Revelry

by Kandi Steiner

  Stupid.

  I thought back about how long it had been since I’d last slept with a woman as Wren took her seat next to me, a fresh glass of wine meeting her lips. The true answer was never, because all the girls I’d slept with before my life stopped had been just that—girls. Sarah had been the only one between my sheets since guilt pulled me under, and it had only been a few times, on nights when I was too weak to refuse her.

  It was entirely the wrong time to be thinking about the last woman I’d been on a date with or even kissed, let alone slept with, because thinking about it meant I was comparing it to my current situation with Wren. We were just having dinner. Casual conversation, pancakes, bacon. That was all.

  I cleared my throat and shook the thought from my head as I picked up my fork.

  “Thank you, it smells delicious.”

  “Just wait until you taste it,” she said with a wink, using the edge of her fork to cut off her first bite of pancake. She popped it between her red lips with a moan of satisfaction and nodded toward my plate, waiting.

  Cutting through all four pancakes on my plate at once, I stacked the first bite, and when the sweetness hit my tongue, I had to smile. “Damn,” I said, still chewing. “Those are some pretty mean pancakes.”

  “I told you!”

  I laughed as she pumped her fist into the air in victory, and we settled in, taking turns chewing or talking.

  “So what do you think of our little dot on the map so far?” I asked, dipping a strip of bacon into my syrup.

  “It’s nice,” she answered with a warm smile. “So much different from the city.”

  “You’ve lived there your whole life?”

  She nodded. “Born and raised. I love Seattle, but I wish my parents would have taken me out of the city at least once in a while. I had friends who went skiing or camping or hiking, but never us. My grandparents took me camping when they could, they live out in Kansas. But I never went with my parents. Dad had his practice and mom was always planning parties. The perfect little Seattle socialite family.”

  I swallowed another bit, thinking about how different our upbringings had been. “Practice?”

  “Plastic surgery, to be exact.”

  “Ah,” I said, a little uncomfortably. “That’s uh... that’s interesting.”

  Wren rolled her eyes. “If by interesting you mean vain, then I agree. He wanted so badly for me to follow in his footsteps and take over the practice, Mom wanted me to follow in hers and marry a man with more ambition than me.”

  “And neither of those happened, huh?”

  Wren swirled the wine in her glass, her eyes following the swell of the liquid before she tipped the glass to her lips again. “Did you get all the parts you ordered? Have everything you need for this old place?”

  She took a long drink, eyes avoiding mine even as she sat the glass back on the island and picked up her fork.

  I wanted to press her for more—I knew she wasn’t a doctor, which meant the question she was avoiding was about being married to a man with more ambition than her. From what she’d told me about her clothing line she’d started at just sixteen, I found it hard to believe a man with more ambition even existed.

  Still, I knew what it was like to be pushed to talk about something you weren’t ready to, so I let her drop the subject, tossing the last bite of bacon in my mouth with a nod. “Yeah, got everything. It’ll be a brand new cabin by the time the summer ends.”

  “Maybe Abdiel will give me some of my cash back then,” she said with a smile.

  “So are you really thinking of staying, or did you just tell him that?”

  It was a stupid question to ask, especially since she’d laughed in my face when I’d asked a similar question the first day I worked on her cabin. She had no intention of staying, and she’d made that perfectly clear. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me. I wasn’t sure why I was asking again.

  Just like the first time, Wren laughed, splitting the last bite of her pancake into two. “I think we both knew when we made our deal that I wouldn’t be staying past the summer.”

  My stomach tightened at her response and I shifted, uneasy at the fact that I had any reaction at all.

  “I think he knew, you know?” she asked, eyes lifting to mine. “I just need to be here right now.”

  I swallowed, holding her eyes for as long as I could because I did know, and for some reason it was important to me that she saw that.

  The girl in the green dress from the city wasn’t so different from me, after all.

  When we were finished, I helped her collect the dishes and we stood at the sink, her washing and me drying. She handed me the first dish and my hand covered hers, our skin sparking at the transfer of energy. Neither of us acknowledged it, though—just worked in silence washing dish after dish, her bobbing her head along as Wu Tang spilled from her portable speaker.

  I was lost in my own thoughts, thinking of how quick she was to laugh off the thought of staying in this town any longer than a few months. I used to be the same way, and I wondered where I would be now, if things were different.

  “Tell me something about Dani,” she said unexpectedly as she handed me the freshly washed batter bowl.

  I froze, gripping it a little too tight before numbly drying it with the towel. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me a funny story about her. Or what was she like? What did she like to do?”

  I frowned, but not because I was upset, more because I was surprised. Most people who didn’t know about Dani wanted to know how she died or how old she was or how I was coping. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked me about her—the girl who lived, not the one who had died.

  “She was smart,” I started, a little unsure, unable to find the words to express who she was. “So damn smart. I mean, you could just be talking about anything—anything in the world—and she’d have something to say about it. She just knew things, and she loved to tell stories. Like one time when we went for a hike, we came across this plant that has leaves that curl up into themselves when you touch them, and she went on for the next hour of the hike about the name and origin and legends of the plant. I couldn’t even tell you any of it now, and I used to always tease her for it, but truthfully I liked listening to her talk.”

  “She must have been so fun to be around.”

  “She was.” My smile was soft, my eyes on the silverware she handed me. “She read a book a day. No shit. Like, for fun.”

  Wren chuckled.

  “I don’t know, she was just the most unique person I’d ever known. She was rare, especially around here.”

  I paused, a little surprised at how willingly the words had spilled out. I’d barely talked about Dani since she passed, not to anyone besides Momma Von, anyway. But I wanted to tell Wren, wanted her to know. Maybe that should have been exciting, but I found myself unsettled, and I wasn’t sure how to process it.

  Wren nodded, and as if she knew dark thoughts crept into my heart like shadows, she changed the subject. “And what about you? What got you into doing what you do?”

  My throat tightened. It was easier to talk about Dani than myself, as crazy as that was. “I don’t know. I just like to fix things.” I shrugged. “Things are easier to fix than people are.”

  Wren cut the water, drying her hands on the towel hanging from the oven before leaning her hip against the counter and crossing her arms. “Do you love to do it?”

  “I’m good at it.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  I folded the damp towel I’d dried the dishes with and hung it over the rack. “I like it well enough.”

  “What would you do if money and circumstances didn’t matter, if you had a fresh start on a new life?”

  “Wow, we’re getting heavy now,” I said with a smirk.

  “Humor me.”

  Wren’s eyes were wide and soft, without judgment—pure curiosity radiated from behind them. She wrapped a hand around the
glass of wine she’d sat beside the sink and lifted it to her lips, waiting.

  “I think I’d travel,” I answered honestly and for the first time out loud. “I’d like to see more of the world, more than just this tiny cabin town in the Pacific Northwest.”

  She nodded, smiling. “I want to travel, too. I’ve done a little bit, but there’s still so much more to discover. I think traveling is like getting a tattoo. Hard not to get addicted after the first taste.”

  I watched her, wondering where she came from, where she was going. I’d just opened my mouth to ask her when she cut me off with a chuckle, eyes skirting to my lower abdomen.

  “You should let me fix your clothes.”

  I looked down and cursed, shoving the broken button back under the band of my jeans. “My clothes are fine.”

  “I know they are,” she said, and any embarrassment I’d had faded when I looked up at her again. “I’m just saying, when do you ever buy new clothes?”

  “Why would I need new clothes to sweat in and cover with grease and dirt?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re so argumentative.”

  For a moment she just looked at me, debating her next words, like she was just as apprehensive about the idea as I was.

  “I just... I’m kind of lost right now. Nothing is inspiring me and my sketches look worse than the ones I did in high school the year I broke my fingers and had to sketch with my left hand.” She laughed a little, chewing the inside of her cheek. “What if you just let me fix up a few things—replace buttons, patch up holes in your jeans—nothing crazy.”

  I scowled. “My clothes are fine.”

  She laughed out loud that time, kicking off the counter to take a big step toward me. The sweet scent of her perfume floated into my space, surrounding me, and I breathed her in with a long sigh.

  “Come on, Grumpy. Just give me something to do before I go crazy. It’s the least you can do since you won’t let me pay you for the work you’re doing around here.”

  I considered that—it would drive me insane if someone did anything for me without letting me pay them back in some way. And even though it felt stupid and unnecessary, I blew out a long breath and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Fine. But don’t add anything girly or weird.”

  She held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor. Only frills and pink plaid patches for you, tough guy.”

  I frowned but cracked a smile when she threw her head back laughing. She had a beautiful laugh, one that made the ground beneath my feet feel unsteady.

  “It’s still early,” she mused, checking the time on the clock. “What do you say we take a dip in the hot tub?”

  I should go home. I should go take a cold shower and go to bed. “Sure. Just need to run down to grab trunks.”

  “That’s fine,” she said with an excited smile. “I have to take all this stuff off anyway.” She gestured to all of her, her clothes and her face, and I hated how my hand twitched at the thought of being the one to get to unzip that dress.

  “Meet you back here in ten.”

  She brushed past me, smiling over her shoulder as she skipped toward the stairs. “Don’t be late.”

  My head was heavy with thoughts of Dani the entire walk down to my cabin and back. It had been so long since I’d let myself think about her, really think about her, in a way where I remembered her instead of mourned her. Suddenly her smiling face was right in front of me, her laugh in my ears, her stupid puns that I pretended to hate fresh in my mind.

  I paced in Wren’s living room, Rev watching me from where he lazily lounged on the couch. I was so anxious to get out of my head, I forfeited waiting and made my way upstairs to check on her. But when I hit the top stair and saw her in the bathroom, I paused.

  Wren hummed to herself as she ran a thin white cloth over the right side of her face. It must have been damp with some sort of makeup remover, because with every swipe and scrub, the mask she’d worn all night slowly disappeared. But only on the right side. She was careful not to cross over into the left side of her forehead, her nose, or even her lips, leaving them half-nude, half-stained red. When the right side was completely bare, she lowered her hand and stared at her reflection, eyes bouncing as they assessed the differences.

  “Why do you do that?”

  She jumped, hand flying to her heart before her eyes found me in the mirror behind her reflection. She smiled in relief, shaking her head. “Jesus, you scared me! I’m sorry, am I taking too long?”

  “No, you’re fine. But why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” she asked, turning to face me.

  I pressed farther into the tiny bathroom until I was close enough to see the change in her breathing. She’d traded her dress for a bathing suit and a thin, mesh coverup that hung off her shoulders and down to her knees.

  “This,” I said again, my hand reaching for her before I could stop myself. My thumb brushed the freshly cleaned cheek, her skin soft under my callouses.

  “Oh,” she breathed. “I don’t know, actually. I’ve always done it, ever since I started wearing makeup.” She shrugged. “I guess I like to see the difference.”

  My thumb brushed the soft edge of her cheekbone before trailing to her jaw. “I like this side better.”

  Wren’s lips parted, and my thumb instinctively moved there next, running along the naked half of her bottom lip before dipping into the red. Her breath caught, eyes flicking up to mine, and I held them there, letting her see me, wanting to see her.

  Time stopped, and Wren leaned into me—just marginally, not even an inch—but I felt it. My mind went into overdrive, thumb still resting on her lip, and when my eyes dropped to her mouth, Wren leaned in just a little more, her shaky breath warming my skin.

  A thump sounded behind me, and we both jumped.

  Rev let out a scratchy meow as he sauntered up from the top stair and I cleared my throat, dropping my hand and taking a long stride back from Wren.

  No step was big enough to get me as far away from her as I needed to be in that moment. My body was moving of its own accord, and I needed to leave. Now.

  “I should probably get home, actually. It’s later than I thought and I have an early morning.”

  Wren’s voice was light and breathy, her hands flying to nervously play with the ends of her hair. “Oh, you’re not off tomorrow? I thought you might want to go tubing with all of us.”

  My heart jumped into my throat, stopping mid-beat to clog my airway. “What?”

  “Tubing?” Wren said, uncertain, her brows bending together at my reaction. “I guess it’s supposed to be pretty hot tomorrow, hot enough to get in the freezing river, apparently. I’ve never been tubing, but everyone’s going—Davie, Yvette, Momma Von, Tucker, Sarah, and a few others. You should come!”

  She was so excited, her eyes bright, but my ears rang as the small space of the bathroom closed in on me.

  “I can’t. Sorry. Have fun.”

  Without another word, I blew out of the bathroom and down the stairs, not taking a breath until I’d hit the fresh air. My feet carried me home faster with each step until I was practically jogging, and when I made it back to my cabin, I slammed the door behind me, leaning against it dropping my head back with a thud. Harsh breaths burned my chest, and I clenched my jaw, forcing the air through my nose as slow and steadily as I could until my pulse slowed down.

  When my eyes finally opened, they fell on Dani’s smiling face. Pain ripped through me, blooming under my ribs, spreading like a virus through every vein until I nearly doubled over from the force. But before the tears could fall, I tugged my shirt over my head and walked with purpose up the stairs, losing my swim trunks just as I turned on the shower. I stepped in before the water had warmed, and the icy shock of it cleared my head.

  I wasn’t sure how long I showered, but it didn’t matter. Whether I stayed under the water or crawled between my sheets, midnight would come, and June seventeenth would overshadow any light I’d managed to hold o
nto in the past year. Because it didn’t matter that I’d talked about her to a girl in a green dress or that I’d felt her as if she were still here, right down the road in Aunt Rose’s old cabin. She wasn’t.

  She was gone.

  And tomorrow, I’d spend every second of the day reminding myself who’s fault that was.

  RETROSPECTIVE

  ret·ro·spec·tive

  Adjective

  Contemplative of or relative to past events : characterized by, given to, or indulging in retrospection

  The next morning, I laid in bed a little longer than usual, desperate for coffee but not desperate enough to stop myself from staring out the glass door at the river, thinking about the night before.

  So many thoughts had assaulted me, and it wasn’t even nine yet.

  I’d had the perfect opportunity to tell Anderson about Keith last night, but I hadn’t. I’d asked him to open up to me about his cousin, to bare the most sensitive part of himself to me, and yet I’d cowered away at even the thought doing the same.

  What was even more distressing was that I felt the need to tell Anderson about Keith at all, but I did. I wanted to know everything about him, and I wanted to tell him everything about me. It’d been so long since I’d had the urge to expose myself that the realization of it paralyzed me in bed.

  And then there was the bathroom.

  Just the thought of us both in that tiny room made me squirm, and I curled in on myself, rolling to one side as Rev hopped up onto the bed. When I closed my eyes, I could still see Anderson’s as they traced every line of my face. I felt his hand cradling my neck, his thumb on my jaw, my lips.

  Had I wanted him to kiss me?

  I tried to convince myself I’d made it up, that I’d overanalyzed a perfectly innocent exchange between new friends. Yet my body and mind willed it to be true, yearned to read too much into every little look in the hopes of finding something more.

  But why?