AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Blink.
Even Manoosh takes a step away from Perky, whose sudden calm is like the eye of a tornado.
“I hope she enjoyed those four-hundred-dollar extensions, because they’re about to be ripped out at the roots and turned into a merkin I’ll apply to her Brazilian-waxed pissflaps with Krazy Glue,” Perky declares, turning toward the building and sprinting so fast.
Manoosh gapes.
“Someone needs to stop her,” I tell him. “You or me?”
“Damn it,” he mutters, taking off, grabbing her by the waist just before she reaches the main doors.
It’s kind of a relief to have someone else managing my best friend, the fireball.
But it also feels really good to know her outrage is on my behalf.
Every step toward my car–uh oh.
Damn it.
There is no “my car.” I came here with Will. In his car.
I crack. Right there on the asphalt, barely finding my way to a small island covered with fresh mulch and flowering hostas. My ass finds the cement parking berm and I collapse, knees open, spiky high heels wobbling on the uneven pavement until they settle where they belong, angling my legs into the position that causes the least pain, leads to the least tension.
Leaning back, I let the mulch touch my shoulder blades, dig into the back of my hair, the grounding with the earth affirming and gritty. My tongue presses against the roof of my mouth, fitting into the curves of my teeth. As I move it, I realize how hard I’m pushing. Unconscious pressure inside my body, applied by another part of my body, causes me physical pain.
Why do I do this to myself?
The same can be said for what my teenage self does to my adult self. Insidious and silent, she just acts, forging behavior paths that seem adult on the surface but are driven by a child underneath.
I’m not just done with this reunion.
I am done letting the past dictate my present.
Each breath makes my body feel more real, like those moments when Will touched me. Behind closed eyes, I connect with all the parts of me. Fingertips, toes, lips, ears, belly button–they’re all me, and they’re all done, too.
Being done means closing a door. And when you close a door, you move into a new space, one you get to assess and experience on your own terms.
“Mallory!” Will’s urgent, worried voice startles me, making my muscles constrict, the edges of the mulch chips digging in, scratching me. My thighs rest against the cold concrete edge, eyes opening to find him standing over me, blocking out the stars.
“Did you fall? Are you hurt?” A gentle hand goes to my cheek as he crouches, the faint scent of his cologne, of sweet beer, and a thumping beat between us that has its own olfactory trigger, all coming together.
I should sit up. I should react. I should say something.
Instead, I just look up and stare at him, a bleak hollowness reassuring in its truth.
Anticipation is a two-sided coin that feels like it’s all heads or all tails, depending on the situation. What I’m experiencing right this moment, as Will moves his hand from my face and sits next to me, bending back, imitating my child’s position on the landscaped space, is the absence of anticipation.
It’s so freeing.
“You know,” he says with a soft chuckle, “for someone who never left town, you sure do run away a lot.”
I don’t laugh. I don’t say anything. His words don’t hurt, but he has a point.
“You’re not hurt,” he finally says.
“Not my body,” I reply with brutal honesty.
“Good. I’m sorry about your feelings.”
