13. Avery
Avery
I rub the crook of my arm, my finger tracing the warped circle at the heart of the sun, as we slowly descend over LA. I’d thought of covering it up before. Burying it under another design, but on some level, even if I did that, I would still feel the ghost of it etched into my skin.
The plane jolts as we hit the runway, my teeth grinding together with the impact.
“Oof, you had this great contemplative thing going for a second there,” Kendal chimes from the seat across the aisle she’s been filming me from.
We’ve spent most of the year prepping. Well, mostly her digging up old articles. Piecing together what the media thinks happened with me and Fool’s Gambit so the documentary can be in conversation with the assumptions. She’s also reached out to Dave and Martin to start interviewing them.
On some level, it’s hard to believe this is really coming together, but on another I know I’ll have to start telling my side of the story, sitting down with Kendal between tour rehearsals and then later when she joins us on the road. The truth is easy to promise, but telling it? I’m not so sure.
“I bet you’ll find a way to use it without including the part where I look like shit,” I say.
“I really am just that good.” She lowers her camera so it rests on her lap.
“I sure hope so, otherwise you’re an expensive person to keep around,” I joke.
The plane slows and pulls to a stop, farther down the plane Lydia’s arms poke out over the top of a seat as she stretches. She won’t be with us for the duration of the tour, but she’ll be around for the first few weeks and then at a handful of shows.
She stands and meets us at our seats. “I’m going to meet with Derek and the tour manager to make sure everything is up to our specifications. Avery, your ride should be here to take you around for the day.”
“What am I getting, some sort of tour of the city? I’d rather just settle in and sleep.”
“We’re sending you off to look at tour costumes. Everything we currently have is from your old shows. It’s good to get this done now so any alterations can be made.”
Stairs are lowered to exit the charter plane. Kendal heads out first, followed by me with Lydia trailing behind.
My hand flies to the railing as my foot nearly misses the first step as I blanch at the sight of what’s waiting on the tarmac.
Wes leans against a beat-up silver Honda CR-V. And somehow, he makes it look intentional, dressed in black shorts and a soccer jersey style top that’s cut so when he raises his hand to wave, the hem creeps up his torso and reveals the dusting of hair on his tanned stomach.
“What is he doing here?” I say.
“He called me up, told me you two agreed to a truce of sorts, and we made a plan.”
“You’re telling me he’s my ride?”
Lydia claps my shoulder and gives me a light push with just enough pressure to propel me down the next step. “You want this to get over with? The only way out is through, and it’s going to be easier for all of us if you two play nice. Maybe, if you have some fun, it will fly by.”
“Judas,” I hiss.
“You know you need me,” she says, not in the way Emilia did that pricked at my skin, but with an earned tenderness.
“Unfortunately, without you, everything would go to shit.”
I climb down the remaining steps and walk to Wes. The sooner I get this over with the better.
“What’s with the ride? I’d expect you to pick something flashier, maybe with a vanity plate.”
He slaps his palm on the scuffed hood. The model must be a decade old. “You mean this, one of the most popular cars in LA? I thought you’d want something inconspicuous for our adventures.”
“You bought me a shitty car.” I fight the awe threatening to strike through my voice as an ache pulses in my chest.
“Excuse you, this beauty has a great safety rating, and I got the windows replaced with bulletproof glass.” He scoffs. “Don’t be surprised, I’m driving around precious cargo.”
“So, you’re really serious about that list?”
“You think I’d forget? That was only eight months, Avery. That’s nothing compared to the years I’ve been waiting to do this.”
Eight months. That’s how long it’s been, how long I asked him to allow me to have the space get my shit together.
For the first few weeks I expected him to suddenly pop up again.
At my apartment or one of the festival shows I played, or to get a call he’s decided to include himself somewhere uninvited. But he didn’t.
And the worst surprise—a part of me wishes he did.
“I guess I won’t make you wait any longer then.”
We leave the airport and are met with the unending stretch of LA traffic. Impatient horns punch through the air as we inch forward. I’m trapped unless I have the sudden urge to walk the highway on foot.
“How’ve you been? You’ve been out of the news, so it’s hard to stay up to date,” Wes asks.
“Checking the papers for me?”
“Every day.”
I’m joking around, but he isn’t and the knowledge that he’s been keeping an eye on me causes warmth to spread across my skin.
“It’s been harder than I expected. Not that I thought it would be easy, but when I did it the first time, I could run full force until it worked out. I keep second guessing myself. Wondering what other people might think. It’s hard to shake.”
“Sounds like my silly little list might be needed after all.” And there he goes with a flash of his stupid self-assured grin.
“Can I look at it?” It’s not like I have to admit that it could be a good idea.
Eight months have passed and I feel like I’ve barely laid the foundation for the life I want to have.
Even with Lydia’s help, it’s exhausting work.
I thought I could just slip back to being the girl I used to be, like pulling on a favorite pair of jeans.
At eighteen I thought I knew everything, and I envy that fearless version of me.
But I’ve grown up and those jeans don’t fit anymore, no matter how hard I try to shimmy into them.
“Nope. I can’t risk you tossing it out the window.” He cocks a brow as if daring me to say I wouldn’t.
Finally, we pull off the highway toward wherever the hell he’s going as I collect my thoughts.
Leaning back in my seat, I cross my arms over my chest. “Fine. How have you been? I’m surprised I haven’t heard from you.”
“You asked for distance, and I wanted to show you that I could respect that.” He tightens his grip on the wheel, knuckles turning white. “I know this is my last chance and I’m not going to waste it.”
“You are different, you know.” I search his face like I’ll get an answer to why there. It’s like he’s taller somehow, more self-assured. Less like a sapling bending in the wind and more like an oak with deep roots.
“I’ve been going to therapy.”
“Shit,” is all I manage.
“Don’t be too impressed. I’m not good at it.” His voice is light with self-effacing laughter as his mouth tugs downward for a second.
“How? Isn’t it like impossible to be bad at therapy.”
His bottom lip thrusts out into a pout that causes me to snort a laugh. “You’re being mean, Ave.”
“And you love it.”
“I do,” he says, then sighs. “I’m on my fourth therapist in eight months.
The first two weren’t a good fit, the third, well, she said I talked about you too much.
” He blushes at this admission even as heat pricks at my own cheeks.
“And this one I’m with now is great. She calls me out when I don’t put in the work or try to avoid topics by deflecting with humor.
It’s not like I expect to be handed the answers, but I didn’t expect to be so exhausted after my sessions. ”
“Sounds like you’re getting the hang of it to me.”
“Well, there’s still plenty of time for me to fuck it up.”
He slows and gracefully maneuvers into a parallel parking spot in front of a glass front shop with a red sign wrapping around the top with Time Capsule Vintage written in large white letters.
“We’re not here to talk about me. We’re here to get you a new wardrobe.
I thought that this place would have the best options.
The vintage stuff reminds me of what you used to wear.
You know, those shirts with big sleeves.
But if nothing is good here, we’ll go somewhere else. ”
“Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do than take me shopping?” I ask, opening the car door and getting out onto the sidewalk.
“Nope. There’s no place I’d rather be than playing dress up with you.”