The Moment of Letting Go

by J. A. Redmerski

  There are so many people here; I never imagined there would be this many, and it excites me as much as it makes me nervous—because I did donate several of my photographs, after all.

  But it’s not just the community center—just to be here, in my new life with Luke in Hawaii … it’s like a dream. I wake up every morning feeling a whirlwind of emotions all vying for my attention: excitement, happiness, eagerness, even nervousness, as I’m still adjusting to the shock of such a large move, not just in my address, but my whole life. A tiny part of me sometimes panics a little, being so far away from everything I’ve ever known, but the moment I look around me at the beauty of the scenery—mostly at the beauty of Luke Everett—that panic vanishes in a breath.

  I’m definitely living a dream.

  With Luke’s arm hooked through mine, we walk farther into the room, both of us dressed formally—me in a cute white dress that stops just below my knees and a pair of white heels with silver glitter around the toes; Luke is clean-shaven and dressed in a suit, and oh my God … I think I died when he first stepped out of our bedroom in the dress pants and white button-up shirt, asking me to help him with his tie.

  I look up at him now to see him smiling back at me, proud to have me on his arm. I push up on my toes and kiss him lightly on the lips.

  “You’re the most beautiful girl in the room,” he whispers onto my mouth.

  I blush inwardly and peck him on the lips once more.

  Melinda greets us, taking me into a gentle embrace.

  “Oh, it has turned out so wonderfully!” she says with excitement, squeezing me with her thin, frail arms hidden in a pretty black and lavender blouse.

  She pulls away, holding my hands in hers, smiling in at me with such kindness and adoration that I can’t help but smile back at her in the same way.

  “I couldn’t be happier that you could make it,” she goes on. “And your photographs”—her eyes get wider and she shakes her head with admiration, tugging on my hands—“they are absolutely stunning, Sienna.”

  “Thank you.” My face is too hot for me to manage more words than that.

  I feel so nervous to have my photography on display, as if I’m revealing a private part of myself to the world. Having them on the Internet is one thing, but here, out in the open like this where people can walk by and I can physically see the expressions on their faces, puts a knot in my stomach.

  Luke hooks my hip with his hand and pulls me next to him when Melinda drops her hands from mine.

  He presses his lips against the top of my hair.

  “I have no doubt,” he says, squeezing my hip gently, “that every one of her pieces will be sold.”

  “Oh, I don’t either,” Melinda agrees eagerly.

  “Yours will too,” I say, looking over at Luke, trying to take the spotlight off me some because it just makes me that much more nervous. “That’s a definite.”

  He smiles and squeezes my hip again.

  Alicia practically runs up, with Braedon close behind—her leg is out of the cast, but she’s still got a small limp. “You’re here,” she says and hugs me tight, even tighter than Melinda had. “So what do you think of the place?” She waves her hand about the room. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it,” I say. “I mean … wow!” I gaze up at the brightly lit decorations. “I couldn’t have pulled this off. It’s awesome.”

  Alicia purses her lips as if to say, Yeah, you probably could, and then says, “Of course, we couldn’t have done it without your help, though.”

  “Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “I just steered you in a direction.” I gesture about the room again. “This was all you guys, and you did a fantastic job.” I look at Luke once more, gently bumping my hip against his.

  He smiles and bumps me back.

  Melinda gestures for us to come the rest of the way into the building. We walk alongside her to see a few of the nearby displays—the photographer who took those black-and-white shots of the old woman is standing in his display area, also dressed in a suit and tie. I meet him and talk with him for a while about his pieces and about our individual techniques and styles. And then Luke walks with me down every row laid out in the room in an intricate pattern to create a labyrinth of extravagant art, all of it situated precisely as if even the layout had been handled with as much care and thought as the art itself.

  We drink nonalcoholic champagne in tulip-shaped champagne glasses and meet with the guests—some came by invitation and are dressed up like the rest of us to fit the theme; others are people who came in off the street on a whim: tourists and locals alike, dressed more casually. The night couldn’t be more perfect.

  Well … I guess it can—Seth and Kendra walk through the entrance and come toward me and Luke, all decked out in formal clothes—my eyes get increasingly wide seeing them like this. Luke I could actually imagine in a suit and tie, but Seth—never in a million years. And Kendra in a little black dress and tall sparkly black heels, with her blond hair all done up in a perfect wavy bun; I do a double take, having to make sure it’s actually tomboy, BASE-jumping, crazy Kendra and not just another one of Seth’s one-night stands who just looks like Kendra.

  “Wow,” I say, looking her up and down, “you are rockin’ that dress.”

  “Ain’t I, though?” She strikes a dramatic pose and wrinkles her nose on one side to give me a little of that Kendra flare.

  I look over at Seth, tall and dark and one gorgeous walking surprise.

  “And you!” I take a step back next to Luke and look him over with a dramatic sweep of my eyes. “Did you have to talk him into a suit?” I ask Luke, glancing over at him.

  Luke laughs lightly and shakes his head.

  “No,” he says. “I had nothing to do with this monstrosity.”

  “Hey, I look damn good, bro, and you fuckin’ know it,” Seth says with laughter in his voice.

  I wince and gesture my hand at him. “Keep it down, Seth,” I tell him quietly, trying not to laugh and looking over my shoulder for anyone who might’ve heard his foul mouth. Thankfully, no one was close enough.

  Seth winces, too. “Sorry,” he says, realizing.

  He really is a sweetheart.

  Then I look between Seth and Kendra, the gears in my head churning. They didn’t come in holding hands, or even touching each other for that matter, and from what Luke has told me, they’re still just friends. But I’m not buying it—or rather, I don’t want to buy that.

  “So,” I say suspiciously after taking a sip of my sparkling drink, “you came together.” I take another calculated sip; my eyes narrow with speculation.

  A tiny burst of air moves through Kendra’s pooched lips and she rolls her eyes.

  “Wash that junk outta your head, Ginger,” she says playfully.

  Luke laughs next to me, and I gently elbow him in his side.

  “Hey, she said it, not me,” he defends with laughter, and then kisses me on the head again.

  “Pffft!” I take another sip. Ginger? I hate it!

  Seth grabs Kendra by her waist and goes to pull her into his big arms mischievously, but she play-fights him off—with a little less Kendra flare here in public than she would normally show when it’s just the four of us.

  “Keep your Sasquatch hands off me, Seth,” she snaps, pulling the thin black strap of her dress back onto her shoulder.

  Seth just laughs it off.

  Luke and I spend the rest of the evening with our friends and mingling with the guests. At one point, I finally talk Luke into standing with his art and answering questions about it. It took some convincing, because Luke is really shy when it comes to his art. But finally he broke away from me and went to stand by his masterpieces—without a doubt, the most beautiful paintings in the entire room. And he drew small crowds of people in intervals. I watched him from my display just across the room, and he became more comfortable by the minute, it seemed, talking to the guests with that charming, gorgeous smile of his. I catch his eyes a few time
s, smiling at him across the short distance. He blushes hard and looks away.

  After nearly an hour, Luke comes over to stand with me at my display.

  “I told you,” he whispers against my ear just before another guest comes walking in my direction.

  I whisper back, “What did you tell me?”

  Before he can answer, the woman steps up, gazing down fondly at one of the last few photographs I have laid out on the table between us.

  “Sorry. My display looks kind of bare now,” I say nervously, retaining my bright expression, my hands folded together down in front of me.

  The woman looks up from the photograph and smiles.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” she says. “I actually bought three of your largest ones about an hour ago.”

  “Oh …” I say, surprised. “Well, thank you so much.”

  “Your work is very beautiful,” she says. “I like your style.”

  Luke squeezes my waist again, since it’s mostly all he can do, but I sense a hundred proud words in the gesture, including the words he had been about to say before she walked up: I told you that all of your photographs would be sold.

  The woman ends up buying the three remaining photos I have on display.

  Despite all of my photographs getting sold, that nervous knot in my stomach is still there—I’m not sure how I feel that I sold anything, much less everything! Does that mean I’m really good? Or were they pity purchases? Geez, Sienna! Just accept that you’re talented! I tell myself and smile so brightly I feel the air hit my teeth.

  And like mine, all of Luke’s paintings were sold.

  A few minutes before the center is to close and the event to shut down, Melinda comes to thank us again, telling us that it was, in fact, their most successful charity event ever. Between my photographs—I did donate them one hundred percent to the center—Luke’s paintings, and the many other pieces that sold by other artists, Melinda will be splitting a rather large donation among several different charities in the community. The community that I’m now an official part of—just thinking about it fills my heart with pride and happiness.

  As the last of the guests file out of the building, Luke and I go outside to get some fresh air.

  It’s almost nine o’clock, and the night air is perfectly warm, the breeze light. I can hear the deep pounding of drums off in the distance somewhere, knowing it’s the fire dancers that often perform for the tourists.

  Luke and I walk slowly down the sidewalk hand in hand, the breeze pushing the thin fabric of my dress against me.

  “It wouldn’t have been the same without you here,” Luke says.

  I lay my head against his arm and he squeezes my hand, the delicious smell of his light cologne wrapping around me.

  “I can’t think of any other place I’d rather be than with you,” I say.

  We continue on down the sidewalk, making our way slowly toward a cab. People walk to and from in every direction, the night alive with movement and voices.

  “Do you miss home yet?” Luke asks.

  I shake my head. “I am home.”

  When we finally make it back to the house on Kauai, Seth’s Jeep is already in the driveway. When we make our way inside, we expect him to be in the living room watching television or something, but there’s no sign of him.

  Luke lays his keys on the kitchen table and strips off his suit jacket, laying it over the back of a kitchen chair.

  I step out of my sparkly white heels.

  I feel Luke’s hands slip around me from behind, and then the warmth of his mouth on the side of my neck. I close my eyes softly and lean against him.

  Then, just when I feel he’s about to kiss the other side of my neck, we both stop when we hear the bed in Seth’s room lightly hitting the wall. I turn my head at an angle to catch Luke’s eyes.

  “Is he—” I start to say, but don’t finish.

  Luke takes me by the hand, and we move into the living room. Kendra’s little black purse is sitting on the coffee table, and her black heels have been kicked off on the floor next to the recliner.

  Luke and I look right at each other.

  “Seth won’t admit it,” Luke whispers, “but from a guy’s perspective, I think he loves the hell out of that girl.”

  I whisper back, “Well, from a girl’s perspective, I think she loves the hell out of him, too.”

  Luke picks me up in his arms and carries me down the hallway to our bedroom.

  Five months later—Kauai, Hawaii

  I’ve never been happier, or so sure of my future, in my entire life. Granted, my future isn’t as laid out as it was before; it isn’t dictated by a ladder or the money on that ladder, and I may not know what I’m doing tomorrow, but somehow the not knowing is what makes it so exciting. It took a drastic change, and to be blindsided by love, to make me see how much better, how much more peaceful and fulfilling life can be when it’s not drowned in stress and expectations and fear. It took giving up what I thought made me the person I am—my job, my stability, my meticulous life—to see that the person I am is so much more than I ever imagined I could be. I’m doing things now that I never would’ve given a second thought to.

  Luke and I do everything together: surfing, hiking, camping for days on end. I’ve never had so much fun in my life, or felt so free. I’m enjoying my job at a salon on Oahu, doing nails and washing hair and sweeping the floors, while also drawing a small income on the side from my photography. I’m doing what I love and spending more time with those I love, and I wouldn’t give up this life for anything.

  Luke still works at the surf school as well as co-owning the surf shop, and his paintings have begun to draw the attention of more than just tourists and local business owners looking for a nice piece to put in their offices. He paints on commission now—the last piece he sold was to a businessman in New York who saw his work at an Art Walk while on vacation. That guy told another guy, who told a woman, who told another guy over in Italy, who told another woman in Spain. He’s doing what he loves, too, and slowly making a decent living doing it.

  Paige and I are still best friends, but we don’t see each other much anymore. She moved to L.A. recently and is pursuing a modeling career, even got signed on with a top modeling agency. And she’s been dating a guy who, in her words, “surpasses her list of requirements.” I’m really happy for her and I wish her nothing but the best in life. But we’re such different people living in entirely different worlds now. Despite all that, and the geographic distance between us, it’s hard to think about us ever drifting apart. We keep in touch. And she’ll be coming here to visit soon.

  But I have other friends who are like my family, and I feel at home here with them. Kendra is like a sister to me now, and even though I’m not into BASE, we get along awesomely. I doubt she’ll ever be fully over losing Landon, but she’s doing better every day, coping in her own private way—being in love with Seth, and finally admitting it, has a lot to do with her healing. And Seth, well, Seth is still Seth and he’ll never change. I love him to death like a brother, and he looks after me when Luke isn’t around. But he doesn’t live with us anymore. Shortly after I moved in, Seth took it upon himself to move out. He wanted to give us our privacy, but also I think maybe it would’ve happened eventually, him and Kendra moving in together and all. They are a weird and crazy couple; they fight and they make up and then do it all over again—I think they like it. But they’re perfect for each other. That’s pretty obvious to all of us.

  Mom and Dad are going to Cozumel, Mexico, next summer. And they sold the boat.

  And as far as me, I’m happy to say that my passion for photography may finally be taking off as a career, too. Aside from my website, I also started selling some of my work on a few stock photography sites. Then I began sharing on Flickr, and to my shock, I had my Flickr Moment and was featured on The Weekly Flickr and had an awesome video about my work made.

  That has helped change things a lot.

  And today is a big day
for me—I can hardly sit still.

  I hear Luke walking up the front steps, coming back from checking the mail. He’s taking his time on purpose because he knows it’s killing me. When he opens the screen door, I just freeze, staring at him from the living room.

  “Did it come?” I ask eagerly.

  He shrugs, acting all nonchalant, a stack of mail in one hand hidden behind what looks exactly like a magazine. I know that’s it. And he knows that I know, but I promised him I’d wait.

  He walks casually past me and into the kitchen.

  “Come on. Is that it?” I ask him from behind, my voice whinier than usual.

  “Maybe,” he says and slips around the corner.

  I know he’s grinning.

  “How long do I have to stand here?” I call out from the living room.

  “Just a minute,” he says.

  I hear him shuffling paper around, the pages of the magazine maybe. Then I hear the sound of Scotch tape being pulled from its plastic contraption.

  Soon he’s coming around the corner with the National Geographic magazine in his hand.

  I press my hands together in front of me against my chest and squeal a little, bouncing up and down on the pads of my feet.

  He smiles as he walks toward me and places the magazine in my hand.

  I can’t get the pages flipped fast enough. First I check the table of contents and navigate my way to the section on the winners of the Old World– New World Photography Contest. Turning the pages quickly, I do that bouncing thing again when I see my winning shot of an old man of Polynesian descent sitting on a rock on the beach displayed near the top of the page. I didn’t win first place, but I’m just happy to be in the magazine at all.

  I point to it. “Look. My name is underneath it”—I’ve been talking about this for weeks, about seeing my name in the magazine—“Sienna Murphy. Fourth Place.” And then I read the title of my photo: “Remembering the Old Ways.”