Chapter 17
Henry
I meet Derek in the grassy patch near the bakery, where Pepper lazily roams as far as his leash will allow.
“Pepper’s early-morning wake-up calls are going to be the death of me,” Derek quips as I hand him a coffee from the bakery. “It’s worse than having a baby.”
My brow cocks at the comparison. “At least you don’t have to change diapers.”
“Yet,” he counters with a laugh. “Pepper won’t be young forever. Oh, but you might be if you keep having nights like that. Look at you.”
Derek glances me over, waving his long fingernails over me like they might be giving me a body scan. “Oh, my… someone got lucky last night. Your reunion with Venus went very, very well.”
A sheepish laugh rumbles from me. “You can’t possibly know that.”
His lips purse. “Honey, I know the difference between everyday Henry and the Henry who’s just had his mind blown, partly because this is the first time I’ve seen him. Was it that good?”
I lean against the railing, trying to fight my flushing cheeks, but failing. “It was everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. Venus adores you—it was all over her perfect little face. And you adore her, too. The looks you were giving each other reminded me of my early days with Tyler—ah, that man still delights my very soul, even after twenty years. I never would’ve become DeeDee without him.”
“What do you mean?”
Derek shrugs and twiddles the leash in his hands.
“That’s the best thing about love—the freedom to be whatever you want to be.
Even if the world hates you, your soulmate stands by you.
A blanket in the cold. An umbrella in the rain.
A shelter in the storm. Love is freedom.
If not for Tyler, I don’t think I would’ve been brave enough to become DeeDee.
I knew he’d love me whether I wore a suit or a dress, whether I failed or succeeded, or, hell, even if he had to call me by two different names depending on my outfit.
He still fumbles that bit on occasion, but that’s okay. ”
He laughs, and I join in with an appreciative chuckle. “What if someone believes she’s a cactus when she’s a sunflower?”
“Oh, that’s a thoughtful question.” Derek’s hands find his hips. “I know Jay’s version of things, but tell me, what’s the story with you two?”
“Childhood best friends turned high school sweethearts turned… nothing. I wasn’t there for her like I should’ve been, and she left when things got too hard.”
“But she’s back?”
“Temporarily, but she’ll leave again.”
“Why?”
“She’s convinced everyone’s better off without her. Cactus.”
He nods, like he totally understands, though I can’t imagine how.
“There’s no future for us,” I tell him. “It’s complicated. Too much history. Too many obstacles. We agreed to one night only.”
He scoffs. “Don’t try to control the uncontrollable, Henry. Love isn’t complicated. People are. If the love is strong enough, it’ll bulldoze right through any complication. You have to want it and believe in each other badly enough.”
Pepper yaps at his feet, as if bored with our conversation.
Derek rests a hand on my shoulder. “Just be delicate with her, help her see the sunflower behind the cactus. Then, and only then, she might feel safe enough to bloom.”
I smile as he tugs Pepper away.
“Thanks for the cup of joe. Now, go to her,” he says, walking backwards. “She might not like waking up in your bed alone.”
Fuck, I hadn’t thought of that.
I quickstep down the Riverwalk and cross the street to the museum, excited to see the look on Venus’s face when she bites into the decadent cinnamon roll I got for her.
And then kissing the sweetness from her lips.
But Dr. Blake’s Land Rover screeches to a stop at the corner before abruptly turning. She’s already left.
“Damn it!” I yell, mainly at myself. I mope back to my apartment, feeling utterly foolish—why didn’t I leave her a note—and more alone than ever now that she’s gone.
But it could’ve been a relief for her. Venus is better at quick exits than goodbyes, and I would’ve tried to get her to stay. Still, I roam the apartment, berating myself for giving her the impression that I wanted her to leave.
The empty bed.
Her things gone.
The quiet apartment.
The sweets uneaten.
Our one chance at its abrupt end.
This isn’t what I wanted. But it makes things easier.
I spot her scarf on the floor behind my leather chair and scoop it up like a treasure. The silky fabric molds to my hands as I bunch it in my grip. It’s red with pink peonies bursting from its edges. Lovely and delicate, like her. I bring it to my face and inhale.
Rose from her lotion, and rosemary from her shampoo—her.
I plop to the edge of my leather chair, remembering Mom tying Venus’s first scarf into her hair.
Mom invited her over for Saturday morning pancakes.
Venus’s wild hair kept dipping into the syrup on her plate.
Venus didn’t care, but Mom snapped her fingers and said, “Venus, wouldn’t it be nice to have that hair out of your way?
” To which Venus perked up like it was a novel idea, and said, “It would help when I do my experiments.”
Mom returned from her bedroom with a standard red bandana, swept Venus’s hair back, and tied it into a headband, holding her hair behind her shoulders.
Venus used the bandana every day after and practiced using it in new ways—in a top knot, half-tie, a ponytail, or even just around her neck until she needed it.
Noticing her loyalty to the gift, Mom eventually gave her alternatives—hand-me-downs from her closet and my grandmother’s. Mom would pick up new ones at thrift stores and yard sales to gift to her. Even when their relationship was strained, Mom collected gifts like these for Venus.
The one in my hand was my grandmother’s. The edges are frayed. Ink stains one end. But it’s just like Venus to have kept it. Just like her to still use it.
I inhale it again, wondering if it’s okay to keep it, wondering how long I can go without washing my sheets or pillowcases to hold her scent there, wondering how long it will take for her to disappear from them, too.
Scarf wrapped in my hand, I return to the notebook on my desk, purging my thoughts onto the pages, the paper my new confessional. Then, when my fingers cramp and other tasks for the day call to me, I tuck the notebook and scarf into my bedside table drawer, determined to put her out of my mind.
For now.