Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bizzy (Elizabeth)
Shhh. My brain is closed.
It’s easy to pretend everything will be okay. That I’m healthy, that I have a long life ahead of me when I’m spending time with JJ or Rett.
To live happily in the moment.
Rolling over, I wrap my arms around JJ, my face pressed into his back. “Good morning, love.” Laughter bubbles up at Hobey banging his wooden spoon against the headboard.
This man has no business being this hot.
“Waking up to you is perfect,” he says, reaching back to put his arm around me. “So much better than the one bird band.”
Lately, I’ve been hearing strange phrases, even since my medication changed and the hallucinations stopped.
Since the night at Highfair Estate: “Sacrifice the one.” “Don’t look back.”
Dr. Fraine attributed my hallucinations to dying neurons.
Each time I hear the phrases in my head, it feels like a death knell, a bell ringing in the distance, reminding me.
Siler and I aren’t speaking.
Our last exchange over a hasty breakfast the day we left his family’s estate was tense. He wanted to know why I slept elsewhere. I countered by asking where he was half the night. Deo called it a “lover’s spat”. But we’ve never been anything but friends. Best friends.
I was his obligation. His duty.
Liz and Jen are distant. Rett is affectionate. He didn’t hold back on the ride back to Ithaca, which left Jen mopey and Liz giving me questioning looks.
Then there’s Rippley. We’ve talked on the phone, he’s asked how I’m feeling, and we’ve talked about school. He doesn’t share much about himself.
It’s safe to say things have cooled between us. When I told him about Siler’s game and asked if he wanted to join us, he was adamant about not going, uncomfortable being around JJ and I together.
I miss him. It’s clear he’s backing away from me.
JJ’s housemate stomps up the side stairs to their portion of the house. With his bedroom window open, we can hear him call out, “Your radio is blasting downstairs. The damn bird is making a racket, and I swear to God I’m going to ram that set of windchimes up your ass.”
We can’t hold in our laughter, which only makes them slam the door into their place.
The chaos here allows me a reprieve from all the thoughts that nag me.
Wrapped in a sheet, JJ lifts me up and plants a loud kiss on my head. “I bet you're hungry after last night.”
Bob Marley’s Could You Be Loved plays on his old transistor radio while I watch him sing and dance around the kitchen, making us pancakes. Hobey lands on his shoulder, still clutching the wooden spoon.
God, I want moments like these to last.
“Is Rett joining us at the art show later?” he asks between lyrics.
“That’s okay, right?”
I worry that, like Rippley, one or both of them will pull away from me because of the strangeness of this relationship. Because of my feelings for them both.
He stops stirring the batter and walks over to me.
“We’ve talked about this. I meant what I said. I trust you. This will work if there’s full transparency.”
Rockefeller Amherst is sponsoring an art exhibit featuring works from the private collections of wealthy collectors. I’ll finally get to see The Divinities painting that JJ has described so many times. His excitement about it is rubbing off on me.
“I invited Rippley to come along,” I tell JJ.
I haven’t heard back from him, but I want him to know that I care. That our friendship... no, it was more than that. The feelings growing between us were real.
They’re still there.
“Well, you could’ve kissed the brick before throwing it directly at my face,” Rett says as he comes through the door. “I’m fairly certain Ripp hates me right now.”
“Did something happen?” I ask.
I want Rippley to come, but now I’m nervous.
I’ve been invited places where I still wasn’t welcome. When I walked in, eyes skimmed over me. Smiles were polite, but never warm. The room screamed, We had to,” not “We wanted to.”
I stopped wanting to be in rooms that didn’t have space for me.
I’ve been worried about how sad Rippley has seemed.
“You could say that.” Rett sits beside me and pulls me onto his lap.
JJ continues cooking. “Are you eating, Wilson?”
“If you’re cooking it, I’m eating it,” he says, winking at me. “Make mine gooey.”
“Note to self: Rett has strange eating habits.” I smile and pinch his side.
“Uh-huh.” His playful grin widens. “In and out of the bedroom.”
My face instantly turns bright red thinking about where his tongue was on me last night.
“He won’t go,” JJ says, biting into a pancake while flipping another. “Ripp. He won’t be going. Let’s just say he may not be thrilled about Rett and me seeing you.”
My heart squeezes at the thought of Ripp being upset.
The last time we were together, I slipped into his kitchen and left a note on his fridge.
I’m glad you made it through the hard times.
Beside it, I’d sketched a little boy holding a sailboat.
I’m sorry, Ripp.
Please forgive me.
Being on Rockefeller Amherst University grounds with Rett and JJ feels totally different than every other time I’ve been here. I’m relaxed, able to notice details I never have before.
Protective sigils carved into doorways.
The hushed voices drifting through the Great Hall.
A sense that I… belong here. Familiarity.
Among the original artworks are write-ups on famous pieces not currently on display, like The Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck.
It’s one of my favorite paintings. Beautiful storytelling, minute details, and a little early Renaissance humor, with the mirror trick and “Jan Van Eyck was here” painted on the wall in Latin.
I pick up a brochure and begin to scan it.
“I’ve seen it at the National Gallery in London. Only the dog looks happy.” Rett says, slipping his arm around my waist.
JJ joins us after speaking to one of the Regents. “Isn’t the bright green die used for the dress poisonous? I remember that from a class I took.”
“Yeah, anything dyed green was loaded with arsenic. Sheele’s Green. It’s one of my favorite colors.” I pause. “Though I think that was in the nineteenth century. Wrong time period.”
“Ah, yes. The art history major is here,” Rett says.
We move to another room filled with Renaissance art, and I’m hit with such a strong sense of deja vu that I stop dead in my tracks.