Revelry

by Kandi Steiner

  She’d already seen me wrapped in my towel through the windows, it felt foolish to try to hide the fact now. So instead I opened the door wide, smiling like this was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Hi,” I greeted her. I was a little stumped on what to say next. She was there for Wren, that much was obvious, but I didn’t know who she was or how I was supposed to explain the fact that I was in Wren’s kitchen in nothing but a towel—or if I even needed to explain that. So, I aimed for ignorance. “Can I help you?”

  The woman’s eyes dropped to my bare chest, just for a second, almost so quick I wondered if I’d imagined it. Then she pushed past me, hanging her purse on the coat rack before shimmying off her white pea coat to do the same with it. “I’m Wren’s mother.”

  Shit.

  I cleared my throat. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Ballard. I’m Anderson. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “It’s Mrs. Prieston,” she clarified. “And I’d like you to fetch my daughter.”

  She eyed me like a snake—a dangerous, slimy snake. It probably should have made me cower, but instead my guard locked into place like metal bars in a prison.

  My face hardened, brows and lips flat as I set my own cup down on the counter and headed for the stairs. I knew enough about Wren’s mom to know she was a huge reason why Wren felt ashamed of who she was instead of proud, and if that hadn’t been enough to form my judgement of her, this first impression had finished the job.

  Wren looked so peaceful as she slept, light cotton sheet only covering half of her, lips parted and eyes softly closed. Her hair had dried naturally from the river, so it rested in messy curls on her pillow. All I wanted to do was run my fingers through that hair, pull her onto my chest, drink my coffee, and hold her close. I didn’t want to wake her at all—and definitely not like this—but there was no other choice.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, and as soon as it dipped under my weight, Wren’s eyes fluttered open. She smiled, the morning sun peeking through the shades we’d closed the night before in little stripes across her face.

  “Mornin’,” she murmured, stretching her arms up high over her head as she pointed her toes. It didn’t take her long to note that I wasn’t smiling back at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Your mom’s here.”

  “What?!” She sprang forward, clutching for the sheets and hiding her body as if I’d said her mom was in the room. “What do you mean? Where is she?”

  “Downstairs. She just got here.”

  “Did she see you?!”

  I nodded. “I’m the one who let her in.”

  “Did she see you like that?” She motioned to my abs and I grimaced, adjusting the towel on my waist.

  “Unfortunately.”

  She groaned, smacking her palm on her forehead. For a minute she just sat there, murmuring to herself, shaking her head. Finally she bolted up, tugging on clothes and throwing mine toward me. We’d hung them on her bedroom balcony to dry, and she continued to curse under her breath as we both dressed in otherwise silence.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as I pulled on my stiff sweater. It was dry, but it definitely wasn’t clean.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, but frustration rolled off her. She threw her hair up in a tight bun, just like the one her mother wore. It was the first time I’d seen it that way. “You should go. Before I walk down there. It’ll just be bad if we go down together.”

  I nodded, not wanting to upset her more than her surprise guest already had. I reached for her as she fussed with her hair again, pulling her into me and wrapping my arms around her. She was tense, but sighed, relaxing a little and resting her head there. I kissed her forehead.

  “Are we okay?”

  She looked up at me, green eyes wide and soft, and though they were under bent brows, she nodded, too. “Of course. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  I took her chin between my knuckle and thumb, tilting her up until our lips touched. “Okay. I’ll be here.”

  I meant it in the sense that I’d be waiting for her call, but also that she wasn’t alone. I didn’t know the entire history with her and her family, but she was uneasy—that was enough to set me on edge, too.

  When I walked downstairs, I let myself out her back door, offering a polite goodbye to her mother that went unacknowledged.

  And the whole walk home, I told myself everything was fine.

  I heard Anderson’s farewell to my mother, and of course there was no response on her end. Not that I would have heard it if she did because my heart was beating so loud in my ears I already had a headache. I smoothed my hands over my hair, over and over, tucking it as tightly as I could into a low bun. Flying into the bathroom, I quickly applied tinted moisturizer and flung on two coats of mascara, all the while willing myself to breathe.

  Just ten minutes before, I’d been existing in complete and total bliss. I’d fallen asleep with a throat sore from laughter, feet sore from dancing, and a heart sore from healing—because that’s exactly what was happening the more time I spent with Anderson.

  He was healing me, in more ways than I even knew, and I knew I was healing him, too.

  It wasn’t that we needed each other, or that we couldn’t find footing on our own. It was that our pieces together made a larger whole. We were stronger when we leaned on each other. We felt more, faced more, laughed more. We didn’t have anything figured out. We didn’t know what even the very next day would bring, but it didn’t matter, because we were making the most of every minute we had.

  But now, all that comfort had vanished.

  Anxiety was crushing in, heavy on my chest, my mind racing with why my mom was here, what she wanted, how she even found me. The only people I’d told about the cabin were Adrian and the rest of the team at the boutique. It was possible he could have told her, given how intimidating my mom could be when she wanted to be.

  When I felt somewhat presentable, I stood at the top of the stairs, hand gripping the railing tight as I forced three long inhales and exhales. It’ll be fine, I lied to myself, and then I let my numb feet carry me down.

  Mary Anne Prieston was pristine.

  That was the best word to describe her. She never had a hair out of place, she ironed her blouses and skirts to a crisp each morning, and in all the years I’d lived with her I’d never once seen her without a full face of makeup. I swore she must have tattooed it on or woken up at ungodly hours to put it on before she was making mine and my brother’s breakfast.

  She sat at the small kitchen table near the front door, legs crossed, back straight and not even close to touching the back of the chair. When I rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes caught at my face first before assessing the rest of me. Nose pointed high, eyes narrowed—she had plenty to say to me, and I knew there would be no way out of hearing it.

  “Mom,” I greeted, walking until I was standing next to the kitchen counter in front of her. I leaned my hip on it and crossed my arms. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to check on my daughter whom I haven’t heard from in six months,” she said casually, picking a fleck of lint from her soft pink skirt. “You know the least you could have done is call me to let me know where you’re living. Or that your divorce is final. Or that you’re still breathing.”

  I cringed, eyes on my bare toes. I was ashamed. My parents and I weren’t close, and after I’d decided to leave Keith, I felt their disappointment like an ant feels the rays of the sun under a magnifying glass. I didn’t lean on them during the hard nights of the divorce or even think to tell them that I needed to get out of the city to think. I didn’t have anything to say to them at all, other than I’m sorry, and I was so tired of saying that.

  “I’m guessing you talked to Adrian?”

  “That’s really the only thing you have to say right now?”

  “I don’t have a permanent place yet, but I’m staying here for the summer. My divorce is final. And I’m still breathing.”

&nbs
p; Mom rolled her eyes until they landed hard on me. “Don’t be impudent, Wren.”

  I bit down hard on my tongue, pushing off the counter and making my way over to the coffee pot. “Want some?” I asked, pulling one mug down because I already knew her answer. I poured a full cup, adding just one spoonful of sugar and taking a sip while it was still scalding hot. It was more pleasurable than talking to my mother.

  She sighed behind me. “What are you doing here?”

  I kept my eyes on my mug, the steam hot on my face from how close I held it. Mom stood slowly, crossing the kitchen until she stood in front of me. I felt like a little girl again, like I was ten years old and had stayed outside until after the street lights came on.

  “Listen, I know that marriage is hard. I get it, believe me. But this?” Mom gestured to the cabin, the place that had felt more like home in the past two months than my house with Keith ever did. The way she surveyed it made me feel defensive, like I needed to puff out my chest and protect it. “Honey, this isn’t you. This is absurd, quite frankly. Keith loves you, and he’s waiting for you to get this out of your system and come back home. I know the paperwork is final, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll take you back and you guys can work on this.”

  “Have you been talking to Keith?” I asked incredulously. Then, my eyes widened farther. “Wait, did you tell him where I am?”

  She was silent, and that was all the answer I needed.

  “Damn it, Mother!” I smacked a hand hard on the counter. “I don’t want to work on anything. Did you not hear a word I said the night I cried to you on the phone about this? I was miserable. Keith was miserable. He just doesn’t want to admit that we don’t work together. I’m not what he wants.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says him! In every possible way. He may spout pretty words at you about how much he loves me, but you don’t treat someone you love the way he treated me,” I choked. “He didn’t support me, mom. He resented me.”

  “Well, did you ever think about supporting him?” Mom threw back. “God, do you ever stop to think about how wrapped up you are in yourself?”

  Her words sliced right through me, like a million tiny razor blades all aimed at vital organs. It hurt worse when she said it than it did when Keith had, yet still I heard his voice echoing hers. I felt their eyes, their judgment—the only thing I didn’t feel was understanding, from anyone in my life.

  And what did that say about me?

  Could it be that I really was just a selfish little girl? I had put my happiness first. I had asked what I needed in life, not what I could do for those who loved me and who I loved, in return.

  “Maybe I am selfish,” I finally conceded, my voice low, eyes still on where my hands gripped the ceramic coffee mug. “But all I know is that I couldn’t live one more day in that life. And it may not make sense to you, but I need to be here right now. I need space—to think, to find out who I am, what I want.”

  “Oh, please,” she cut me off, not even an ounce of pity present. “You think you’re doing fine? That you’re moving on and finding yourself?”

  She scoffed, clicking away from me in her small kitten heels. She swiped her purse and coat from the rack and threw them on before spinning to face me once more. This time I lifted my head to look at her, and I’d never felt so small.

  “You’re distracted, Wren. You’re staying in a new place, with new furniture and new people and a new guy in your bed.” She shook her head, her eyes a mirror of my own. “This is a fairytale, and one day you’ll have to come back to reality, and back to the people you left behind there.”

  My bottom lip quivered and I reached up to touch it, covering it with my trembling hands. Mom’s eyes glossed over but she sniffed back the tears, nodding just once before she opened the door.

  “Take care of yourself. And for God’s sake, call your mother once in a while.”

  With that, she stepped over the threshold and let the door close gently behind her. And there I was, alone again, feeling it for the first time since that very first week of the summer.

  My chest ached, breaths hard to grasp. I tried to set my mug on the counter but missed, teetering it on the very edge until it crashed to the floor by my feet.

  The hot liquid splashed everywhere, covering my toes and leggings as the ceramic scattered. I jumped back with a yelp, and then I just stared at the mess, hands frozen mid-air like I could stop it from happening even though it already had.

  It was something so small, so stupid, easily cleanable with a broom and mop.

  But it was the last straw for me.

  I screamed, face contorting as tears pooled in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I swiped at them angrily and flew up the stairs, changing out of my bed clothes hastily before snatching my keys off the kitchen counter and tugging on my boots. I needed to get out. I needed to drive. I needed space. I needed clarity. I needed a place without judgment, a clear mind, a sign—something.

  But the truth was even worse than all that.

  Because really, I had no idea what I needed, at all.

  I wasn’t sure how long I’d been driving. I only knew the sun had set at some point, my back was aching, my hands were sore from gripping the steering wheel, and my hair was a mess from having the windows down.

  It could have been midnight or long after for all I knew, but I still found myself pulling into Momma Von’s driveway.

  She was sitting on her front porch alone, reading a book as she rocked in the chair directly under her porch light. She peered up at me as my headlights shone over her, and when I cut the engine and stepped out, she closed her book with a sympathetic smile.

  “Well, don’t you look beautiful,” she said sarcastically when I hit the top stair. I plopped down in the chair Ron usually sat in, crossing my legs and tucking my feet up under my thighs.

  “I’m a mess.”

  She chuckled, setting her book on the coffee table between us. She watched me for a moment, probably waiting for me to speak, but I didn’t know what to say yet.

  “Anderson was here not too long ago,” she finally said. My heart stopped at the mention of his name, eyes flicking to Momma Von’s. “He was pretty upset, guess he was expecting a call from you tonight.”

  I swallowed. “I texted him when I pulled in. I just, I can’t see him right now.”

  She nodded, brushing her bangs from her face. “Okay. So tell me what happened, then.”

  I blew out a long breath, not sure why her asking that question was so frustrating to me. I was obviously here because I wanted to talk to her, and yet I had no idea what I actually wanted to say.

  “My mom came by today.”

  “Oh? How was that?”

  I laughed. “Soul-crushing.”

  Silence fell over us. I wondered if I was really even mad at my mom, or if I was more ashamed at what she’d walked in on. Those thoughts would circle in my head, and then I’d get mad at myself for being ashamed of Anderson or my cabin or my choices, just to immediately question them again and wonder if the reason I felt guilty was because I should feel that way. I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight.

  “Anderson was there,” I said after a while. “He let her in. And she was a bitch to him, of course.”

  “Was she a bitch to you?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. I want to say she was, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if she was just being honest and telling me everything I don’t want to hear.”

  “Like?”

  I sighed, running both hands back through my tangled hair. I pulled the hair tie off my wrist and tied it up in a messy ponytail. “Like that I’m self-centered. And that I may think I know what I’m doing coming out here but that I’m just distracting myself instead of facing my feelings like I originally meant to.”

  Momma Von processed that as a breeze swept over us. I grabbed one of the small blankets she kept in a basket on her front porch and laid it across my lap, tucking my hands underneath.

  �
�Well, I don’t think you’re self-centered,” she finally said. “But if you feel like she’s right about you being distracted, then maybe it’s time to ask yourself what it is you need right now and how to get it.”

  “That doesn’t even sound easy to do, let alone actually doing it,” I argued. “And actually, I feel pretty selfish, too. I mean here I am fighting for my happiness, like that makes me a saint or smart or brave or whatever, but really I left a man who loved me for years. And I never wanted to hurt him, that’s the last thing I wanted to do, but I couldn’t live like that any more. I couldn’t —” I choked on the last of that sentence, shaking my head.

  “Did you try to save your marriage?”

  “Yes,” I breathed. “I did, for so many years. I tried to be the woman he needed me to be, to give him what he needed. And by the time he woke up and realized his own anger and insecurities, by the time he was willing to work on himself, it was too late for me. I was already gone.” I shrugged, disappointment in myself settling in deep. “I never gave him the chance to fight for me. I didn’t have anything left to give.”

  “That doesn’t make you selfish,” she said. “If anything, it shows that you did so much to try to make it work. Listen, I know it’s hard—even if you were the one who left—because you loved him. You still do. And you didn’t want to hurt him or anyone else, including your mom. You just wanted to not feel sick anymore. You wanted to live again. And there’s nothing wrong with that, Wren.”

  Momma Von scooted to the edge of her seat so she could put a hand on my knee.

  “Sometimes we get so far down a path because we want nothing more than for it to be the right one, but the truth of the matter is we can’t force it to be. You were smart enough to realize the path you’d been walking down wasn’t the one you wanted for your life, and instead of continuing to walk on it anyway, you found the strength to turn back, to veer off, to cut through the weeds to find a new, albeit, unpaved one.” She smiled, squeezing me gently. “That’s not easy. And it’s not going to be perfect on the next path you find, either. But you’re still walking, babe, and that is what perseverance looks like.”