool wood beside her. Something smelled like lilacs, but it was October in Portland and lilacs were long gone, so it must be Meg’s hair. She’d always smelled sweet and flowery, like a mix of lilacs and honeysuckle or peonies or some other flower he couldn’t name. Matt used to complain that everything he owned ended up smelling like he’d spent the day in a greenhouse, though Kyle never saw the problem with that.
“What’s with the marshmallows?” she asked.
He’d forgotten he was holding them. “They’re for the ducks.”
“I didn’t realize ducks had a sweet tooth.” She frowned. “Or would it be a sweet beak?”
“That sounds like the name of an eighties band. ‘Coming up next, we have “Quack in Black” by Sweet Beak.’”
She laughed, her smile reaching all the way to her eyes. Then she froze like she’d been caught cursing in church. Her face folded back into a neutral frown, and Kyle considered telling her it was okay to smile, even now.
But hell, he wasn’t exactly the authority on grief. Maybe he had it all wrong.
“So how are you doing?” she asked.
“Okay, under the circumstances.”
She shivered, even though it wasn’t particularly cold out, and pulled the hood of the poncho up over her head. It should have looked ridiculous, like a Jedi costume, but on Meg the hood made a frame for her lovely face.
Kyle gripped the bag of marshmallows tighter. “Sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“Thanks.” She bit her lip. “Did you get to?”
“Not in so many words, but we did talk a little before the surgery.”
What had they even discussed? Stupid shit about baseball and an argument about their first babysitter’s name. Christ. If he’d known it was the last conversation they’d ever have, he would have just agreed her name was Sunny, even though he knew damn well it was Valerie.
Meg nodded and looked out at the river. She was quiet a moment and, knowing Meg, she was probably perfectly content to sit in silence. She’d never been one for blurting out her thoughts, tending instead to muzzle herself around his outspoken family. But something about this silence made Kyle edgy.
“How’s work?” he asked.
“Good,” she said automatically. “Still catering. Business is good.”
“Good,” he said, then wanted to kick himself for repeating the same meaningless word she’d already used twice. Surely he could do better. A “great” or a “peachy keen” at least. He cleared his throat. “So how’s your mom?”
She reached up and fiddled with her earring, making it jingle like a wind chime. “She’s fine. Still living in northeast Portland.”
“I’m not surprised. How about your—” He stopped himself, not sure if her father was still a touchy subject.
But Meg didn’t need him to finish the question. “My dad’s fine. Mom took him back again after his latest girlfriend kicked him to the curb for sleeping with the neighbor.”
“Sorry.”
“It is what it is.”
“True,” Kyle agreed, not sure what that expression was supposed to mean, but figuring it was time for a subject change.
It was Meg who offered it. “Does it make it harder or easier, you think, you and Matt not being very close?”
He was surprised by the bluntness of the question, and even more surprised to find himself answering without hesitation. “I don’t know. Easier, maybe, because we didn’t spend much time together. Harder, maybe, because I feel like we should have.”
She nodded again, her eyes still fixed on the river. The sun glinted in the curls that fluttered beneath the edges of her hood, and a faint breeze carried the lilac scent to him again.
It might have been a nice moment if it weren’t for the approaching ogre.
Kyle blinked twice to clear his vision, but he wasn’t seeing things. There was definitely an ogre lurching toward them, clad in a burlap cape and carrying something that looked like a medieval ax. The weapon was made of foam or rubber, as was the dagger on his belt.
The ogre was followed by a man in chainmail wearing a helmet adorned with horns and walking beside a woman strumming a small harp and wearing a purple gossamer gown. Kyle sat back on the bench, relieved to know he’d finally gone crazy. It seemed like a sign the grief was kicking in.
“Good morrow, fair maiden,” the ogre said to Meg as he dropped to one knee in front of her. “I see you wear the cloak of Verdanen.”
Meg looked down at her poncho, her hands balled up under the fringed hem. “I, uh—”
“Hark!” The woman with the harp pointed at Meg’s chest, and Kyle stared dumbly as well. The swell of her breasts was evident even under the bulky brown garment, and he wondered what it would be like to get lost in all that softness.
“The stone of Plutarnius!” the woman reached out to touch the acorn-sized gem on a chain around Meg’s neck. “His majesty will be greatly pleased to learn we have rescued the empress who wears it.”
The man with the horned helmet knelt before Meg, presenting his foam sword like a gift. “My lady,” he said, bowing his head. “My sword is at your service, and I offer my fellowship and protection as your most devoted servant.”
The ogre and the woman in gossamer followed suit, kneeling and bowing before Meg like she was a member of a royal family that governed lunatics. Kyle expected her to jump up from the bench and run like hell. She seemed tense beside him, too quiet for too long.
Instead, she reached out and placed her hand on the first man’s helmet. “Thank you, Sir—uh—”
“Reginald.”
“Sir Reginald.”
“Milady.”
The woman played a few notes on her harp, keeping her head bowed. Kyle could see the tops of oddly pointed elf ears sticking through her hair, and he leaned close to Meg and lowered his voice. “Uh, what’s going on here?”
Meg turned to face him, her curls tickling his chin. “They’re LARPers,” she whispered back.
“Lepers?”
“No, LARPers. Live Action Role Play. It’s sort of like make-believe for grownups.”
“What for?” he whispered.
She shrugged. “To check out of real life for a while, I guess.”
Kyle looked down at the three bowed heads. Checking out of real life didn’t seem like such a dumb idea.
He looked back at Meg, then pointed at her chest. Not at her breasts, at the necklace. “Stone of Plutarnius?” he murmured.
Meg fingered the necklace. “I got it at a garage sale,” she whispered. “It cost two dollars and Jess said it looked good with my gray coat.”
The man in the helmet looked up then and gave them both a formal nod. “Sir Knight,” he said to Kyle. “We must form our parties. The quest awaits.”
Kyle swallowed. “Quest?”
The woman in purple looked up. “For the chalice, of course.”
“Of course,” Kyle agreed.
“Let us make haste,” the ogre said, pointing at the baggie in Kyle’s lap. “I see you bear weapons?”
He looked down at the baggie of marshmallows. “Uh—”
“Poison gas,” Meg said. “Or arrows or lightning bolts. I saw it on TV once.”
“What?”
“That’s how LARPers simulate throwable weapons,” she said. “They toss little beanbags or foam pellets or—”
“Marshmallows,” Kyle finished, regarding the baggie with renewed interest. He looked back at Meg to see her assessing him.
“So, which are they?” she asked.
He hesitated. Playing
make-believe with a bunch of crazy lepers the day after his brother died would probably earn him a ticket straight to hell. He’d probably end up on a talk show featuring the world’s most insensitive bastards. Or worse, his mother would find out and he’d feel like hell for doing something silly and irreverent while she sat home flipping through pages of Matt’s baby book, her thumb stroking the tiny lock of baby hair taped to the first page.
Kyle swallowed and gripped the bag of marshmallows. “They’re lightning bolts.”
“I thought so.” Meg nodded and rubbed her palms down her denim-clad thighs. “Shall we play?”
Meg wasn’t sure what had gotten into her.
One minute she was sitting stoic and respectful, behaving as appropriately as any not-quite-widow should.
The next minute she was asking her ex-future-brother-in-law to join her in a role-playing game.
“Not that kind of role-playing.”
“What?”
Meg blinked, startled to realize she’d spoken aloud. “Role-playing. Um, not the kind where one person dresses in a naughty schoolgirl costume and the other pretends to be the stern headmaster with—”
She stopped talking, wishing she could yank her tongue out of her mouth with a pair of pliers. What the hell was wrong with her?
But if Kyle was wondering the same thing, he didn’t say it. He lowered his voice again, even though the LARPers kneeling at their feet were close enough to hear every word. “You want to play.”
Meg couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement, so she hesitated, then nodded. “If you do. I mean, if you don’t think it’s too—”
Too what? Disrespectful? Nuts?
It was both of those things, but Kyle put his hand over hers and Meg decided disrespectful and nuts might not be the worst things in the world.
“Let’s go,” he said.
For a second, Meg thought he wanted to leave, and she got up and turned toward her car. But Kyle rose beside her and cleared his throat. “Behold!” he announced, hoisting his marshmallows overhead. “I am honored to join forces with our new allies in a quest to seek the chalice. I am trained in various forms of combat, while my lady is a respected healer with great skill in treating battle wounds.”
“Indeed,” Meg heard herself saying as she rose to stand beside Kyle. “I also know many spells and am joined by my invisible dragon, uh . . . Fallopian.”
Kyle raised an eyebrow at her, and she could tell he was trying not to laugh. None of their new teammates broke character, and the woman in the purple gown extended her hand. “I am Trinity Leaftree of the western stone elf tribe.”
“And I am Ufnar Gnarlug,” the ogre volunteered, resting a hand over his heart. “My clan and I giveth thanks for your alliance.”
Sir Reginald doffed his horned helmet and gave a dramatic bow. “Sir Reginald Ironroot Roundbear, at your service.”
“Very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Kyle said. “I am Sir Tonsillectomy Xanthan Gum.”
Meg snorted, then coughed to cover her laughter. She extended her hand to Sir Reginald, who promptly planted a kiss across her knuckles. She tried to think of a name that didn’t sound like a disease or a moniker for a fat poodle. “I am Empress Cattywampus Dipthong.”
“And her fierce dragon, Fallopian,” Kyle added, pretending to stroke the beast’s neck.
Trinity grabbed Meg’s arm and gestured toward the woods. “My lady, I suggest we move south to lay an ambush to thwart invaders from the east.”
“I concur,” Ufnar agreed, scratching his chin with a hand coated in green makeup.
Meg glanced at Sir Reginald, pretty sure he was a teller at her bank, or maybe a clerk in the men’s department at Macy’s.
But for now he was Sir Reginald, and Meg was Empress Cattywampus and Kyle was whoever the hell he’d said he was, and none of them were regular people dealing with mortgages or jobs or grief that threatened to grab them by the ankles and pull them right through the ground and into the soft, damp dirt. The thought of being someone different made Meg a little dizzy with excitement and maybe a twinge of guilt.
“Lady Cattywampus, did you bring Fallopian’s leash?” Kyle asked.
“Indeed,” she said, holding up the invisible tether for her invisible dragon. “It is one made of rainbows and cobwebs.”
“Then we shall see if our last round of dragon obedience training hath paid off?”
Beside her, Sir Reginald thrust his foam sword into the air. “Long live the king!”
“Long live the king!” Meg repeated, throwing her fist in the air.
“All hail his majesty!” Ufnar hoisted his rubber ax in the air and Meg wished she had time to round up a weapon of her own. She settled for patting her invisible dragon on the head.
“Have a lightning bolt,” Kyle said, handing her a marshmallow.
“Thank you.” Her fingers grazed his as she took it from him, and she reminded herself this was wrong on so many levels.
But something about it felt right, too. Matt would have laughed at them for sure, which made the whole thing seem okay in a way.
“Let us journey forth,” announced Trinity, her purple gown fluttering in the breeze as she turned and ran toward the woods.
Ufnar and Sir Reginald followed, weapons raised in the air as they jogged into the trees. Reginald’s horned helmet fell off and he chased after it for a few steps, stumbling as he ran.
Meg looked at Kyle. “You sure you’re okay with this? It’s a little weird.”
“Isn’t that the point?”
“I suppose so.”
“Matt would die, wouldn’t he?” Kyle grimaced. “God, that just slipped out.”
“It’s okay. You’re right though. He’d think this was nuts.”
“So we owe it to his memory to sally forth and join the quest.”
Meg nodded. “Agreed.”
They jogged after the others, catching up to them easily since Trinity had stopped to strum her harp and sing a few lines about a porcupine and a golden spoon. Sir Reginald was whacking at some dense shrubbery with his foam sword, while Ufnar plodded along growling.
“Hark!” Sir Reginald yelled, throwing his arm to the side. “Someone approaches.”
Meg stopped, but not quickly enough. She ran smack dab into the back of Kyle, her cheek colliding with the solid plane of his shoulder blade. He turned and caught her by the shoulders, his palms curving around them. “Is my lady harmed?”
“Nay,” she said, feeling herself blush. “Your lady is just clumsy.”
“I remember that about you,” Kyle murmured. He hadn’t dropped his hands from her shoulders yet, and something about it felt comforting. “I’ll never forget the time you fell off that stand-up paddleboard, conked your head with the paddle and lost your bikini top.”
Meg laughed and felt her blush deepen. “God, I’d almost forgotten that. It got caught under that Jet Ski and Matt had to chase the guy down to get it back. Then he put his swim trunks on his head and did the chicken dance so I’d stop being embarrassed about flashing a bunch of strangers.”
“He always knew how to get someone laughing again.”
A wave of nostalgia nearly knocked her backward, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She was spared from doing either when Sir Reginald shouted again.
“Who goes there? I command thee to name thyself.”
Meg looked up to see six strangers emerging from the trees in medieval armor made of cardboard. They stepped forward shoulder-to-shoulder, raising weapons that looked like foam pool noodles painted silver.
Ufnar raised his ax. Sir Reginald lifted his sword. Kyle reached into his bag of marshmallows.
“Prepare to do battle!” Trinity screamed, pulling a plastic dagger from a sheath on her thigh.
Kyle looked at Meg. “Does Fallopian attack on command?”
“Of course.” Meg loosened her grip on the imaginary leash. “Sic ’em, boy!”
Kyle plucked a marshmallow from his bag and drew it b
ack like the world’s tiniest baseball.
“Charge!” shouted Sir Reginald, lurching forward with his foam sword flying. A man carrying a giant sledgehammer made of foam bopped him on the side of the head, but Reginald kept fighting while Ufnar lunged at another man with his axe.
“Lightning bolt,” Kyle said, tossing the marshmallow at a man in a gray cape. The man screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his chest. He began to writhe and gasp, putting on an impressive display of fake death while Trinity ran circles around him chanting a spell in some language Meg thought sounded vaguely like Pig Latin.
“Poison gas!” Kyle shouted as he tossed another marshmallow, clocking a tall man in the forehead before pivoting to chuck one at another attacker. “Really sharp arrow.”
Meg grabbed the reins on her imaginary dragon. “Commence fire-breathing,” she shouted, aiming the dragon’s snout at a man charging Reginald.
Kyle made a sound like a cappuccino maker, and it took Meg a moment to realize that was his interpretation of a dragon breathing fire. Meg palmed the marshmallow he’d given her and chucked it at a woman locked in fierce combat with Trinity.
“Lightning bolt!” Meg shouted.
“I already used the lightning bolt,” Kyle reminded her.
“You don’t have more than one?”
“Lightning bolts are a limited commodity.”
“Uh—rotten egg.”
“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
The woman she’d tossed the marshmallow at jumped to the side, then took another swipe at Trinity with a dagger made of tinfoil.
Kyle handed Meg another marshmallow. “Try again.”
“Heat-seeking missile!” Meg shouted, hurling her marshmallow at a man charging her from the left. The man raised a foam shield and the marshmallow bounced off. Kyle leapt forward, stretching with his palm out.
“Got it!” He caught the marshmallow in one hand, throwing his body in front of Meg as he took aim and hurled the weapon again. “Tell your dragon to cover me!”
“Fallopian—sic balls.”
“Aaaargh!” Their newest attacker fell to the ground in front of them, pantomiming a hideous and painful death.