25. Evelyn
25
Evelyn
Party with Jimi Hendrix: Sunday, All Day Event @ Museum at Bethel Woods
W e silently agree to take separate cars to Bethel. We’d all fit in Quinn and Oliver’s rental, but I think the elephant in the room would have a hard time fitting in the trunk.
This morning when Garrett picks me up, I try to play off my silence as being tired. I’m pretty sure if I speak, something like “Could you kiss me again—you know, for science” will fall out, which would make the car ride even more super fun and pleasant than it already is.
I stayed up for hours feeling the specter of his touch trail over me until I had to put my vibrator to use. His name tumbled from my lips when I came, not on purpose, but the shape of it fit perfectly in my mouth.
“Eve?” Garrett asks, and my cheeks flair with heat.
“Yes?” I chirp.
“Could you tell them we’re about fifteen minutes out from the museum,” he directs, his attention fixed on the road.
Our first stop will be The Woodstock Museum at Bethel Woods, dedicated to the groundbreaking festival and the artists who performed at it. There is a Woodstock, New York, but there’s close to a two-hour drive between the two.
Once we arrive, we meet Quinn and Oliver who are already outside. Garrett and I got a late start—only a few minutes, but still. The building is a series of wood sided octagonal spaces connected by long halls.
“Hey, pumpkin, look who decided to show up,” Oliver says to Quinn.
“Pumpkin?” Quinn sounds nonplussed, her eyebrows arched.
Her tone doesn’t seem to bother Oliver, though. “I’m trying something new.”
“And you’re immediately failing at it.” Quinn shakes her head then turns to me. “Do I look like a pumpkin to you?”
“You have a certain rhubarb quality, but definitely not a pumpkin,” I say to ease the spark of tension. A great sign since we have yet to make it inside.
“Ahh, see, that’s probably what I was picking up on.” Oliver nods then slings his arm around Quinn’s waist before starting toward the entrance.
We scan our tickets and shed our jackets as we push through to the main hall. The colors of the exhibit are decidedly psychedelic. A painted bus and VW Bug take up opposite sides of a walkway, each with their own intricate swirling patterns of flowers and starbursts. Overhead, film footage is projected on panels.
“I think I found your time machine,” Garrett says, leaning close enough that I’m met with his clean scent of bergamot and lavender.
“Close enough.” Though, this isn’t exactly what I meant.
Quinn and I end up next to each other watching concert film from bean bag chairs. Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Santana, and others from the lineup each performing to a sea of people all caught up in the same moment. Collective effervescence, one of those things that make you believe there’s a touch of magic in the mundane. Strangers becoming friends through their love of music.
“Would you want to do something like that?” Quinn asks.
“Go to a music festival? Maybe?” I shrug. “I’m not exactly the biggest fan of camping but I could make it work.”
“No, go on stage.” There’s a rustling from her bean bag, and I turn to find her facing me. “And be in front of a crowd like that. I bet you could, with Avery, and play the piano or something. I mean, if you still practice now that you’re in the city.”
“I think I’d be too stressed about all the people. Like one mistake and it will live forever on someone’s phone.”
“Really?” She sounds shocked. I guess it makes sense why. Between the two of us I was always a bit more performative.
“I mean in this hypothetical, it could be fun,” I say and let myself dream. A crowd singing along as I play. People dancing. Strangers sharing this one moment. I could like it.
“Yeah, well, I think your hypothetical self would kill it,” she says then hesitates. My bean bag crinkles as I turn to face her. Her bottom lip is pulled between her teeth, a question caught in her eyes. “We should talk about Oliver.”
“I don’t see what’s to talk about. You’re together. I’m with Garrett. We’re good,” I insist, despite my stomach starting to flip. There’s nothing more to it. Nothing that’s going to change by making a fuss of it.
“Ev, I’m serious.”
“So am I.” My eyes nervously dart around the room to land on a group of five glancing our way, waiting for us to give up our seats. “The film is about to restart. Let’s give them our spots,” I say, then stand and call out to the group. “Hey, we're done if you want our seats.”
“Evelyn.” Quinn stands and tries to reach for me, but I pretend not to notice as I hurry to the next part of the exhibit.
I find Garrett and take his hand as we meander through the space and then outdoors to view the sculptures. Every now and then I make him pose so I can take pictures of him, which he sends off to his boss. I’m running on the logic that if I make sure I’m not alone with Quinn then the conversation can never really happen, and if the conversation can’t happen, then it can’t implode our current delicate balance.
“You’re part of Fool’s Gambit, right?” A woman’s voice comes in a hushed question. I whip around to find two women standing in front of Garrett with hopeful bright eyes.
“Yeah.” Garrett nods. His hands are thrust deep in his pockets. His attention flickering between the women and the stage for the performance getting ready to start in the pavilion. We’re on the grass near the back because we got waylaid by a vegetable stand where Oliver found an impressively large zucchini he needed to buy. Quinn managed to talk him out of it, but only after she took a picture of him cradling it.
Things are normalish . But I’m not sure if that’s us in our default setting, years of history winning out over the last few months of distance, or if things are actually okay.
“Could we get you to sign something?” one of the women asks.
“Sure, do you have a pen?” he replies. He’s not eager, but he also doesn’t seem put off by it either, which surprises me.
Quinn and Oliver approach, carrying popcorn and drinks to where I’m resting on the red gingham picnic blanket we bought in town.
“That seems fun,” Oliver says.
“It happens all the time.” I shrug, as if Garrett and I have done this before.
“The moment you post with him online you’re going to break so many hearts,” Quinn says as she sits next to me, working to not spill the butter drenched popcorn.
“Thanks, I’ve always dreamed of crushing thousands of people with my happiness,” I say.
Quinn shakes her head. “Don’t sell yourself short, definitely hundreds of thousands.”
“Sorry about that,” Garrett says as he walks back to us. When he sits down, he brushes against me, his hand landing on my knee and resting there.
“Completely unrelated question, do you have any spare bath water,” I ask.
“Let me think,” Garrett says. “No. I don’t really bottle that up for special occasions.”
“A shame. Ev, you could make a killing. I mean, nothing’s stopping you from selling off the odd pair of underwear,” Quinn suggests.
“Please, don’t give me a reason to hide my belongings,” Garrett bemoans. My attention fixes on his thumb trailing up and down, burning through the fabric of my pants.
“You’re killing her entrepreneurial spirit. Don’t let this man limit you, Ev,” Quinn says.
Applause roars, rising in a wave originating from the stage as the opening act walks on. A warm weight wraps around me. I stiffen at the unexpected embrace before settling in Garrett’s arms.
His chin rests on my shoulder so when he speaks his words are for me alone. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I reply in a hushed voice.
“It was a long day.”
I consider lying. Saying that I’m perfectly fine and pretending I have yet to have a real full conversation with Quinn. “Yeah, it was.”
“I’m here.”
“I know.” I wrap my arms over his, hugging him to me the best I can. “Thank you.”
The headliner is a bluegrass trio whose music has a few of the couples around us on the lawn getting up to dance. I can’t help but smile at the energy blooming all around us even as the cold night nips at our noses and paints our cheeks pink.
Quinn and Oliver leave before the set is over since Oliver has a meeting in the morning with the rest of his team. I can’t help but think it also has to do with how things are between us, that they need distance.
Garrett and I stay, wrapped up together until the final note. For warmth, obviously. On the way back, he blasts the heat in the car and suggests we stop for food. I readily agree, happy that tonight there are no timers or quick getaways.
“I wonder if this was an old Burger King and they were too lazy to come up with something new,” I say as we pull into the lot. “Or the owner has a one-sided feud with the chain.”
The menu is so big that I can make out parts of it from the edge of the asphalt. Vintage illustrations of ice cream and burgers dance along a white background. There are three other cars besides ours in the lot. A truck has its tailgate down and a few teens are clustered into the back with their grease-stained paper bags scattered around them. The other two are empty and must belong to employees.
King’s seems like a place that’s seen countless memories. It’s somewhere I can imagine parents bringing their kids to so they can share the taste of the food, passing down the experience like an heirloom.
“What if he blames chain restaurants for the downfall of his marriage? Imagine him toiling away at home, grilling burgers flavored with his family's secret seasoning?” Garrett catches the end of my hypothetical and runs with it. A smile melts onto my face.
I continue helping the story take shape. “And the wife and son come back with burgers and won’t eat his. But this isn’t the first time. Each time it happens he pushes himself to make a better burger and, in the end, his family never even tries them. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.”
“You should write a song about that,” he says, maneuvering into the parking space furthest from the teens.
“The rise and fall of a New England burger entrepreneur?” I ask.
“If you write it, I’d listen.”
“You might be the only one,” I say. “But I’ll put it on the list of ideas to workshop.”
“Who wouldn’t want to hear about the epic highs and lows of owning a drive-in burger joint?” His voice drips with astonishment at the idea as he turns off the engine.
“The general population, but why would I cater to them?” I say, trying not to remember that I have to do exactly that. I shove the thought away.
“I’d listen either way.” He turns and his eyes hold mine. All of his edges and shadows are exaggerated with the buzzing light coming from the drive-in. He’s a study in angles. If we weren’t us, I’d run my hand over those edges to see if they’re as sharp as they look.
The moment shifts as he cocks his head toward the building. “What do you want?”
I give him my order, and he goes to the counter where a teen in a paper hat helps him. I’m doing my best not to think of what will happen after this weekend.
I’ve always tended to hold one crucial part of myself back from people. More often than not, it’s music. For some reason it feels like if someone doesn’t have all of me then if they don’t really like me then I can blame it on the fact they never had the chance to know all of me.
Garrett has learned so much more about me than most people ever have. The versions of us here aren’t the same as who we are in the city. He’s not someone who I can pull through blueberry farms and museums, and I’m not someone who can pretend I don’t want more of that. We’ve been those people before, but the shape of who we are now isn’t something I want to let go of. It fits so well in my hands, into the cracks in my heart.
Garrett walks back to the car with greasy paper bags that make my mouth water. He hands them over to me as he climbs into the car. When I look inside my brows pull together.
“Why didn’t you get the burger? Mr. King lost his family so you could try it,” I tease.
“I’ll just have to have a bite of yours,” he says as he reaches for his bag.
“That’s awfully presumptuous of you. I respect this man's hard work, and I’ll savor every bite.”
“Chicken tenders are easier to eat if I want some while driving and they won’t get soggy if I wait too long to eat them,” he explains.
“Let’s stay here and eat,” I say, but then add, “Unless you have somewhere you need to be.”
“No. I just need to be here.”
The night air fills with the crinkle of wrappers and foil being stripped from food. I trade some of my burger for a chicken tender. When our food is gone, he goes back for chocolate shakes. The night continues to stretch, and my heart seems to patter out a rhythm.
More. More. More.
After the first sip of my shake, I hesitate for a moment. The words burst out of me at a sprint. I can’t stop what comes next. “We’re friends, right?”
“Is that a trick question?” His brows pinch in their usual way.
“I promise I wouldn’t give you the verbal version of a check yes or no for a trick question,” I joke through the embarrassment heating my cheeks.
“Yes, we’re friends, Eve,” he says. His face softens. “I thought it was obvious.”
“Maybe it should be.” I look down to where my hands are wrapped around the plastic cup. “I guess as adults we’re just expected to know when we transition from people who spend time together to friends without asking. I’m just out of practice with this whole friend thing. It just felt pointless to meet new people who I couldn’t really open up to when I moved to New York.”
And now with Oliver and Quinn, I have no idea what I’m doing either. Who I’m supposed to be with them, to them, now that they have each other. Do they even need me anymore?
“It’s hard picturing you alone like that.” It’s not the first time he’s said something like it. In some ways, I’m happy he sees me in the way I present myself to everyone else.
“I never thought I’d end up that way,” I admit. I always thought I’d have Quinn and Oliver; I guess I still do. I just don’t know how to have them in my life without the potential of hurting them. I’ve already done it once. “And it’s not like you noticed. You were too busy ignoring me.”
“You're impossible to ignore, even if I wanted to.”
“Good to know I’m starting to win you over.” I tap my melty shake against his.
“It’s not like I ever did—want to ignore you, I mean.” The heat in his words causes me to take a long sip, but that does nothing to dampen the intensity.
“I guess you can keep me as your emergency contact then,” I tell him, trying to sidestep how that makes me feel. “But seriously, getting to know you here…I don’t know, it’s like I’m meeting you for the first time, even though I’ve known you almost all my life.”
“You weren’t missing out on much.” And I can tell he believes it.
“I think you’re wrong about that.” I reach out my hand. “I’m Evelyn, by the way.”
He plays along, the way the Hartsfall version of him has grown to do. “Garrett.” His hand wraps over mine.
“Thanks for letting me know you.”