Chapter 11 #4
“She got injured.” Beth shrugged as if that cleanly determined why that accomplishment didn’t register to her as a success.
“Okay then, how about the fact that you’re painting again?” Liv’s eyes picked up tiny reflections of dancing fire as she bent down, tossing another piece of wood onto the burning pile.
Beth froze, momentarily thrown off. She hadn’t told anyone other than Sarah and Sean that she was painting again.
On one particularly long drive to look at a set of custom reupholstered seats for Liv’s Bronco, Beth had confided in Liv the painter’s block she had been experiencing since Jamie’s death.
But she hadn’t mentioned she was working past it.
“How did you—”
“Around October, you started having paint in your hair or small splatters on your clothing. That wasn’t happening when we met over the summer. Am I wrong?”
While she considered Liv to be a good friend, there was a lot they were learning about each other.
But one thing had become crystal clear since she had started getting to know Liv and that was that Liv was one of the most observant people Beth had ever met.
The only time she tried to ask Liv about her unique powers of observation, Liv had steered their conversation in an entirely different direction.
“No, you’re not wrong,” Beth said quietly. Watching the piece of wood she had just placed into the fire be swallowed by the flames, she reached into the box for another piece of timber, fingers scraping the cardboard until she came up with the last piece. “What’s next?”
“Now we read our intentions. I’ll go first.” Liv picked up her piece of wood, reading what she had written earlier. “I choose to live a life that asks nothing of me except honesty. Pfft,” she scoffed, “of course the universe picked that one. What’s yours say?”
Beth’s fingers wrapped around the hard surface of the small piece of two-by-four on which she had written her intention. “I choose to be open.” She laughed as she read the words aloud. The universe really did have a sense of humor, didn’t it?
“What’s so funny?” Liv cocked her head to the side, eyeing her curiously.
“Nothing, it’s—I don’t know how much more open I can be. I’m open to dating. Open to love, open to new friendships, open to new experiences. What else is left?”
“I don’t know if it’s quite that literal. Is there anything that feels out of reach?”
Sarah.
The thought popped into her head before she could stop it.
Sarah shouldn’t be popping into her head like this.
But here she was. Beth couldn’t stop thinking about her.
About that almost kiss in her studio and how, in the moment, she had been so worried she had messed things up by crossing the boundary between them that was blurry at best.
But Sarah had texted her the next morning—nothing important, just sharing a link to an article she thought Beth would find interesting—and it had been like nothing happened.
Still, every time Beth had thought about it in the last week, she couldn’t help but let her mind linger on what it would have felt like to kiss Sarah again.
“Out with it,” Liv encouraged.
Beth looked at her nervously, unsure if she should say anything, but wasn’t that the whole point of the intention…to be open?
“Sarah and I almost kissed on Christmas.” The words left Beth’s lips in a hurry, clumsily bumping up against each other.
“Okay, and?”
And? How was Liv not seeing what a big deal that was? It was Sarah.
“She stopped me and said she didn’t think it was the best idea right now.
What does right now even mean?” Beth said in an exasperated sigh.
“There have been all these looks and moments and little reminders over the last few months of how great things with her can be, and it’s all so fucking confusing.
” She threw her hands up, feeling their weight as they fell heavily to her side.
Liv didn’t say anything; instead, she let the crackling of the fire fill the silence. After a moment, she asked, “Do you believe people can change?”
Of course she did. What kind of question was that? Change was an inevitable part of living. “I do,” she answered.
“Have you changed since the divorce?”
Beth nodded. She had changed so much over the years.
“Do you think Sarah has changed?”
Beth shot Liv an annoyed look. This conversation was not helping her at all. She needed Liv to tell her this was a bad idea, not push the door further open, giving her a glimpse of what could be on the other side.
“How’s dating going?” Liv asked, the quick pivot yanking Beth with her to a different part of their conversation.
“I’m going to dive back in,” Beth said, a bitter, unenthusiastic bite to her voice. “New year, new start and all of that.”
“Is it possible,” Liv started slowly, “that the reason you’re not having any luck with dating is that you already know someone who has everything you want?”
Beth studied her, turning Liv’s words over and over like a worry stone in her pocket. “That’s not fair,” she said. “You say it like it’s so simple.”
“I only asked if it was possible.” Liv shrugged, nudging the fire with a metal poker, sending a cascade of sparks flying into the air.
“All I’m trying to say is that being open doesn’t mean you have to fully and blindly throw yourself into something.
It just means not locking the door so tightly against things you perceive to be over. ”
Beth tossed the piece of wood with her final scrawled intention into the fire, watching the flames curl around it.
“Look, I’m not saying to get back with Sarah. But I am saying you two need to talk.”
Beth swallowed hard, the fire popping as she watched the glowing embers. “We’ve never been great at communicating with each other,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
“No time like the present to start,” Liv said with a raised brow.
Beth left Liv’s place not long after, making her way down the single, dark road that connected their two houses.
Headlights cut through the thin veil of fog that perpetually lingered this time of year, mingling with the rain and towering pine trees.
Outside of her thoughts—which were currently running loud, anxious laps through her mind—the drive home was quiet.
By the time she crawled into bed, she was exhausted. Beth lay on her back, phone on her chest, screen illuminating the ceiling and mixing with the pale moonlight streaming in through the skylights on her vaulted ceiling. The minutes ticked by slowly. 11:58. 11:59. Midnight.
“Happy New Year,” she said into the darkness, her thumb hovering over one contact in her phone. She pressed Sarah’s name before she could second-guess herself.
Sarah picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Uh—hi. Happy New Year, Sar!” she said, her voice far too peppy for the late hour. Really? she chastised herself. But Sarah’s warm, easy laughter filled her ear.
“Happy New Year, Beth.”
The tension dissipated slowly as they talked about their days and about the fireworks Sarah’s neighbor had been setting off since two that afternoon.
They talked about the bonfire at Liv’s and setting intentions for the year ahead, Beth conveniently leaving out exactly what her intention for the year had been.
Somewhere along the way, the edges of their conversation softened, making room for their laughter as they took turns poking fun at each other for not having stayed up till midnight in recent years.
Beth settled into the comfort of their conversation, shifting onto her side, phone tucked under her ear, eyelids growing heavy as they spoke.
Sarah rambled on about a book she was reading that Nell had lent her, a second-chance end-of-the-world sapphic romance—not Sarah’s typical read, but she was enjoying it nonetheless.
Beth didn’t remember falling asleep, humming in response to Sarah as she drifted in and out of consciousness, ushering in the new year to the sound of Sarah’s voice cozy in her ear.