Savor It

Chapter 19. Fisher

I haven’t heard from Sage for a full forty-eight hours since our first canoe lesson. I try not to get too spun out over it. Maybe I was too open, or maybe I offended her by even suggesting a friends-with-benefits arrangement?

It’s probably for the best. I’m not sure it’d be smart for me to throw myself at her feet, either. I just knew that I wanted to.

But wanting isn’t always the wisest reason to make a decision, so I wanted to acknowledge that at the same time.

Things with Indy are holding steady for the most part. I think she’s annoyed that I picked her up from summer school today instead of letting her catch a ride home from Sam or Blake, but she hides it well. Despite the mildly sick feeling that I’ve carried through the day over the state of things with Sage, Indy and I manage a nice evening together. She works on schoolwork at the kitchen island while I throw together a panzanella and drink a jar of wine.

After dinner, we sit in the living room and watch Friends reruns on the couch, and just as my eyelids start to feel heavy, she asks, “Did Mom ever tell you about the carpool thing?”

I sit up and search my brain. “I don’t think so,” I say.

She shakes her head. “These stupid mom cliques were always such bitches to her,” she tells me. “Even when I was little and playing soccer, they’d never let her be part of the carpool rotation.”

Anger razes through my chest when I think about that town and those people again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around more, Ind. For both of you.”

She scowls and tucks her feet farther under her on the couch. “It’s not your fault they were ignorant shits.”

“Am I supposed to ask you to watch the language, or…?” I genuinely have no clue.

She only shrugs with her arms folded, hands hugging her sides. “You know, Sam’s mom was sixteen when she had him, too,” she says. “But it doesn’t sound like they dealt her the scarlet letter around here.”

The sadness that pierces through my chest hits me so strongly and severely I want to claw at it and rip it back out. How could those nothing people continue to treat Freya like they’d deserved the same air as my kind-to-a-fault sister, let alone like they were better than she was?

“Sam’s mom was probably already one of them,” I guess. “You know how townies protect their own.”

After a few silent seconds, she says, “I think I’m still angry at her. I’ll never understand why she kept us there.”

The ache surges so deep I imagine it squeezing my bones.

“I wish I knew, too,” I croak. “I don’t know why Grandma and Grandpa are still hanging around that place, either.” They were the original pariahs, after all. The ones that ended up having to find work two towns over.

“Probably because they’ve been indoctrinated now,” she replies bitterly. “Nan has a bunco group and everything.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope,” she says, the p popping in anger.

I don’t know what to make of that, so I don’t try to offer any explanation or commentary.

“Indy, I’m sorry,” I say. I’ve tried to apologize in roundabout ways before, but they were stiff conversations that I always brought all my justifications to. I thought it would be best. I thought Grandma and Grandpa would do a better job than me. Now that we seem to be figuring things out as we go, I also feel sorry that I missed years where we could’ve been doing the same. “I should’ve been there for you. It’s what your mom asked me to do, and I’m so sorry that I wasn’t.”

She only stares at me for a few beats. “I’m glad we’re together now,” she says.

“Me, too.”

We do the exact same awkward Midwesterner-rolled-lips smile at each other in synchrony, before they both turn into a real laugh. And then we slip back into a comfortable silence in the glow of the television.

“Did you know,” Indy says toward the end of another episode, “that Mom was coming home from one of those pyramid scheme MLM parties the day of the accident? Of all the stupid things in all the world, it’s like she died trying to find her people. Still trying to find somewhere to fit in.”

I watch a tear fall silently down her face, so much like Freya’s it’s unbearable. I shove down the urge to shy away from my own pain over this, something I defaulted to for far too long. If Indy can be brave like she’s being right now, I can, too. I let the knot tighten in my throat, surrender to my tears as they quietly come.

“When I was smaller, I thought maybe one day we could move to New York, by you,” she says. “I thought if she got out, you guys might end up like Ross and Monica or something. Like she’d go to a coffee shop and sit on a couch and miraculously find us a new life.” She half laughs, like she doesn’t want me to think she’s serious or like she’s telling me how ridiculous that dreamer is to her now. “And it wouldn’t matter that I was the girl with the teen mom or that I didn’t have a dad, because it would be a whole different world, you know? Not just the same people trying to fulfill their same parents’ mediocre, empty, suburban dreams in the same fucking place all the time.”

I’m not sure why it breaks my heart that this is her take on things when I’ve always had the same outlook. I’m also not certain that sharing my experience from here on the other side (with how that’s going for me) will help her cynicism, though.

I think of Sage and her relentless determination to make something beautiful with all that she’s had at her fingertips, in spite of her life’s tragedies. If I can help Indy adopt that mindset, I think she’d be okay no matter where she ended up.

“I think finding the right people—finding your people—can be the thing that makes anywhere feel like home,” I say.

She selects the next episode and doesn’t look my way. “Or,” she says, “you learn quickly that no other person has that kind of power, anyway. The kind to make you happy. So you figure out what you want and where you want it, and you go after it. Like you did.” Another zap of pain before she adds, “And maybe anyone that fits into that is who your people are meant to be.”

Long after she falls asleep, I find myself still thinking about that. About how even successfully ending up in New York and reaching what I’d thought was a dream didn’t end up making me happy. Didn’t really end with me finding my people, either. Carlie and her family are somewhat close, but I was always still an employee. I realize that I managed to let other people dictate my life’s direction, in a way, even from the other side of the country.

The determination that etches itself into me now is a quieter kind, something seasoned and calm. Next time, I’ll truly be doing it for me. To prove to myself that I can and to show Indy, too. I’ll take the life I have at my fingertips and make something of it. I’ll spend more time with people outside of work. I’ll say yes when people invite me out for drinks, and I’ll take Indy to some Broadway shows. I’ll stop to listen to the musicians in the park for once. I’ll emulate what Sage seems to employ, and I’ll experience those small joys I too often ignored.

The following morning, Indy asks again if she can go with her friends after class, and this time, I oblige. The day stretches before me like a blank slate—or maybe a bit more like a chasm. I don’t have work to take solace or find distraction in. There’s not much else I can do for Starhopper until Frankie shows up tomorrow for us to begin on that stage of things. I’ve sketched out the changes I’d suggest for the kitchen layout already. And I think I’d like to do something other than work, anyway, so fiddling with menu ideas today doesn’t interest me.

I pull out my phone and contemplate texting Sage. We can’t avoid each other forever… unless she wants to now? Unless, as Indy would say, I “fucked up the vibe” and now she’d rather bail on the deal altogether. But I’ve already got my end of the bargain, really. Why wouldn’t she want me to help her get hers?

Fuck. Unless I misread something somewhere along the way? It’s not completely inconceivable.

I can’t sit here and continue winding myself up about it, I know that much is true. I do a mental scroll of anything else I can tackle to be productive. I could start studying for the trivia thing? But I’ve got no clue what to study, so I’d need her for that as well. I would rather not “practice” preparing three courses for me, myself, and I today for the cooking competition. Besides, we haven’t quite gone over all those details yet, either. Are we limited on how we’re supposed to prepare each meal? What are the time constraints, et cetera?

It’s time to put into practice what I decided I would last night, to find some small joys for myself. It takes a disturbing amount of time for me to land on physical exertion. I figure it checks off multiple boxes, anyway. Even if it’s not canoeing, it’s still some kind of training, and endorphins never hurt when it comes to the mind.