The False Flat

CHAPTER 20

THREE FEET BETWEEN US

I don’t like Grant. I don’t like Grant. I don’t like Grant.

Those were the seventh, eighth, and ninth times I had repeated that under my breath in response to him saying two words to me: “Hi, Penelope.”

I sat next to Grant in a large white van roughly two weeks later and picked at my seat belt in the row behind the front, counting off the nine reasons why I’d probably regret my decision to go to Bonnaroo.

Van roster: Me, Grant, William, Chuck, King, Halo. No Deanna. Deanna wasn’t going to Bonnaroo. She, Mere, and Keyondra had procured a huge catering gig (without penises). Deanna wasn’t going to Bonnaroo.

A skeleton was driving the van: Jack the Pumpkin King, to be exact.

My feelings for Grant were getting more muddled. He’d encouraged me to ride when I’d been hesitant after my accident. He’d talked—about trivial things: organic toothpaste and the best lighting for property photography—while riding by my side, far behind the rest of the pack. This weird connection we had made me comfortable and uncomfortable.

Grant smelled good, always the same, with slight variations: fresh-cut grass or pine or maple, always something from nature, always mixed with the faint hint of trail mix. Smelling your friends is acceptable, right? That’s allowed and doesn’t have to mean anything.

Grant’s girlfriend. He was off limits. A friend. The novelty of his attention would wear off, eventually. It had to because if it didn’t—

King’s crystal-wearing, zen-goddess girlfriend Halo, who didn’t believe in shaving her armpits, and incidentally, the only other woman in the van.

Elaine wasn’t in the van for some work reason. I couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing. Elaine and the rest of this birthday party were meeting us there. Grant and I were friends.

No Chad. He’d accused me of taking time away from us, forbade me to go, then retracted his order when he saw my face and assured me I wasn’t the kind of girl who enjoyed camping and told me I’d be miserable. He probably wasn’t wrong, but I hadn’t wanted to back down, so I’d told him I was going whether he went or not. He decided not to come, and we’d had our first official fight as a couple.

Deanna wasn’t going to Bonnaroo.

Life crawled with complication, and Deanna’s idea hadn’t made things any clearer.

I’d taken small steps forward during the past couple of weeks. I’d met a little man named Myra at the coffee station outside my office after he’d had a massage to help with his sciatica. He was cute and cozy and the best part of that day, and our conversation—where I didn’t need to turn him into a number—traveled from coffee flavors to discussing what I did for a living.

“I’m a financial planner,” I told him. “I’ve been trying to start my business, but I’m afraid it’s not going so well.”

“You don’t say?” He sipped his coffee, and his wild eyebrows made me smile. “Do you know your stuff? Make people money?”

“I do. I know what to do once I have someone’s account. The problem is getting there in the first place.”

“Would an old man like me benefit from your services?”

I took him to my office, and after an hour of answering questions and repeating my usual presentation, I added his modest accounts to my book.

Then I met with Piper as scheduled earlier this week. She’d been in a hurry and had essentially thrown her money at me. Girl had bread (gluten-free bread, but still). She didn’t want to take the time to understand all the details. She said that’s what she had me for. I’d even managed to avoid the massage she’d threatened me with.

But I couldn’t get excited because as soon as I’d added them, Chad’s parents had pulled their business. Chad had tried to tell me that it wouldn’t last, that they’d had to do it to show Vicki support, but it was another blow. And I knew they wouldn’t be back. I didn’t want them back.

But I couldn’t stop second-guessing myself. I’d entered a cycle of doubt that I couldn’t seem to escape from, which had started after losing the Fletchers and having my character questioned and had snowballed from there.

So, I’d spent most of my time perusing job listings at various companies around Nashville. My WeWork contract was up in a little over a week, and the leasing office warned me that if someone else came along who needed a longer commitment, they wouldn’t be able to hold my place.

I loved Nashville. I had a friend. Friends. But what if I’d simply acted too rashly?

People made the kinds of life-altering decisions I had after careful months of thought and planning. I hadn’t thought any of it through when I’d left TCF in March; I’d acted on impulse, out of desperation. My plans now seemed to be written on a ticking clock, which made action almost impossible. Faced with all the potential choices and pathways, I felt paralyzed.

So, Deanna or not, I was taking this trip to get away from all the pressure, and hopefully acquire some sort of clarity. I promised my answer about a longer commitment by Monday, June 26, a day before my lease was up, if no one wanted the space by then. I’d face that if I had to. But I should’ve biked to Bonnaroo.

When we stepped out of the van, a woman, covered in gold paint with strategically placed jewels serving as her only clothing, sashayed past us on stilettos as she winked, slowly licked her lips, and blew a kiss at Chuck.

“What kinda hell is this?” Chuck said.

I legit giggled, then pointed to a stand loaded with cotton candy in clear bags. “At least they have cotton candy. I’ll be getting some of that.”

William threw his arms out. “Embrace it, Chuck. This is our new home. At least for the night.”

Chuck grimaced. Everything about him was rugged: thick beard, sun-worn face, hands pocked with calluses. His lost-cowboy drawl was right at home in his plaid mountain man shirt, and when he spoke, his voice—no matter the words coming out of his mouth—said, It’ll all work out fine. A number six, rolling through life like he was on a wheel.

King laughed and squeezed Halo’s butt as his eyes followed the nearly naked Amazon woman. “You’d rock an outfit like that, babe.”

She whipped around, putting hands on hips. “Do you know what kind of chemicals are in that paint?” Halo kept talking, something about the environment, as she followed King, who was making a beeline for a vendor selling beer.

William gestured to the retreating couple. “How long do you think they’re gonna last?”

“I give ’em less than a week,” Chuck said.

“I say they don’t even make it through this trip,” I added, surprising myself. They’d argued about the stupidest things on the way down here. How to properly fray a garment. Women’s fashion in the 1800s. The exact cause of the impending honeybee extinction. I didn’t see how they’d made it this far.

“I’ll take that bet.” Chuck extended his hand. “’Cause I’m guessin’ there are enough mind-altering substances around here that their differences won’t matter.”

“You guys are horrible,” Grant said in all his Grantiness. “Leave them alone.”

“Don’t you wonder how they got together in the first place?” I asked.

“Sex,” Chuck said. “Speakin’ a sex, here comes your girlfriend, Grant.” Chuck nodded to the group walking toward them.

Every ounce of excitement washed down to my toes as flawless Elaine walked over to us. Her soft waves somehow defied the summer humidity as she wrapped her arms around Grant and said, “We’ve been waiting for you guys!” Then she planted her coquettish red lips right on his.

“Where’s Deanna, Will?” Someone else, a man this time.

After William explained Deanna’s absence, I was introduced to the rest of their party, three other people whose names I forgot three seconds after hearing them.

I tried to concentrate on what this athletic blonde woman was saying, but my eyes kept wandering to Grant and the woman who wasn’t leaving his side. And how she kept finding excuses to touch him. A charming laugh with a sweep down his forearm. An absentminded caress on his back as the group batted around conversation.

It didn’t bother me. Of course it didn’t. And it didn’t bother me that she continued to cling to Grant’s arm like a fungus. A gorgeous, intelligent little fungus.

I looked away. Wasn’t that what a happy couple should look like? I hated public displays of affection, though. That was it: the only reason I’d started fantasizing about shaving the woman’s head in her sleep was that open affection freaked me out.

William walked up to my left. “You okay? You ... look like you want to strangle someone.”

I counted to five, stopped gritting my teeth, and forced a laugh.

“A fly won’t stop bothering me.” I waved a hand in front of my face, swatting at the nonexistent insect. “Super annoying. Anyway, I’m gonna get a drink.”

He looked as if he’d bought my fly story. “Get me one, too, would ya?”

“Sure, what do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

As I stood in a short line, I twisted the band around my wrist and focused on the large stage. The dreadlocks on the drummer’s head flew up and down like animated breadsticks, keeping time with hands that moved like pieces of a machine. It was loud, the music, the laughter, the chatter; the whole place was alive. I tried to soak it in as I stood amid the colors of “Roo”—shirts, tents, banners, and skin tones.

Chuck, who’d joined William when I returned, screwed up his nose. “Wine?”

“What’s wrong with wine?”

Chuck looked at William, then back at me. “I’ll be right back with a real drink.”

As Chuck walked off, William said, “Guess how many times Deanna has texted asking if you’re okay?”

“Three?” Deanna had tasked, threatened really, William, Grant, and Chuck with making sure I had a good time.

“Five.”

“She’s an amazing person, your wife.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without her.” He looked lost without Deanna by his side.

I patted his shoulder. It was sweet.

I stared at Grant and perfect Elaine because my defiant eyes wouldn’t stop floating over there no matter how many times I told them not to. Grant was talking to a small group. From this distance, I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but everyone had smiles on their faces. Grant belonged with someone like Elaine, someone without baggage. Grant was someone to get invested in, to get lost in, to get lost with. Which made him the exact kind of person I needed to avoid.

Why was I thinking about this?

I shoved up and told them I was going to take a tour of the vendors, hoping my “Oh really” and “That’s great” were appropriate responses to whatever they’d been saying.

I bought a lavender lip balm and a handmade quilt that looked like it’d been pulled from a mermaid’s undersea dwelling, my souvenirs.

The sun slid across the sky, and morning faded into afternoon. When my legs no longer wanted to support me, I found the group again and sipped more wine out of a red Solo cup as I listened to Chuck’s stories while music hummed in the background. Someone suggested getting closer to the stage as shades of evening began to bloom in the sky.

The noise and the wine dislodged the unhealthy thoughts that wanted to nestle in my brain. I’d been sure I was going to short-circuit in a crowd this size, but there was something to this carefree atmosphere, like everyone had left their troubles back home. I liked it. I needed it because I knew reality would soon rip this moment of peace away from me.

The wristband turned me into a superhero, immune to the past, living only in the present, where grown men wore onesies and glow bracelets were the only necessary evening uniform. I wasn’t even looking at Grant, who I knew was only a person or two away from me, when our group stood as close to the stage as the crowd would allow. This evening was for me. I declared it so. The wine agreed.

A new band was introduced, took the stage, wound up the crowd. The roar finally calmed as guitar strums reverberated from the platform.

Arms pumped. Feet jumped. Hair moved in the wind. And the lyrics of a band I’d never heard of before swirled around me, then climbed inside my body. The earth spun under my soles. I felt like I was somewhere else entirely, like the hundreds of people suddenly didn’t exist around me. The woman’s voice somersaulted over the crowd, singing only for me.

“It’s in my mind. I can’t outrun ...”

My eyes scanned the crowd, trying to judge whether anyone else could hear what I was hearing or if I was imagining the words summing up my life.

“Peering over the edge . . .”

Flutters in my stomach.

“All the memories are tied up.”

Someone bumped into me, and I looked around. Caught myself on nothing, held up by the words, as if they were a cane.

“I’ll keep riding, riding, riding ...”

The notes beat against my skin.

“And all I need is love.”

My eyes traveled to Grant. I couldn’t help it, not after the wine had dulled my perfect pretense. And he was looking right back. We stood still, our gaze steady over the vibration of the crowd.

“Can you give me some?”

The rays of the setting sun reached between us, burning the moment into history.

“It’s there in your eyes.”

Eyes sparkled, spoke in time with the music, focus unbroken.

“I’ll pull down my disguise.”

Something more than friends.

“But will you stay or disappear?”

Music slowed. Life suspended.

“I was alone, but somehow you’ve stayed right by my side ...”

And then, Grant was moving toward me. This was it.

Things were about to change.