21. Sawyer
“You head on down there,”I said, “and I’ll get us something to drink.” Lucy and I broke off from one another. She headed for the dock while I slipped inside the house.
The kitchen window was practically the entire wall’s length, long enough for my mom, aunts, or whoever else wanted a break from the outdoors to line along the counters and watch out. It had the perfect view of the lake.
And of Lucy.
You could see everything from here. She sat gracefully at the edge of the dock with her hands in her lap. I found myself standing in the same stance my mother would: arms extended out on either side, planted against the sink’s ledge. Life felt endless from this standpoint.
Over on the side of the fridge was the most recent postcard from my parents from their time in Rome. A simple photo on a four-by-six cardstock. We were countries apart, but no matter the distance, their snail mail kept me feeling closer to them than I did when they still lived in Connecticut.
There have been days where I’ve wondered if I should have left Europe. It was a life full of constant adventure. It was everything I believed I wanted. It was the first time I had broken away from the Banks legacy. And often, I’m left second guessing if I had fully let time run its course. I had years of freedom to make up for.
I had been conditioned for so long to live a certain way and have particular beliefs. I owed it to myself to spread my wings. But I couldn’t ignore the itching aliveness coursing through me. I was free, I could do anything I wanted. I still had drive and self-discipline, except now I could decide how I distributed it through life.
I broke the news to my parents in the middle of the Louvre. Captivated by the beauty of The Astronomer, I couldn’t ignore the feeling that my time was limited. I turned to them, knowing that if I waited any longer, it’d eat me alive. That I was sure of.
By the end of the day, I was on a flight back to the States. They never once made me feel guilty or shamed me for not following their way of life.
My parents; the blueprint for breaking generational practices.
A nomad life was meant for my parents. Not me. I liked the quietness, the stillness of Rider. A place I could call “home” and truly know what it meant to say the word.
I plucked the postcard from underneath the Viva Las Vegas magnet and placed it on the counter as a reminder to email them soon.
As I rapidly made mental notes of all of the things I’d tell them, I grabbed a couple of glasses, the makings for an at-home mimosa, and whatever fruit and cheese I could find inside of the fridge. A makeshift brunch, if you will. I pinched the stems of the glasses in one hand, grasping onto the champagne in my fist, then huddled the rest into my arm by scooping it off of the counter.
“Come on, boy,” I called out to Billy. His nails scratched along the wood floor as he followed behind me.
Strategically, I released everything from my hold and placed it beside Lucy on the dock. I snapped my fingers two times and motioned to Billy to leap into the lake. At the speed of light, he plopped in and splashed us, getting water all over the sad excuse for a charcuterie board and our legs.
“Sorry about that,” I said, hidden behind a laugh.
I picked up Lucy’s flower that was next to her on the dock and lightly shook off the water droplets then placed it back. While I found amusement in Billy’s antics, Lucy started to cry but refused to let it escape her body. Shallow sobs were trapped in her throat, and her chest heaved in staggered movements.
She shot straight up and gradually started to pace. “Fuck!” she eventually shouted out.
The weeping had turned into full-on bawling. She crouched down, wrapping her arms around her legs. Her eyes continued to fill with tears, my heart broke at the sound of wails coming from that tiny body of hers.
I quickly replayed every second of the day within a millisecond, trying to pinpoint where it could have all gone wrong. Where I could have gone wrong. I wanted nothing more than to make this day special for her—help her put her mind to rest.
When her body started to tremble, exhausted and overwhelmed by its own emotions, I moved my hand over her shoulder. Before I made contact with her skin, she shrugged my hand away.
“I’m fine!” she snapped, shooting herself back to a standing position.
She adjusted her dress strap that slipped from her hurried movement.
“I just don’t get it! What’s wrong with me?” she continued.
I would never have imagined Lucy to get this loud. She was tiny, otherwise sweet-tempered. Now she was mighty.
“After tonight, I have to force myself to forget everything,” she said quieter, more to herself than to me.
“You don’t have to… Are you… Do you want to forget it all?” I said with knitted brows.
Did she want to forget about me?
“No, of course not. But this isn’t real life. This,” she waved my arms over the lake, “this isn’t my life. Not anymore. I don’t have anyone to take care of me anymore. I don’t get to have this—where I frolic around and ignore all of my responsibilities—and I’m a fool to think otherwise. The real world is still out there and I have to deal with it, fix it. There’s so much you don’t know. That I don’t know… My mom, the person Lionel and Rachel know and went on and on about, is not the same person that I know.
“I haven’t talked to her in who knows how long. My mother has hated me for as long as I can remember. We had what I would classify as a close relationship when I was very young. But then I grew up. And, well…I don’t know anymore.”
I ached for her. I could feel her pain, and I wished I could take the hurt away from her. Please, Universe, throw it all on me. Lucy Collins does not deserve to feel this way.
She exhaled a large breath before pacing again.
“On top of everything, I haven’t studied more than an hour at a time since being home. I’m pretty sure I’ll fail out of my residency program before it even starts. And I tried to do a couple of tutoring sessions over video chat, but that went to absolute shit with a poor internet connection, so I will be responsible for a freshman failing out of summer courses. He’s failing, I’m failing…” She let out a shallow breath, “Oh, my god. I’m failing.”
Lucy cupped her face with her hands and began sobbing again. All the while, I could see the chip that she’s held onto since she got here slowly crumble and fall off of her shoulder.
I threw my arms around her. With a bear hug, I was stabling knees that were about to buckle out from under her. Lucy attempted to break out of my embrace, but I wouldn’t let her. I couldn’t let her. All I wanted to do was hold her, help her. “Listen. Lucy, I’m here,” I said, but her breathing started to pick back up, drowning out my words. “I’m right here,” I said louder, firmer.
Her body went limp beneath my hold, all of her weight fell onto me.
“This wasn’t how I wanted today to go,” she sniffled into my chest.
“I know.”
I tilted her face up at me, her eyes were puffy and tears were streaming down her cheekbones. I wanted to kiss her, hug her, and tell her that everything was going to be alright even when I, myself, didn’t know that it would.
All I knew was that it would be okay if we worked through it together.
I wiped her tears away. “You can’t do all these things on your own, Lucy. You shouldn’t have to. Pouring from an empty cup never works.”
After a quick scan of my eyes, she pressed her mouth onto mine.
“Thank you,” she said, wiping away at her bottom lip.
“Hmm, I don’t think I have ever been thanked for a kiss before. I’ll take it.”
She pushed at the center of my chest, “Oh, whatever!” she said with a smile. There it was. “Thank you for this weekend.”
The both of us returned to our spots at the edge of the dock. She lifted the flower and moved it back into her lap. The subtle sloshing sounds of Hummingbird Lake and the whistling of trees surrounding it received the memo.
The magic of Hummingbird Lake—it was in full force.
Lucy shut her eyes, regulated her breathing, and allowed herself to listen to the sounds around her. In and out, in and out, each breath mimicked the sound of the branches waving in the wind. She let her hands fall on either side of her, running her fingertips along the wood planks to feel every ridge and crack that ran along them.
She leaned her head against my arm before she hazily opened up her eyes. We both watched as Billy jumped into the lake for the millionth time. One thing about that mutt is he will not let anyone stay sad or mad for too long. “Thank you for this weekend,” she repeated.
“Would I be completely crazy and make all of this worse by asking you to spend one more day with me?” I rested my head on top of hers, squinting my eyes shut as tight as possible out of fear to hear her answer.
All she did was pull away to pour out a mimosa that was more champagne than orange juice, then handed it over to me. She made another and motioned to a cheer with her head shaking and a roll of the eyes. A smile formed across her face, “You’re something else, Banks.”
“Is that a yes?” I clinked my glass into hers.
She popped a single grape into her mouth, then burrowed it into the side of her cheek like a little chipmunk, “I am learning that it’s getting harder to say no to you,” she said before crunching down.