Twist Into Me

by Devon Ashley

  Doctors had said it was a blood clot that stopped the flow to her heart that night, that there was nothing anyone could have done, including them. Still didn’t make me feel any less guilty for not being there, even if she simply fell asleep and never woke up again like they claimed. I supposed it wasn’t the worst way to go, I just wished it hadn’t been such a shock. I had just gotten her back, lost in the belief that she’d been granted a second chance and that we still had plenty of time left together.

  But sometimes fate followed a crueler path.

  I spent the first few weeks crying, swaddled by the comforts of my friends, who were there for me through and through as I was slow to come around a second time in as many months. Owen was amazing, stepping in to help me keep the business afloat as I adapted to so many hardships and changes. I got into the business administration program at Campbellsville University. I even went to summer school so I could still graduate this last spring with Sarah, who got her degree in early education.

  In June, I celebrated by officially changing the name of the flower shop to That Bloomin’ Tessa. It was bittersweet to remove Nana’s name from the door, but I was sure she was smiling down on me from whatever heavenly afterlife she secured for herself. Owen was there to help me commemorate, as were Matt and Sarah, and Rory with her latest rebounder. We continued celebrating through the night at The Donkey’s Tale, where I couldn’t help but go through the white napkins pinned to the wall. I was pretty sure I finally found Brady’s story based on the handwriting, which involved a drunk camper taking on a raccoon one night over the bag of special brownies it had clenched in its teeth. One raccoon turned into five and suddenly it was the napkin writer who was being chased through the forest, screaming like a little girl. I still had yet to have a story of my own that was crazy-stupid enough for that wall, but I knew someday I’d have one – which I was sure would delight Brady from beyond the grave.

  Owen and I were solemnly quiet as we marched through the cemetery, mindlessly heading for his headstone. Today was nothing special, the anniversary of nothing in particular. After Nana’s death, we came upon the unsettling realization that we had faced too much death, and no longer wanted to make several trips to the cemetery in a year. So we decided from there on out we’d simply choose a random day to go and pay our respects to all of them at once. Today was that day.

  Now standing before Brady’s grave, we were quieter than ever, our clamped fingers warm against the cool weather. I still cared for Brady, and I thought a part of my heart would always belong to him. It was once on the verge of loving him. And what I once thought I would feel for him now felt that way for his brother, but more so. I wasn’t going to lie, I found that a little unsettling at times, but I refused to let it ruin the love I had finally found.

  I passed Owen the final bouquet of flowers for our trip, and he left them behind for his brother. We both stared at the ground, keeping our thoughts silent. Or at least Owen did. Me? I was forcing myself not to think about Brady, because sometimes in doing so, I ended up crying. One thing I’d learned really well these past two years? Sometimes you have to smile to keep from crying. And I’ve done a lot of forced smiling.

  But my tears weren’t because I was more in love with Brady than Owen – quite the opposite in fact – it just made me cry that I lost someone who was so dear to my heart at the time of his passing. And I probably thought of him enough as I pushed my way through life. Moments that passed which I thought he would’ve enjoyed, moments that passed without the right amount of sarcasm he would’ve been perfect to insert, even moments in which I wished he was there to see how well his brother was doing. His loss would forever leave me wounded, that tender spot that never toughened. Owen too, I suspected.

  I turned to Owen and softly asked, “Ready?”

  He nodded slowly, then leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

  Home was currently in transition mode for us, and what I came home to was mostly empty. Owen and I were finally moving in together, and into his family’s house of all places. He and Matt had spent the better part of a year using their free time gutting and fixing it back up again so it could still be his family home, but without all the lingering painful memories. I hardly recognized it anymore. We were only half moved in, but already it felt like home.

  I finished unloading the contents of my dresser into the box. Then I moved to the night stand. Pens, notepads, an extra charger, even an old package of gum. And way in the back my journal was still hidden away. My sigh carried a groan, and I sat on the edge of my bed. I hadn’t written anything in it for years, but it seemed it held more pain than ever. A lot happened in so little time and I feared the past would never be able to correct itself.

  As I sat there flipping through the pages, I began to wonder if my mom even knew Nana passed away. She was released from jail after a hundred and seventy two days. I never once went to see her. I was never contacted by her again, never received any letters. I was simply informed by the jail that she was set for release. I half expected her to show up at the flower shop. A part of me hoped that she would, hoped that she hadn’t found a way to keep her new drug habit kicking inside those walls.

  But she never showed. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was shame, or maybe it was some emotion I couldn’t wrap my head around. Whatever it was, it had been two years since I last sat in her company, voicing my dislike for what she had become. I thought prison would change her, and maybe it had. Just maybe not in a way I would’ve liked. But a part of me still hoped she’d fix her life and make her way back to me someday.

  I heard Owen and Matt coming long before they entered my bedroom, their conversation involving something to do with construction – a world where I didn’t quite understand the lingo yet. I knew nothing about tools and two-by-fours and architectural designs. They enjoyed flipping Owen’s house so much, they recently decided to become partners and create a business fixing up old houses. Owen was still going to keep creating pieces in his barn, but as a side business now, since it was something he truly loved to do. They’d already secured their first project with this historical building downtown, and lately it consumed their shop talk.

  “What’s next, Baby?” Owen asked.

  I motioned towards the piece next to him. “Dresser’s ready to go.”

  He and Matt each took an end and carried it out, Owen giving me a smile and wink before turning the corner. Something remained on the floor from where it stood, and I moved to pick it up. But what I picked up wasn’t garbage. My breath caught in my throat as I opened the crumpled paper.

  Stay.

  The word stung my heart.

  Brady’s note. I had long forgotten about it. Not the words, obviously, as they would forever be engraved in my mind, but I had forgotten about the paper itself. Seeing the handwritten words of his beautiful message made my heart flutter, brought a smile to my face.

  It seemed a lifetime ago, but it amazed me how it could always hurt just a little bit.

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs as they climbed to my floor. I panicked and tucked the note inside my journal. I was just criss-crossing the box tops when Rory stuck her head in from the hall. “Hey. Got anything else?”

  I smirked and carried the box to her. “Anxious to get me out of here?” I sassed.

  Rory held nothing back. Words or facial expressions. “Hell yeah, bitch. These are my digs now so hurry up and get your skinny butt out already.”

  When I went back to school, I knew I needed help to keep the shop running its normal hours. So I hired Rory. And when Sarah and Matt got married last July, she even moved in with me, taking Nana’s old master bedroom. I never could move myself in there. Sometimes just being in this house could be painful, so I completely understood Owen needing to redesign his just to move back in.

  After sticking her tongue out at me, Rory disappeared down the hall, and soon her steps were heading back down. I got busy tossing the rest of my room into the remaining boxes. My stuff
hardly took up a dent, and mostly fit inside the duffels I originally arrived with. But I was determined to take everything of Nana’s with me. Our new home already had more rooms than we could fill, and Owen flat out refused to use most of what was inside it. He was ready to let go of the past whole-heartedly. Me? I pretty much wanted everything of Nana’s.

  Owen and Matt continued loading the furniture from the third floor. Soon it was all but empty, save Rory’s room and bathroom. The first floor living room, study and kitchen had already been cleared of my stuff the weekend prior, so we were pretty much done. It felt so weird to see these bare walls. I felt like I was leaving a piece of Nana behind, despite maintaining her possessions. There was just something about this house… All my memories of her were made here, happened within these walls. If Rory ever moved out, I’m not sure what I’d do with the place. I just knew I’d never be able to segregate it from the shop and rent it out to strangers. I’d forever let the ghosts keep the lease.

  I carried the last of my boxes down to the back door, where Owen took it from me. He and Matt were heading out since they still had to unload it all too. I kissed him goodbye on the cheek and went inside to finish some arrangements that were due to go out in the morning. I heard Rory speaking to a loud woman up front who had a thick accent. It was odd, so hard to understand and hillbilly-like. I peeked my head through the doorway just as the woman declared, “Gotta be you.”

  “Gotta be me?”

  “No, a you. She wants a red you.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah, can ‘ya get one?”

  “A you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rory shook her head slowly, not in a way that necessarily meant we couldn’t get it, but in a way that showed she was completely at a loss for what the lady wanted. “Um…maybe? Let me check.”

  Rory buried herself behind the laptop. I had to admit I found it quite funny. But only because it reminded me of a time when Brady came in and behaved in a similar manner. He had said one day this would happen. Two years later I finally had my first redneck come in asking for the strangest thing. And I couldn’t see her entire body, but it was clear she wasn’t wearing the cleanest of jean overalls over her graphic black t-shirt.

  “Do you know how to spell that?” Rory asked.

  “Y-O-U. You!”

  “Okay,” Rory replied, sounding a little defeated. As much as I loved watching her squirm, I had a customer to think about. Grinning ear to ear, I picked up the phone in the workroom and called the counter. “Hey,” she dragged out. There was little she could say without seeming the fool to the lady who was eyeing her like a hawk from across the counter.

  “It’s yew. Y-E-W.”

  “Oh, thank God!” Rory replied, her tone still a little exasperated.

  “She wants a yew with red flowers. It’s a tree. Ask her if she has a preference for maturity, get her contact information and tell her we’ll have to get back to her since it’s not something we typically order.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

  I hung up and got going on my arrangements. After a few minutes, Rory came bursting in, crying, “What the hell is she doing coming into a flower shop for a damn tree? I don’t know what a fuckin’ yew is! The only tree we sell is a tiny little ficus!”

  I cracked up laughing. “Well, get used to it. She won’t be the last one to pull that. I once had a guy ask me to send a dozen dead roses to an ex. Extra smelly in the decay department. And infested with some creepy-crawlies.”

  “Eww,” she cried, her nose turned upward. “Did you do it?”

  “Heck, no,” I replied, sliding my finished vase to the side, pulling over the makings for another. “I also had a guy ask me to send an arrangement with the flowers that had the heaviest and strongest amount of pollen to his boss. Anonymously. He also asked if I could spray it down with pepper spray right before delivering it.”

  “What the hell is wrong with people?”

  I shrugged. Hell if I knew. “If anything, they’re entertaining.” All in good fun, I added, “I’d be surprised if you haven’t rebounded with one of these lovely people yet.”

  Rory grunted and narrowed her eyes. She tipped her head too, which shifted her dark brown bangs over her eyes. She had a chunky streak of purple in them that I adored. “Speaking of crazy people, I ran into Lis the other night at that new bar down the road.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I replied, only mildly interested. We hadn’t heard from her in forever.

  “Wanna know what I said?”

  “Well, seeing as how the last time you saw her you told her Owen knocked me up and we were getting married, I’m going to say no, I don’t want to know.”

  Rory crossed her arms and defiantly replied, “Hey. I got her to finally move to California didn’t I? All she needed was a little nudge. You should be thanking me. Otherwise, she’d still be here trying to win back your main squeeze.”

  “Yeah, I’m not too worried about that.” Not worried, but still preferred her gone. A whole lot of drama typically developed in her presence. “She’s just visiting, right?”

  Rory chuckled at me, finding my curiosity amusing. “Want me to tell her he’s got herpes?”

  “What?” I exclaimed, looking up from my work. “No!”

  “It’ll nail the coffin shut,” she defended.

  “Thank you, but we’re good,” I firmly told her. “No more lies. If she comes around we’ll deal with it.

  “You crazy freak,” I mumbled humorously.

  She made a face that didn’t argue with my assessment; quite agreeable to it, in fact. “Get gone already,” she said. “I’ve got this. You’ve got a house full of crap to unload.”

  “Yeah, alright. I was just giving the guys a head start at unloading the furniture. I’ve got nowhere to put the stuff until that gets in.”

  Rory’s hand shooed me away. I could take a hint. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m going, I’m going.” I grabbed my bag from the cabinet beneath. “See you Monday.”

  That was the nice thing about having Rory living upstairs. I still had someone around who could deal with the Sunday stragglers and late night doorbell ringers. Now all I could hope was for her to stay an incredibly long time, and I had the feeling she just might.

  “Don’t forget Rose and Helen changed their tea date to Monday this week. They want to see you.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” I said with a heavy breath. I had completely forgotten. “Alright. I’ll stop by the bakery Monday morning. Thanks.” Because Lord only knew what those two would do if I missed their visit two weeks in a row. Though I did feel their presence comforting. Nana might’ve been gone, but those two hens still chose to cluck once a week at the bistro set. Sometimes it almost seemed like old times, and that in any moment, Nana would come hurrying down those stairs in dramatic fashion.

  When I pulled up in front of the McCoy house, more than half the trailer had already been unloaded. Impressed, I went inside and began doing my part: unpacking boxes. Today’s boxes were mostly décor from Nana’s third bedroom and what remained of my clothing. One thing Owen and I completely agreed on? Everything in the master bedroom had to be new. We were taking the term couple’s retreat to a whole new level. No memories allowed, other than décor and photography. That meant a new king size bed with fresh linens, new chairs for us to lounge in, and all new dressers and night stands (some of which Owen built). It was the first room we had ready to go, and taking a page out of Nana’s handbook, we chose colors of gray and deep teal to keep the room soothing and spa-like to rest in.

  I tackled some of Nana’s things first. I worked in haste at the house, just packing everything all at once. I still needed to go through and choose what I really wanted to use and what needed to go to either storage in the back of the barn, or to be given away. It was difficult to part with any of Nana’s possessions, so nothing ended up in the charity pile. I had the feeling it would be quite some time before I’d be willing to do that.

  Next I unloaded and tu
cked away my extra clothing. While I was still working on it, Owen came in. He and Matt were finished and he headed to the shower to clean up. All that was left in my box was the journal that had haunted me for years. Without even thinking about it, I picked it up and headed out back. I stood before the BBQ pit, once again willing myself to find the courage to just let go. Of my mom… Of an awkward childhood.

  Nana was gone. I think originally I wrote this notebook for her. As a way to escape, as a way to be honest. I suppose I should’ve let her read it, or at least offered her the chance to. But I was kind of glad I didn’t. Especially given the crap my mom pulled near the end. Nana already felt bad that she wasn’t able to save me from that childhood. The past could never be undone. All I could do was learn from it and better myself accordingly moving on. The journal…my past… They were just holding me back. What I had waiting for me inside that house was the future, and I wanted to give myself to him wholeheartedly.

  Without further hesitation, I tossed the journal onto the grill, squirted it down with lighter fluid and lit the pit up. With a whoosh, the imitation leather took fire, its skin slow to burn down. The outer edges of the pages within began to brown and curl.

  I hadn’t forgotten what else was hidden between its pages. I didn’t dare go looking for it, didn’t dare to hold it once more in my hands. Brady was gone, and he was a part of the past that I had to let go. I’d never forget him, or stop loving him. But it was time to just let go.

  It took a good twenty minutes for the journal to disintegrate enough to my liking, at least enough I knew its secrets could never be read. Once the flame died down, I made my way into the living room to continue unpacking some other boxes. I’d barely made a dent in the first one when Owen found me and wrapped me up from behind. I closed my eyes and allowed his body to sway with mine.