22. Lucy
Pouringfrom an empty cup never works.
Sawyer had a way of making his words play on a loop inside my head.
Normally, I’d retreat at the first sign of interest. I’d run the other way once I learned he was making an impression on me. Now, I revel in it. I couldn’t imagine not being grateful for knowing him.
He was supportive in how he carried out our conversations. No matter how minuscule or major. Yes, I have noticed that it is getting harder to say no to him. But I am also noticing just how intentional this man is. He doesn’t say anything just to say it, his words hold power.
It was admirable.
All of the firecrackers that you could find in a hundred-mile radius of Rider were going off all night down by the schoolyard. I believe the town goes harder for the eve of every holiday, than they do for the actual day.
Late into the evening, hours after I had decompressed from my cry session at Sawyer’s, I watched as Gus and Leanne danced in their yard. The sparklers in the sky were the soundtrack to their night.
The Fourth of July has always been their favorite holiday. Never for the meaning, never for what it stood for. But because it reminded them of their love—explosive and colorful.
They embraced one another, eyes closed, swaying back and forth. I don’t even know why I bothered bringing a book out there with me, I could have stood out on the back patio and followed their movements endlessly. The words on paper were no competition to their love story.
When I eventually moved myself back inside, I began to digest it all. The emptiness and the silence of the cottage left me with no choice. My eyes were heavy, but so was my heart. I started to turn on myself, I became furious with myself. For why, I don’t know.
I probably dragged my feet around every square inch of the house last night. I knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy process. Love and life and grief will never be an easy process.
I normally wouldn’t be singing praises to the insistent noise of the holiday, but it kept me from overthinking well into the night. Maybe it was the physical exhaustion of having plans consecutive days in a row or the mental exhaustion from bawling my eyes out and having an anxiety attack, but either way, I was knocked out the second my head hit the pillow.
Once I woke up, refreshed and revived, I took Sawyer’s advice.
Apparently, when I’m a little more level-headed and have released my pent up emotions, I’m not as stubborn.
I emailed the two underclassmen that I have been tutoring with some news I am sure they never thought they would hear coming from me: I was canceling Zoom meetings for the next two days.
One emailed back with a thumbs-up emoji. The other mocked me by asking if my laptop had been hijacked by someone who was actually cool.
Whenever there was potential for a student to work with me, I would make all of my ground rules clear so they knew what to expect. One of them was that we worked through holidays. Success didn’t have days off. Most of them hated it, which I understood, but those are the students who didn’t end up working with me. The ones that do reciprocate and understand my conditions, we have built a great relationship.
I never hound them, I never work them into the ground. But we have a mutual understanding that we want what’s best for their academic career. It works.
After I hit send, I figured it was in my—and the house’s—best interest to put in some work. I am so close to the finish line, and then I am free to enjoy the rest of the summer.
Once and for all.
I have put it off long enough and I am itching to make some real headway. In less than two months, Kai and I had agreed to put on an open house. Now was the time to use some elbow grease and get into the nitty gritty of everything, even when I felt like I might not want to.
But even when I touched a new box, I found something new that held meaning. Somehow the smallest of items found a way to hold meaning for me. I have a hundred open boxes and one blurry mind. For that very reason alone, I decided to take my efforts to the shed. I figured a fresh space, a small one at that, wouldn’t create such an issue. A change of pace might just be what I’ve needed.
I wove through the sparse rows of boxes living in the hallway and trekked through the backyard. The early birds have already started on their grilling. The smell of pecan firewood moved through the hillside. The sky blazes a bright blue with full clouds floating about. I don’t even care that my skin already has a sticky feeling before the sun has reached its highest point. The humidity has never been my cup of tea, and I’d do anything for the dry, desert heat of Arizona right about now.
Back in the shed, stacked to the ceiling, there were more boxes than I remembered. With just enough room for a walkway, I had a clear shot of an easel and some paints sitting in the far back.
“Need any help?” a raspy voice called out from behind me.
Gus and Leanne neared me. Her holding a pie, him holding a leaf blower.
I spun around on the balls of my feet and huffed out, “Ya know, I think I just might.”
“I’ll bring this on in,” Leanne held up her glass pan. “Want any tea?”
“Yes, please!” Gus and I called out after.
He set the leaf blower down, resting it against the side of the shed.
“I haven’t seen this door here open in ages,” he poked his head through the threshold. The canvas resting on the easel received a long stare from him, as well.
There sat a painting in its early stages, displaying the creek that ran along the cottage.
I remember when Tiffany had started it. It was from one of her better weeks in between hospital visits. She was restless, eager to do something that wasn’t watching reruns on the Turner Classic Movie channel.
She pulled me out onto the back patio and we sat in utter silence. She painted while I read. There’d be a brief break in our self-care and bonding time where she’d share all about the plans she had for the painting and when I told her about the major plot twist I had just reached in my book.
Not even a full thirty minutes later did she grow tired and turned in for the day. I moved the painting into the shed with the plan to pull it back out for her the next time we were out here. Instead, her body and her heart had other plans for us when she woke the next morning. She never made it back home and she never got to finish her work.
I walked to the back of the shed to get a closer look. The bottom of the canvas showed the very edge of our yard. A thick strip of bright green with an outline of a duck waddling across it. The detail was impeccable. Everything else was lightly stenciled out but was never touched again.
On her stool that was beside her painting, the book I read that day remained in its exact spot. The outline of years’ worth of dust bordered the edges. For Whom the Bell Tolls. I brushed my fingers over the cover and a trail of dust slid underneath my fingertip.
“That reminds me, I have another book for you,” Gus croaked out with a hand over his chest, his eyes swelling with tears.
“I haven’t even started A Moveable Feast yet. Haven’t had the time…”
“And that’s fine. You’ll have another one waiting for you when you do finish it. I’ll drop it off tomorrow afternoon, sounds good?”
I nod. “Will I see you at Sawyer’s tonight?”
“You know it.”
“Oh, we can’t wait! I have a cake waiting to be iced back home as we speak!” Leanne smiled, walking towards us with glasses and a pitcher of tea in her hands. Thin slices of lemon floated on the top surface.
“How much of this do you think we can knock out before then?”
Gus blew out a breath. “Well, if you can find a speaker and put on some Willie, I think we can get through this in no time.”
Hours upon hours had passed and sweat started to build up on the top of my lip. All but two boxes and the easel had made it inside before Gus and Leanne called it quits. Leanne had gone between our cottages all day. Alternating between the two, she checked on her baked goods and then on us. Listening to their bickering and teasing followed by slaps on bothof their butts and kisses on the cheek in passing made the whole day worthwhile. Being around them made everything better.
The aroma of vanilla frosting oozed off of her. I wanted to eat whatever she was making now, but she scolded me and insisted that I had to wait until later tonight.
“Thank you guys, truly. I will see you guys soon, okay?” I swiped my brow bone where a layer of sweat transferred onto my hand. I watched as the two of them walked down the drive, Leanne’s arm threaded through Gus’.
I wasn’t playing any games tonight. I ran upstairs, knowing that tonight”s look needed a little more attention. Bright red cowboy boots, a short enough white dress with a tiny bow in the center of the neckline, and a dark blue bandana wrapped around my ponytail. I did not want a smudge of mascara under my eyes or a hair out of place.
Sawyer wanted one more night of “Fun Lucy” and that was exactly what he was going to get. Even if it meant I had to play dress up as someone else for the night. Because for whatever it’s worth, I like the version Sawyer sees of me. He makes me seem so much more collected than I actually am. Perhaps, it’s the person I want to be, too. Against my better judgment and my allegiance to feminism, I will alter myself for a guy—just this once.
The rumbling of Sawyer’s truck and Billy’s noticeable bark got closer and closer as I finished applying lotion to my legs, leaving a gold, glittery sheen over the surface. I skipped down the stairs in all of my girlish-excitement glory.
Here goes nothing, I thought to myself as I have before. But this time it held a different meaning. The statement wasn’t filled with trepidation, or an attempt to calm myself down. Now, I said it with pure joy, ready to see what the night held.
It was a strange feeling to be at such crossroads. One where I constantly feel guilty if I am making the right decision. I couldn’t even place my hand on the doorknob, out of fear that the moment that I do, it’s some sort of symbol that I’m dismissing my feelings, pushing them down and away like I have time and time again.
But I inched closer, knowing that it was time to say “yes” to a life that’s worth living sometimes.
I went to open the door and there he was standing with his hand curled in a fist at eye level. His arm fell to his side, and he flashed me a grin. Any doubts that I had vanished.
I took a step back, startled.
He bent to kiss my cheek. “How did you know I was here?”
“I think I have a sixth sense when it comes to you.”
That made his lips curl up and his head bow bashfully.
“I’m kidding.” I pointed at the still-running truck and Billy’s excitement. “It’s kind of hard not to hear those two.”
I threaded my hand into his and we made our way down to the truck.
We were all but two strides down the walkway and there was Gracie at a standstill. Her golden blond locks were in their familiar, perfect waves that framed her face. She stood in her predictable pastel color palette. But her demeanor was all but colorful. Black, watered-down lines stained her cheeks.
“Hi,” she let out a broken cry, clutching onto her designer duffle bag.
My heart sank and I ran straight towards her. She let her bag fall from her grip and onto the gravel. “Asher and I broke up and I didn’t want to be alone,” she said into my neck.
The news of their breakup didn’t confuse me as much as the statement about being “alone” did. She had all her girlfriends, and her parents, and up until now, she had Asher. When she and I weren’t together, she was with at least one of them. She always had someone. Gracie never had to experience being alone.
“I am going to kick his ass,” I snarled. “When did this happen? What happened?” My mind was going a mile a minute. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come home.” I scanned her eyes, holding her head in my hands.
She pulled away, “Please, I was not going to make you come home for this. It happened yesterday and—” She swiped a tear off her perfect, pointed cheekbone, “I needed my L.C. I hope that’s okay.”
I wiped another rolling tear away and touched my forehead to hers. “Of course, that’s okay. I sure am happy to see you.” I threaded my hand in hers. “Alright, let’s go.”
Sawyer reached down to lift her bag off the ground and slung it over his shoulder. He threw it into the back of the truck and motioned to Billy to climb back there along with it.
“W-what? Where are we going?”
“A party,” Sawyer interjected.
“A party?” She looked over at me. “Who is that?” she mouthed to me quickly before Sawyer turned back around. I shook my head, dismissing her and she rolled her eyes.
I don’t know why I haven’t told her about Sawyer during our weekly Tuesday phone calls. And if she hadn’t shown up, I’m not sure I would have. She is a hopeless romantic, and any mention of a boy would turn on some sort of switch I was not ready to figure out how to dismantle.
Sawyer is different, he’s not your typical summer fling, and I didn’t want her to classify him as just that.
“Let me get this straight… You, Lucy Collins, are willingly going to a party?” Gracie’s feet shuffled fast behind me as we moved toward the truck.
“I’m sorry, did you forget that one we went to a couple of years back? I had to beg you to come with me!”
“You only went because it was a costume party. You can’t pass up a costume party. And I only went because I didn’t want to deal with long lines and expensive drinks at the bars.”
Gracie let out a cracked laugh, and I could tell that the trip down memory lane danced through her head. I had dressed up as Maleficent that year, but at some point in the night, I had lost my cape, I broke the headpiece, and my tights had ripped. I had turned into Frank-N-Furter, and there was no convincing anyone otherwise.
The sound of her happiness returned. Even if for a fleeting moment, I had my golden girl here with me. She knew it before I did, but I needed her, too.
“You better have something you can change into when we get to his house, G. We are partying tonight and I would hate to see your loafers get messy.”
I pushed her into the middle seat and slammed the door shut.
Sawyer peered his head around Gracie, “So, you get any work done today, my little busy bee?”
Gracie let out a snort. Busy bee? She mouthed over at me.
“Y-yeah,” I said, awkwardly. “Gus and Leanne actually stopped by and helped me out. Well, Gus did. Most of the shed is cleared out. I’ll get to the last two boxes tomorrow. Oh, Sawyer, Gracie. Gracie? This is Sawyer.”
Sawyer nodded, Gracie gave a limpish wave before reaching over and placing her hand on my leg, giving me a little tap on the knee and a raise of the brow. I held back a smile that I felt was pushing its way through.
“Look at you guys, that’s so great. Just remember to take your time. You don’t need to rush.”
Gracie tapped my leg again, this time twice. It was our little signal for whenever we wanted to talk about something later when we were alone.
The three of us stared out the windshield in complete silence for the remainder of our drive. Those five minutes felt like five hours.It certainly felt weird merging my two worlds—but it didn’t mean I hated it.
Sawyer bobbed his head to the music that played through his cassette, Gracie looked out at every person and tree and dog that we passed on the way, and I sat in my seat fending off all of the thoughts that were trying to ruin this day.
Tonight, I could be whoever I wanted to be.
I had my guy and I had my Gracie. But at the strike of midnight, Type A Lucy would be back because I didn’t actually have all of the time in the world. I’d have to turn in the dress and shoes for a mop and bucket once more.