Chapter One #3
“Rowan! Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re here.
” Before Rowan could say a thing, she found herself wrapped in Becca’s tight embrace.
“Holy shit, it’s good to see you.” Becca gripped Rowan’s shoulders, holding her at arm’s length and squinting at her as if studying her.
“You look great. Like, seriously great. How’s the melon?
” Her fingers whisked across the side of Rowan’s head, barely touching it, as if Becca was afraid of hurting her.
Rowan’s body filled with warmth at the look of love and concern on her friend’s face. “It’s still attached, so that’s a plus.”
Becca threw her head back and laughed, a bit louder than necessary—and maybe a little forced—but Rowan didn’t take it personally.
One thing she’d learned in the past month was that most people didn’t know exactly what to say or how to say it.
They had questions they weren’t sure they should ask.
They had observations they weren’t sure they should give voice to.
Sometimes, they simply stood and looked at her until it became awkward.
She’d learned not to take any of it personally.
Considering her memory of Becca was from a few years ago, she really hadn’t changed.
The dark curls were a bit shorter than Rowan recalled, but they were the same deep, rich brown.
Nobody messed with Becca. Tall and formidable, she was walking muscle, spending a lot of time in the gym in the free weight section.
Rowan flashed back to Stevie saying Becca had settled down, and while it was something Rowan never expected to happen, there was something different in Becca’s face.
Something softer. Kinder. And then the front door opened and a Black woman about the same height as Rowan came in.
Her energy was so calming, Rowan could feel it the second the woman met her gaze.
“Babe, come here, I want you to meet somebody,” Becca said, gesturing to her. The woman set down the bags she was carrying and smiled widely. “Jasmine Tennyson, this is my very good friend, Rowan Thomas. Rowan, this is my Jazzy.”
Rowan held out her hand and shook Jazzy’s, and there was something about her that made Rowan feel instantly safe. It was something she was more in tune with since the accident: the energy of other people. She hadn’t quite figured out the hows or whys of it all, but it was a thing now.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Rowan,” Jazzy said, closing her other hand over their shaking ones. “Becca’s told me so much about you.”
“Well, even if she had told me about you, I wouldn’t remember, so…” She grinned at Becca.
“Wait.” Becca glanced at Stevie. “Amnesia jokes are okay? Nobody told me that.”
Rowan laughed as Stevie pointed to the door that led down to the bedrooms. “You guys are down there. I picked my room, so decide which of the other two you want.”
“I can tell you what I do want,” Becca said. “Is there beer? That was a long-ass drive.”
“There is. Take your stuff down and I’ll get you one.”
“God, this place is amazing,” Jazzy said as she took in the living space and followed her girlfriend toward the downstairs door.
Once they were on their way downstairs, Stevie caught Rowan’s eye. “Doing okay?”
Rowan nodded, but added sheepishly, “I know I slept for most of the ride, but I think I’m going to take another quick nap, if that’s okay.” She got super tired, super fast—another side effect of what she’d been through.
“Babe, you’re on vacay. You can do whatever the hell you want.”
Rowan gave her a grateful smile. “ ’Kay. Be down in a bit.”
Upstairs in her room, she closed the door and crossed to the windows, where she simply stood and stared.
The lake was a gorgeous blue, sparkling in the sunlight, an occasional boat speeding by in the distance, leaving a white line behind it.
She could see the beach area—the house had its own section of private beach, Stevie had informed her—but nobody was out there yet, obviously.
Down below, closer to the house, was a fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs in a whole rainbow of colors. Apropos, she thought with a smile, since everybody there this week was queer.
A yawn cranked her mouth open wide, and she stretched her arms over her head.
This fatigue was new to her, this need to nap.
She’d never been a napper. Napping meant you missed part of the day, and that had always been a no-no for her.
But now? She had no choice. If she didn’t nap when her body told her to, she’d end up asleep by seven in the evening.
She wasn’t happy about it—she worried about missing important parts of her days—but after some experimenting, she’d found an hour to be the perfect amount of rest time.
Less than that didn’t seem to help her tiredness.
Longer just left her groggy and angry about it.
The car ride had been an exception—she was stressed from all her mother’s doting, plus the lull of the humming engine had contributed.
Now she pulled out her phone and set her alarm for sixty minutes, then stretched out on the bed facing the windows so she could watch the birds glide by on the breeze.
She was glad to be here, happy to see friends.
There was definitely a melancholy aspect to this trip, but she’d expected that and was doing her best to ignore it.
It didn’t take long for her eyelids to grow heavy, and soon she was out.