Chapter 32
A miracle has happened.
We finished the damn love song.
Darcy and I put the finishing touches on it a few days ago, spending the rest of the week laying down music and cutting a demo with the rest of the group at a recording studio in Asbury Park.
It’s a beautiful song, but it has teeth, something about it digging into my skin when I think on it for too long.
It holds a piece of me and Darcy, a crucial piece, and I have a pit in my stomach that everyone will associate it with a narrative that isn’t true.
But I guess that’s kind of the thing about art—it’s created as a reflection of the artist but exists as the interpretation of everyone else.
I know what that song means and so does Darcy. That will have to be good enough.
But today isn’t for moping over the bittersweet.
Today is all about Pride.
The Jersey Shore Pride Festival kicks off with a parade weaving through Asbury Park, and we’re sweating in the heat as we walk.
All the musical acts at the festival were invited to join, and this might be the most fun we’ve had all summer, decked out in rainbow gear and waving flags high in the air.
The sun is a physical presence, pressing on our shoulders, smudging its thumbs along our cheeks as we scream and cheer with the crowds lining the route.
Having two queer mums, this is hardly my first Pride parade, but I’m experiencing it with a new vibrancy, feeling more alive than I have in months.
The joy is palpable, a sense of radical dignity in every queer person protesting and dancing in the streets.
Darcy and I link arms through it all.
When we first started walking, I felt like an impostor, shame curling my shoulders, whispering that I didn’t deserve to be here if I wasn’t loudly and proudly owning a label.
But as we marched on, surrounded by people so happy, so unabashedly themselves I realized that it’s okay that I haven’t found my voice yet. One day I will.
We were told ahead of time that the parade route ended near the beach, and our group shares a look when we reach it.
A second later, we’re sprinting across the hot sand, shucking off our clothes and down to our suits as we go.
As my feet hit the water, Darcy is there, arm wrapped around my waist, mine at her hip, plunging into the cold waves with a shared gasp.
Deja and Skull retreat immediately to the shore, Kevin already there being the responsible one and setting up towels and an umbrella. Kale and Harry don’t last much longer, cursing as the freezing water slaps their chests, and they scamper back to land after only a few minutes.
Not me and Darcy.
Heat radiates through me from her proximity, and we swim out to where only the tips of our toes can skim the sand, the murky green-blue of the Atlantic our shield as we hold each other under the water, touching like we can make up for all the moments we can’t on land.
“I miss you,” Darcy whispers to me right before a wave crashes over our heads.
I grab for her as we resurface. “Love you,” I say back.
We stare at each other for a moment, her lashes clumped in spikes around those big blue eyes, the sun illuminating the freckles along the bridge of her nose.
We bob with the tide, and she drops her forehead to mine, wrapping her legs around my waist. I love the way it feels to be surrounded by her smooth, warm skin, how she makes my cheeks burn even when my teeth chatter from the freezing water.
It would be so easy to steal a kiss right now.
But Harry and Kale ruin the moment, finding the courage to swim out and pop up a foot away, splashing our faces.
Kevin, Deja, and Skull are still lounging on the sand, but the four of us laugh like little kids as we play in the water. Someone suggests a game of chicken and I’m ridiculously overjoyed (read: pathetically horny) to wrap Darcy’s thighs over my shoulders and hoist her up as she takes down Kale.
“You good?” Harry asks in a moment that’s just us, Darcy and Kale diving for a sand dollar they feel on the ocean floor.
“Fine,” I say—it’s a bit of a lie and a bit of the truth. “Are you?”
His lips press into a tight line, and he tilts his head at me in confusion.
I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something he’s not telling me.
I keep catching him looking at me. Or, if he isn’t looking at me, he’s watching Darcy, a frown almost constantly on his face like he’s trying to solve a calculus equation.
“’Course I’m okay,” Harry says. “I’m about to wrap up an amazing tour at an awesome music festival in front of a huge crowd. What’s there not to be okay about?”
I flick my eyes to the sky. “Carbon emissions, increasing puritanical values becoming mainstream, conservative politics…”
“On par with that, I feel like I have a bit of a pimple coming in. Just here,” he says, waving at his forehead.
I poke him between his eyebrows, making him laugh as he catches my hand.
“I’m fine, Cub. Don’t worry about me. You ready for the final show?”
“I think so … Kinda weird, though, isn’t it? This whole thing coming to an end?”
“I blinked”—Harry snaps his fingers—“and the tour is done. Feels … I don’t know.”
“What?” I splash him a bit. He returns the favor, but his smile falters.
“I’ll miss this,” he says. “The tour. The new places. The chase of creation … I’ll miss my fake girlfriend.” He whispers the last words, and guilt slices through me.
“Harry,” I start, wanting to tell him the truth. Tell him everything. But he shakes his head.
“We’ll talk after the show tomorrow,” he says, smile back in place as he gives me another splash. I’m sick with anticipation of it, but I nod, Darcy and Kale swimming back over to us. Harry’s smile seems to widen as Kale swims next to him, knocking their shoulders together.
As the sun slowly sets behind the town, we reluctantly wade our way back to the shore with frozen limbs.
“Fireworks start in thirty minutes,” Kevin says in breathless wonder when we get to the towels. There is no joy quite like that of a grown man witnessing pyrotechnics.
We settle ourselves in for the show as nighttime falls, Darcy and I close together, staring up at the sky.
With the sound of a whistle through teeth, a tiny spark erupts over the shoreline, snaking through the sky.
The world goes quiet for a moment, holding its breath.
With brilliant color, the firecracker blooms in a shower of pink and purple, the heavy BOOM reverberating through my chest.
The show takes off, the sky a shimmering rainbow of color.
As the fireworks explode, Darcy traces her fingertips down my back, a shiver chasing her touch. Her hands stop at my hips, resting there. After a moment, she grips them, tugging me back so I’m planted between her legs. I turn, fixing her with a questioning look.
Was that an accident? Are we allowed to touch like this in public? Someone might see … Is it bad that I pray they do? Should I move?
Darcy’s look—soft and open and illuminated by the flash of lights—is a question of its own.
How could you belong anywhere else?
Emotions brighter and louder than the fireworks erupt in my chest, and, with a small smile, I slowly turn back toward the water, nestling closer between her thighs, my head falling to rest at the base of her throat, her chin perched against my crown.
I match her every inhale until our breathing becomes the same, until we’re pressed so close we’re a tangle of sun-burned skin and frizzy hair.
She reaches her arms around me, her hands landing right above my heartbeat.
I hope she knows its rhythm is all for her.