by Sunniva Dee
“Uh-huh! I’m two.” She holds up three chubby fingers. “I never saw’d you! Why weren’t you in my house before?”
Kaven laughs softly. “She wants to say she’s three, so the three fingers are her compromise. You’ll be three in two months, won’t you, sweetheart?” he says, earning a quick bob of her head.
“Looky. You’ve eaten butter today,” I tell her. “You know how I know?”
“How?” Her doll’s eyes widen with interest.
“Because the buttercup showed it to me.” I stroke the silky skin beneath her chin with the flower again. “When you’ve eaten butter and I hold a buttercup against you like this, then your throat looks yellow. Like the butter! It wouldn’t do that if you hadn’t eaten butter today.”
All sorts of thoughts play across her tiny face. Surprise, incredulity. She frowns before she settles into a giggle. “Noooo,” she says.
“Yep, it’s true. Right, Daddy?” I ask her father.
“Sure is. Didn’t you have butter on your bread this morning?” he asks, teasing her.
“Yes…?”
“There you go.”
Shandor plays an old flamenco song on his guitar. His father sits proud next to him like he has since the meal was over and Aunt Physante brought out his favorite chair. Uncle Brishen’s attention never leaves his son as his fingers make a last dance over the strings.
The text from Zoe ticks in earlier than expected.
It’s time! Are you coming?
It’s not easy to be discrete between the thirty remaining familiars of the Xodyar clan with Shandor and I being the lost children who’ve returned. When I stand, every gaze finds me. They’re silent, expectant, and I have to make a public statement out of our departure.
“Don’t be too late,” my mother says like she can decide over us. Realizing, she explains, “I’m making shakshuka for breakfast.”
I bite my lip over that, because as far as I know in no clan does shakshuka have to be eaten bright and early.
Shandor and I walk off, stroll into the smoky grey that tints the Swedish midsummer nights. On our way to the car, I turn and take in the sight of them behind us. He stops too, sharing a small smile with me and a sense of belonging that I thought we had lost.
“Crazy, huh?” he murmurs over them, over us, over the connection we still hold with our people. I nod, not quite ready to speak.
In the end, I manage a “Yeah.”
EMIL
Zee is sunshine and happiness, rushing around without shoes. She’s got a lacy, white getup going—silk, or something. All I know is I can’t take my eyes off her. And why would I want to?
My Zoe’s gotten my hair trimmed. She likes it long though, and she’s delighted over some wave she saw in it this morning. I don’t know.
It’s fifteen ’til twelve in Skala on a midsummer’s night. Everyone’s off work, so it wasn’t hard to have all of our friends come to the party. Then their parents wanted to come. Then their grandparents insisted. Our families were already coming, so when the mayor chimed in and decided we were Skala’s golden boys, the celebration was moved to the park downtown.
I was dragged down here earlier by a haggle of nieces. Jesus, do my siblings procreate. They were all about wildflower wreaths, dancing around the maypole, and making me partake in the general entertainment. Elias saved my ass by bringing a few of his nieces too. Funny how our nephews stayed away. Guess dancing isn’t their forte.
“You made it!” my Zee exclaims, giving Aishe a hug. Aishe scrunches her eyes shut, squeezing Zoe back.
Zoe and I, we owe her everything. Despite my treatment of her, she pestered Zoe until she finally watched “I’m Sorry.” It was Aishe who informed Troy that I owned a real gun.
“Hey, lifesaver,” I say, grinning like it’s just a word.
“Yeah, really,” Zoe chimes in, rolling her eyes, because it’s how we deal; if we didn’t play shit down, we’d both probably be hospitalized over what occurred six months ago.
“Hey, you. It’s been a while,” Aishe says.
It’s true. We haven’t seen Aishe since we met up after Christmas. Back then, Zee thanked her for saving my life, and I, antidepressants in my blood and slowly getting my head back on straight, apologized for my behavior with her.
Aishe’s hair’s as long as it was, but it doesn’t have red stripes in it anymore. She still wears long skirts and colorful tops though, and the amount of bangles and jewelry she’s got on could give Christmas trees a run for their money.
“Seriously. My bitchy girl needed you here,” I reply.
“Cookie, no,” Zee admonishes. “We both needed you here. We would have paid for your ticket, right, Emil? I can’t believe you were practically next door on vacay. We”—Zoe lifts two manicured fingers to the corner of her eye, cutting off a tear—“can never repay you for what you did.”
“Shoes!” my mother interrupts, wiggling a pair of little things with diamonds on them in front of Zoe. Mom’s blissfully unaware of what I almost did to myself in December.
A high school friend of my sister’s pops his head into the room. “Are you playing tonight?” he asks.
“Not tonight,” I say. “Just partyin’, ya know.”
Zoe’s gaze glitters more than her shoes when she looks up at me.
Nadia arrives. She shakes her head slowly and commands me out the door with her eyes. That’s a crazy skill right there. I’d never be able to send people off with one look.
“What?” I say. “It’s good luck to—”
“Nope, it’s not, so get the hell out.”
“Your woman swears,” I mutter to Bo as I saunter into the park. The maypole still stands at its center, bogged down with flowers and leaves, but around it, instead of the customary roaming area and dance floor, are rows and rows of chairs.
“Nadia would never swear,” Bo deadpans. “Especially not now.”
“Why not now?”
“Because.”
“Weirdo.”
As the church bell strikes midnight, my woman walks down the path between the chairs. She lifts her chin enough to find me at the end, right in front of the maypole, and it’s old news that I can’t look away. Just—
If anything is to be branded into a man’s mind it’s that moment when all of his dreams come true and he knows for sure that he’ll never ever have to be without his one and only again.
She smiles at me, but her chin trembles. Why? I frown and meet Nadia’s gaze in silent question. Nadia’s focus flicks from me to Zoe. Then she broadens in a smile too. Nadia shakes her head. Mouths, She’s just happy.
And the air deflates from me with relief, because I never want to make her unhappy again.
I say stupid shit in front of the priest. It’s not pretty or logical, but it’s full of everything I feel for this girl. My mother cries. My dad gets teary-eyed when it’s hard for me to stop talking to her. Even the priest laughs, and Zoe, my Zoe, she covers her mouth with hot tears running over her fingers.
“Because I love you like crazy, you crazy girl that I love.” I can’t help singing the last part out like I’m an opera singer, and she lets go of her face with one hand so I can tie her to me with a bright ring.
My love for Zoe isn’t simple or low-key. It isn’t slow and sweet. This thing is big, fast, ostentatious, and all-consuming, and it spears right into the core of who I am. That’s why this ring can’t be discrete and elegant. It has to say—
I’m fucking married! and—
I’m fucking married to Emil of Clown Irruption! and—
Don’t fucking think about it, dude!
My Zee’s gaze lifts to me as she tells me she loves me. She tells me stuff I know about bullets and journalists and groupies and songs I can never sing again. I nod my agreement to all of her rules, because her rules are my lifeline and without them I’d be dust.
“Always,” I whisper when she inhales.
“Always,” I say loudly when the priest asks me if I’ll take her too.
I guffaw at the ring she wiggles onto my finger. It’s so thick it covers most of my joint below the knuckle. It shines new in some silver metal, but what gets me is the inscription.
“MARRIED” reads the side I see up front.
“TAKEN” reads the backside when I turn it.
She wipes the grin off my face with her mouth. She licks it off, delectable and demanding as she murmurs what she wants from me when we’re alone.
The priest makes some joke when we can’t stop our first kiss, and the audience hollers and claps. But I whisper to my Zee, “You didn’t have to do that with the ring, because you’ll be by my side on every tour.”
“I will?” she asks, lifting her gaze slowly like she’s shy, my never-shy Zoe. My biggest grin flashes back on. “Nope. Wives have to leave their careers behind to follow their husbands.”
She snorts against my mouth. “To cook for them and have children?”
“Hey,” I murmur, letting out a relieved breath. “Sounds good to me.”
The night is ours.
We leave after the ceremony but not to be alone. All of our loved ones are with us when we file down to a rock-covered beach. The gravelly sand is slick with seaweed, a different species than a California beach. It embodies Bo’s, Elias’, and my childhoods, and it’s fitting that we end the most important night of my life here.
Scattered bonfires attract howling teenagers. I’d join them—my wife would dance—but the older generation wants privacy so we head for the farthest bend and build a fire of our own.
Hours later, relatives, parents, and babies leave, and it’s just my band and me with my woman secured in my lap. Aishe chats quietly with Elias, a glass of red wine lifted. It’s pink in the glow from the bonfire.
“I’m cold.” Zee’s teeth suddenly clatter, and I onceover her skimpy dress. So pretty, she was, as she said yes to me. God, she said yes.
She fucking said yes!
I crumple a thick blanket around her inside my arms. She giggles when I dip her backwards and kiss her. “You’re obsessed,” she murmurs, eyelashes rising slowly enough for me to see her pupils contract, revealing blue against the orange of the fire.
“Hmm,” I hum against her lips. “What makes you think that?”
A shadow falls over us. The smoke from the bonfire tickles my nostrils as I look up to find out whose it is.
“Guys. Now that we’re alone,” Bo says, and another shadow joins him, leaving Zee and me blocked from the heat of the fire. She shivers, and I’m about to ask them to move when my girl pinches my arm to shut me up.
Ouch, I mouth against her lips.
“What—what?” Elias sings, forming some misinterpreted gang sign at Bo.
Aishe sends Elias a stern look and says, “Elias!” like she’s his mother.
I always did like her spirit.
In our part of the world there is no darkness in the summer, and now that the morning has set in, the charcoal of the night rises into a lighter grey, making it easy to distinguish their features.
Bo’s hand settles around Nadia’s waist, pulling her close to him. Zee and I exchange a look when Nadia dips her nose into his chest, unable to hide her smile.
“Nadia and I have a few announcements to make. I don’t know, Emil and Zoe, unless you’re afraid we’ll steal your thunder?”
“Fuck no!” I shout.
“Bring it!” my wife backs me up from within my arms. As the flames of our bonfire subside, the embers crackle as if they’re surrendering to the sunrise.
Bo’s stare softens, floating down to his girlfriend. “Nadia. She…”
“What—what!?” Elias pipes up again, followed by a slap. From Aishe or Troy, I’m not sure.
Bo chuckles. Head low, he allows Nadia to kiss his cheek before he speaks again. “She’s— Well.”
“Come on, man,” I say.
Bo pulls in a deep breath like he’s got a heavy burden. He doesn’t. Because what he says next, I shouted off my rooftop a few months ago. “My darling has said yes to spend the rest of her life with me.”
“You’re giving up the bachelor life?” I ask and promptly take a smack from the love of my life. “What did I do?” I rub my cheek. She bites her lip, playful, sexy, and my future. That lip is plump, what I’ll chew on as soon as I’ve got her in our honeymoon suite.
“Yes, I’m giving up on the bachelor life,” Bo murmurs, the smile on his face small like it is when stuff means a whole lot to him. “For my family.”
“What family!” Elias has had more than a few beers. Me, I don’t drink anymore. Never again will I jeopardize Zoe for booze.
“This girl here.” Bo strokes Nadia’s face, making her eyes flutter shut. “And…” His hand lifts, withdraws from her cheek, and lands below her boobs. It moves down to her stomach. “And this girl here. Finally, we can tell you. We’re over the first trimester. We don’t take anything for granted, but the doctor says she’s healthy.”
Zoe gets up first. She rushes her friend, hugging her and instantly crying. She bitches about not having been told before the rest of us, kissing Nadia’s face like I should be worried about competition. Then we guys react too. We slap Bo’s back and say stuff, like, “Hell yeah, you stud.”
My girl’s happy.
When she’s happy, I’m happy. And my shit will never hit the fan again.
AISHE
This summer country knows no darkness. It’s fitting that my non-love fire, my non-plague found light with the love of his life in this place.
If I think back to Christmas Eve, it’s too big and too ruled by circumstance to absorb. What occurred was a miracle, with all pieces, all emotions aligned like planets. It could so easily have gone wrong.
This wedding—to witness this happiness; I’m grateful to have been here. With Shandor at my side, I turn now, and wave to the couple in front of the rising sun and the dying embers.
Shandor opens the door to the car. He clenches the handle like he thinks I need help, but I smile, showing him I’m nothing but content and know how to close doors.
As we exit the unkempt beach lot, I swing to study the ocean. It swims with an iridescence only the morning sun can bring. The waves ripple, slow and discordant. They kiss the beach, embrace rocky sand and seaweed, as beautiful and untrustworthy as life.
Feet planted wide at the water’s edge stands my tour mate, he who braved each bump in the road with me, until he didn’t. Calmly, he watches us leave.
I lower the window to see him one last time. Already he’s too far away for me to distinguish his features, but distance won’t hamper my memory. Our past is laced with compassion, tinted with smiles—
Stained with the ultimate betrayal.
I remember safari greens, bright against the deep copper of his skin. I remember how they glittered with amusement, with tenderness… and with heat.
Yes. I remember it all.
Dear Reader,
If you struggle with depression, don’t let yourself become Emil.
Accept help, because—
You’re not the only one. There is help to be had.
Things might look dark, but—
It is never darker than in that last moment before the sun rises.
In the words of The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:
With Help Comes Hope.
Contact them:
Suicidepreventionlifeline.org
1-800-273-TALK
And get well.
NADIA
“Baby,” I croak before I open my eyes. I stretch beneath our sheets, writhing at the sound of the alarm clock. Awakened from dreams colored by our past, my first thought goes to my husband. “Turn it off, babe? Please,” I say.
The alarm keeps beeping, beep-beep-beeping. It’s annoying and chased by my customary just-awake confusion. “Jude, you know how much I hate that sound.”
I’m at home in our apartment in St. Aimo, Los Angeles. Slowly, it registers that the alarm is for me, not him. I turn to face
him, whine softly, but he doesn’t give me the response I crave: a chuckle and a kiss while he playfully commiserates with me.
“Oh sweetie,” he usually murmurs. “I’m sorry you have to leave for school. Maybe you should play hooky and stay in bed for a rubdown? I’ll rub… all the way down.”
I always crack a smirk then, reading between the lines. He would leave us mumbling heated words and gasping for air if I surrendered.
Deep in my belly, something contracts. Something bittersweet and beautiful that hurts, because today, again, he doesn’t react.
I slide from the covers and sit on the edge of the bed. My head feels heavy. It needs support, and for a second, I’m struck by how alive my hand is when I cup my cheek with it.
Soon, I find the courage to rise.
The bathroom door is closed, but I go to it anyway. “Do you remember when you first came to our church?” My words stutter, sleep-exhausted. I exhale and lean my forehead against the door. “Your eyes were bright with fear as you entered the Heavenly Harbor between your parents. You were lanky, a gangly fourteen-year-old, a little boy big enough to have gotten yourself into trouble.”
My throat produces hard lumps so easily these days. This one I muscle down. I control the sadness accompanying it and let a small smile filter out instead. “Oh Jude baby. We didn’t know then, of all the adventures to come.
“I remember sitting in the pews between Mother and Father, head twisted at the creak of the door. You entered on a lull between psalms.
“I didn’t know. We didn’t know.”
I sniff, an attempt at stanching the tears.
The wood of the doorframe cools my cheek. Presses into it as my memories brighten. “Your skin,” I mumble. He’s quiet behind the panel. The shower has stopped—in our bathroom or in the one above us, I’m not sure. If he’s moving, he’s not making a sound. Perhaps he’s listening to me.
“Fine veins shone blue at your temple beneath your too-long hair.” I snort out a wet laugh. “And the sun reached you through the stained-glass window, spilling the rainbow over your face.”
I roll my forehead to the side against the door. “Funny how your parents picked our church because ‘Heavenly Harbor’ sounded like the right kind of place. They wanted the best haven for you.”