by Lily Summers
Ezra wraps his arms around my back, pulling me in close as his hips buck and he moans in satisfaction.
Eventually we disentangle ourselves and lay side by side, getting our breath back.
“I could do that every day for a long, long time,” Ezra says.
I chuckle. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Good.”
As I look at the skyline of NYC sprawling across the wall near our feet, I turn an idea over in my head. It feels huge and frightening, but also necessary.
“I’d like to do something special for the anniversary, but I’ll need help,” I say. “Are you up for it?”
Ezra rolls toward me and spreads his hand over my belly. Heat blooms in my skin under his touch. I suspect it always will.
“You know me,” he says. “I’m up for anything. Whatever you need.”
I run my fingers over his jaw. As long as he’s with me, I can be brave. Together, we’ll take our loss and turn it into beauty.
Everything leads to this.
“It’s time for me to stop hiding my heart away,” I say.
We kiss and he lies next to me, our bodies molding against each other until I almost forget where I end and he begins.
In the dark, I say, “There’s one thing I have to do first.”
Ezra doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. He understands.
30
I make the call and arrange a meeting. This time, I leave a note for Audrey to let her know where I’m going and that I’ll be back.
There’s a chill wind blowing today, and I shiver underneath my coat, though not only due to the cold. The iron gates in front of me are wide open, but I’m having a hard time stepping through them. It’s been almost a year. I should have called Mom and Dad, but I needed to do this on my own.
Finally, I steel myself and move, walking past the gates and into the cemetery.
I walk toward the stone markers jutting up out of the earth. Most of the stones are plain, though some are shaped like crosses or angels. They stand out stark and gray-white against the green grass. The entire place smells like turned soil and stone, which isn’t as unpleasant as it sounds.
Finally, I find what I’m looking for. It’s a small, unassuming marker with two doves carrying a vine between them etched above the words “Iris Marie Kavanagh, Beloved Daughter and Sister.”
I twist the stems of the bouquet of purple peonies I’m carrying. It took forever to find a florist who carried them, but I wouldn’t settle for anything less. It’s my way of saying sorry. I wish so desperately I could have given these to her when she was alive. My sorrow momentarily squeezes the air out of my lungs.
A breeze whispers by, fluttering the hem of my skirt. I reach into my purse to check my phone. Only a few minutes left.
What do you say to the sister you lost too soon?
I start with, “Hi.”
Then, “I have no idea what to say to you.”
It’s funny, not having anything to say to my best friend, and I almost laugh. I kneel down and set the flowers on the grass by her stone. Gently, I reach out to trace the letters of her name. This almost feels like a performance, the bereaved sister coming home at last to face her grief. If this were a movie, I’d say something sappy and deep about how the world has less color without her in it. But that’s not who we were, and she’d laugh her ass off if I tried to wax poetic. I came here to tell her the truth, and that’s what I’m going to do.
“I was so pissed at you that night,” I say. “Like, really pissed. I’ve never been so mad at you.”
I take a breath. The words are coming like a flood now, I can’t stop them.
“But as mad as I was, I never wanted this. I always wonder what would have happened if I had just stayed the extra night at school instead of coming home early. Maybe this would have happened anyway, I don’t know.”
My heart twists and I have to pause. The impulse to blame myself is strong and I have to fight it back. Deep down, I know she wouldn’t want me to. I reach out to fiddle with the flowers, rearranging them so they lean against the stone while I swallow the painful lump in my throat.
When I can speak again, I say, “I miss you, Iris. Every single day. I miss your laugh, and your taste in music, and your ridiculous party stories. I miss hearing my phone and knowing it’s you. I would give anything to have you here. I could tell you I met someone, and that he’s amazing, but that can wait until next visit. I came here to say I love you. I’m sorry I waited so long.”
With a shaky breath, I raise my fingertips to my mouth and kiss them, then reach out to touch the gravestone. It’s smooth and cool. I can almost feel some of the heated pain draining away, and I wonder if I’ll leave a little more behind every time I visit.
Behind me, someone clears their throat.
My shoulders tense, so I close my eyes and will them to loosen. I called him here. This needs to happen.
I turn to find Damien standing near another headstone. His hands are buried deep in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched up, like he’s preparing for a fight. He looks thinner than I remember him, more drawn. I wonder if he remembers me differently, too.
“Thanks for coming,” I say.
He shrugs, flicking a furtive glance at Iris’s grave. Being here makes him uncomfortable, and I can’t feel too sorry about that.
“You said you needed to say something, so here I am,” he says. “You need closure. I get it. Lay it on me.”
He stiffens up, bracing for a verbal blow. A month ago, I might have laid into him until there was nothing left, but that’s not what I want anymore. I just want some answers.
“Why?” I ask.
Damien blinks and frowns, clearly confused by my question. “Why what?” he says.
“Why were you sleeping with my sister?”
He grimaces and looks away. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? That’s not why you’re here.”
“No, I guess not,” I agree
I look down at my hands. He’s not wrong. It doesn’t matter why they were together, it only matters that she’s gone. He had a hand in that, and my stomach roils at the idea that it might happen to anyone else. I need to know that he’s gotten better. For my sake, and for his.
“How was rehab?” I ask.
“Horrible,” he says. “But necessary. I didn’t want to get better at first. Then I watched the other people around me, and the only people who graduated from the program were the ones who really wanted to be better. It changed things for me.”
I nod. “I’m glad to hear that, because if I’m going to do this, it’s important for me to know that you intend to make your sobriety a permanent thing.”
“No question in my mind,” he says, and when I see the look on his face, I believe him.
I shift from foot to foot, considering what I want to say next. A chill winds through the graves. I came here to find the strength to move on. I’ve been walking around with a hole in my heart because I never got the chance to say goodbye, and because I’m holding on to so much blame. In order to forgive Iris, and to forgive myself, I need to let my anger go. Blaming Damien isn’t helping me heal.
“This isn’t absolution for what you did, and it isn’t an invitation for you to come back into my life,” I say. “Whatever we had before, it’s over and done. I don’t want to be friends. After today, I would rather not hear from you at all.”
Damien’s voice is quiet, but he understands. “That’s fair.”
“Good.” I brush my fingers along the top of Iris’ stone. “I’m doing this because she wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life hating you, and I don’t want to spend my life that way, either.”
Damien doesn’t respond, he only waits.
Breathe in, breathe out. The cemetery is so quiet.
“I forgive you, Damien,” I say, and I mean it. When the words leave my mouth, I feel lighter. I didn’t realize how heavy they were.
He closes his eyes. “Thank you.”
&nbs
p; “Please don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.”
There’s nothing more for us to say to one another. I tilt my head toward Iris’ grave.
“I’d like some more time with her,” I say.
“I understand,” Damien says.
I watch him as he walks away. No platitudes, no “have a nice life.” We’re footnotes in one another’s past, and that’s fine with me. I wait until he disappears from view before I kneel back down on the grass.
“So that happened,” I say. “I’m pretty sure you’d approve. You never did like it when people were at odds.”
The leaves on the nearby trees rustle in the wind, and I look up at the sun. It’s moving into mid-morning.
“I’ve got to go. I hope the view’s nice on the other side. I’ll see you soon.”
There’s no response, no sign from above, but that’s all right. I don’t need it anymore.
I wander back through the gravestones to the entrance. I’ve avoided this place for so long, and now that I’m here, it’s hard for me to imagine what I thought it would be like. It’s not depressing in the way I thought it would be. Actually, it’s kind of beautiful. Quiet and strange, in this melancholic way, but the sun slices through the trees in just the right way, dancing, dappled, across the gravestones.
Iris would love it here.
The breeze follows me back out of the gates as I walk toward the red Jeep parked nearby. Ezra’s leaned back in the driver’s seat with his eyes closed and the sunshine cutting across his chest. I have to smile, because he looks like a handsome cat basking in the warmth. When I open the passenger side door, he cracks an eye to look at me.
“You okay?” he says, sitting up and repositioning the seat. “You know I would have gone with you if you needed me to.”
“I know,” I say. “But I needed to do this alone.”
He reaches out to put a hand on my knee. “Did you do what you needed to do?”
I look out the window as he starts the car, feeling the warmth of the sun filtered through the window.
“I feel better now,” I say.
“Then that’s all that matters.”
As we pull out of the cemetery lot, I say, “Could you take a right up here?”
“Sure,” Ezra says. “Where are we going?”
“I promised my parents I’d come visit more often. They probably won’t be expecting me twice in one week, but I figure they won’t mind since I didn’t stay long last time. You okay with that?”
He shoots me that megawatt grin that made me fall a little in love with him the very first time I saw it.
“I think I’ll manage,” he says.
We turn right into a new day.
31
The anniversary of Iris’ death dawns crisp and bright, exactly like the day we laid her to rest. It’s appropriate, I think. Perfect weather for a Deathday party.
As I’m finishing out my shift at Pages & Stages before the big event, a woman comes up to the counter, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s the woman in the purple fur coat that I helped all that time ago. Except her coat is red today, and she wears bangles instead of rings. Her smile puts more folds into her soft skin.
“Hi, doll,” she says. “You finally sharing your secrets with the world?”
“Something like that,” I say, not sure if I want to know how she could tell so easily. “You here for another play?”
“Mmhm. Neil Simon’s Rumors, I think,” she says, waving at the selection of scripts.
Sampson goes to fetch the play from the shelf and brings it up to the register for us.
The woman adjusts the ruff of her coat around her neck and winks at me as she pays. “Bleeding that poison’s been good for you, I can tell,” she says. “Take care, sweetheart.”
“You too.” I smile softly after her. I wonder what she’d think if she knew I sketch her late at night.
I suspect she’d be flattered.
As I’m locking up, I’m hit with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. It’s dark and cool, and not so very long ago, I took a few steps down this sidewalk and saw a guy tagging a wall. The rest is, as they say, history.
Too cheesy? Too cheesy.
But I’m okay with cheesy these days.
The wharf-side warehouse near Broadway Bridge is already thrumming with activity. The people in charge of The Catacombs party were very receptive to Ezra’s venue suggestion, probably because the lights look completely amazing reflected in the river.
As soon as I walk through the door, Sampson intercepts me. His boyfriend waves at me from behind him.
“I think I might be a little old for this party,” Sampson says over the music.
“You’re twenty-eight, not eighty,” I say.
“What are we celebrating again?”
I inhale and steel myself for another hard conversation. “It’s my sister’s memorial party. She died a year ago today.”
Sampson stands there with his arms folded. I wait for the questions and the inevitable look of pity.
“Thank you for inviting me,” he says. “It means a lot.”
I wait. He doesn’t say anything else.
“That’s it?” I say.
He blinks. “Was I supposed to react another way?”
“No,” I say. “I guess I’m surprised that you’re not asking what happened, or cringing, or getting really weird and uncomfortable at the mention of death.”
He shrugs. “It happens. To everyone, you know?”
“Yeah. I guess it does.”
“Though now that you mention it,” Sampson says, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I can see that’s what’s been dampening you down over the last year. Over the last few weeks, though, you’ve seemed like a different person, in a good way. If this party is part of that healing process, then I’m glad to be here.”
His sincerity makes me feel unnervingly squishy and emotional.
“Good,” I say. “I’m glad you brought Kenneth.”
“Naturally. I don’t go out without Kenneth.”
He wanders off and I push deeper into the crowd. The expanse of the warehouse is decked in string lights and purple, and bunches of live lavender and irises in pots are scattered everywhere – on tables, on the bar, even near the dance floor. This is the sort of wake Iris would’ve loved.
On the dance floor, Duke spins remixes of all of Iris’ favorite 90s songs while Skylar overlays the vocals. Her sultry voice sings the refrain to “I’ll Be Missing You” by Puff Daddy and I have to stand still for a minute to let it wash over me. They worked with me to finalize the set list, and it’s absolutely perfect. Every song brings up happy memories.
Audrey finds me and gathers me up in a hug. I smile to let her know I’m okay.
I scan the crowd for Ezra, but he’s nowhere to be seen. He’s probably putting the finishing touches on something or other. Leon manages to spot us and brings over two beers.
“What’s this?” I say as I take it from him.
“It’s a lavender and lemon thyme saison I’ve been experimenting with, and I finally had a batch that was ready for prime time. What better place to debut it, right?”
I smell the drink in my glass and it reminds me of sundresses and summer. “It’s perfect,” I say.
“I’m thinking of calling it The Purple Girl, after Ezra’s painting,” Leon says. “If that’s okay with you.”
Gratitude floods through my chest. “I’d be honored,” I say.
Opening up about Iris to all of my new friends terrified me at first. I’m not used to laying it all out there for anyone to pick over, but in order to make this party happen, I had to let them in. It’s been remarkably freeing. Even when things got awkward, I felt supported. Not having to keep my secrets hidden away makes me feel a thousand pounds lighter.
The aura of the room is completely different from the last time I was at one of these Catacomb parties. Everyone’s smiling and talking to me like I belong here. I wonder if everyone else has c
hanged, or if I’m the one who changed.
The volume of the music dips down low as someone climbs up on the DJ podium to take the mic from Skylar. When I look to see who it is, I’m unsurprised to find Ezra calming down the crowd. Seeing him sends a wave of euphoria washing through me. Funny how love does that.
“Thanks for coming, everyone,” he says into the microphone. “Tonight, we’re celebrating the life of Iris Kavanagh, who I hear loved everything on offer at this party. In her honor, make sure you dance. Make sure you laugh. Make sure you love. Make sure you live.”
The crowd cheers and my heart swells.
Ezra raises his glass. “To Iris,” he says.
As one, I watch everyone around me lift their glass in return and repeat, “To Iris.”
My eyes have gone misty on me and I have to blink them clear.
After everyone takes a drink, Ezra says, “I’m going to ask that we all move it up to the roof for a few. There’s something you have to see.”
He puts the mic on Duke’s podium and hops down, weaving through the tide of the moving crowd until he reaches me. As soon as he comes close, I grip his shirt in my fingers and pull him down for a kiss, which he doesn’t seem to mind at all.
“Thank you,” I say. “For all of this.”
“It wouldn’t happen without you,” he says. “Come on. Let’s go.”
My nerves sneak up on me. This is it. The big reveal.
Despite my nervousness, I feel ready.
We’re two of the last people to reach the roof, the cool air greeting us on the other side of the door. The crowd’s gathered in front of a large tarp covering a brick outcropping, and my heart hammers in my throat as we approach.
Ezra and I make our way to the front. I wait for him to take up the cloth to reveal what’s underneath. He doesn’t make a move.
“This is all you,” he says, taking my beer from me.
I pick up the fabric and close my eyes, thinking of my sister. One year ago, my world shattered apart in too many ways to count. I didn’t even try to pick up the pieces, I just hoped they’d disappear.
Now I know better. I’ll never be quite the same again, but I can rebuild. I’ve already started, and this time I have help.