35. Tea and Tissues
TEA AND TISSUES
JUNIE
Bea’s wearing a lavender cardigan when I walk onto her porch at nine. It’s the color I’ve noticed she wears when she decides we’re about to do something difficult. And now the early morning session that has never once been an early morning session makes sense.
She wants to have the entire day free to drill into me whatever lesson I need to learn.
There’s also a box of tissues where our tea usually sits.
I contemplate running home for all of three seconds. Something tells me beyond reason that this old lady would chase me down and drag me right back here.
“Juniper.”
Good lord. Full first name.
“Bea.”
“Sit down. We’re going to finish what we started three weeks ago.” She stares at me with a don’t-fuck-with-me expression until I trudge up the steps and flop into my seat.
I bet she writes off these sessions on her taxes even if she doesn’t send me a bill. We’ll talk about that later.
“Three weeks ago, you told me you’d been keeping a promise to your five-year-old self.”
“Just jumping right in today, huh, Bea?”
“You said you wanted to, and I quote, ‘un-honor it,’” she says, ignoring my sass. She’s become proficient at it lately. “Then you asked me what that verb was. Do you remember what I told you?”
“You said the verb didn’t matter. It was whatever I needed it to be that day.”
“Mm-hmm.” She begins to rock in her chair, a slow, steady rhythm.
“Well, that damn verb’s been giving me trouble too.
So I’ve been thinking, and I would like to offer you one, on the condition that you take it or leave it.
You don’t have to use it on this porch or anywhere else, but if it’s useful, you may take it with you. ”
“Okay.” I’m now on high alert. This sounds like some kind of witchcraft, and witches have historically not fared well.
“The verb,” Bea says calmly, “is releasing. You’re not breaking the promise you made to yourself at five.
Promises we make ourselves are generally important, and it makes it hard to forgive ourselves if we break them.
But you can release yourself from the five-year-old who needed it.
From the service of it. The duty. From the job of running your life.
That little girl’s been at the helm for nineteen years, sweetheart.
She’s tired. You can help her off that ledge. ”
Every inch of my body has broken out in a light sheen of perspiration. “Releasing.” I test the word.
“Releasing.”
“That’s better than un-honoring,” I say dryly.
“It’s a much better verb, yes. You may keep it or trade it in.” Bea says it as though she’s talking about a used car and she couldn’t care either way. Except I know Bea now—she cares very deeply.
“And—” I stare down at my hands, where my knuckles are white from holding my fists too tightly. It takes a few seconds for me to unclench them. “What happens to the five-year-old if I release her?”
Bea smiles. She stops rocking, leans over, and places her bony hand on top of mine. “She goes back into your memory where you’ll keep her safe. Where she belongs, dear.”
“The lavender cardigan was a good call, Bea,” I say through a choked sob.
Bea hands me some tissues and rocks next to me while I…release.
The fear.
The shame.
The anger.
The sadness.
By the time my tears dry, I’m exhausted.
“Tell me what you’re doing this weekend,” Bea says. The subject change throws me for a moment, but I appreciate what she’s doing.
We did the hard thing.
Now comes the softness.
“The boys fly in tonight. Cole’s giving me a tour of the new house tomorrow morning. The asshole hasn’t let me inside for over a week. He said it’ll ruin some open-house thing that Nana Mae’s cooking for, and Katie’s apparently been party planning for it but refuses to share a single detail.”
Bea’s lips curl up as though she knows something I don’t.
“Bea.” I’ve been in The Haven so long now my scary voice is failing me—it’s just not needed here.
“Yes, dear?”
“What do you know?”
“Nothing. It sounds like a wonderful weekend. I’ll see you on Wednesday.”
That’s it. She dismisses me and walks to her front door.
Well, that proves it. Bea’s in on it.
Whatever it is.
Cole’s not home when I get back, and I try not to be too disappointed by that fact. He didn’t know Bea was going to give me the greatest gift today.
Or maybe he did, since she knows what the hell is going on.
There’s a note on our office door.
Library install. I’ll be back at three. Stay away from the house. I love you.
Hmm. That’s fishy. I check his calendar. The custom shelves weren’t supposed to be ready until next Friday. And sure enough, on his old-school paper calendar, next Friday is crossed out and today is hastily filled in with Library.
He knew I’d check his calendar.
Stay away from the house is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. It’s basically taunting me to check it out, right?
For fuck’s sake. I thought he knew me better than that. I may be working on making my soul all Zen and shit, but I’m still a nosy asshole.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
BFF and Me Group Chat:
Everyone in my life has lost their damn minds around group chats.
Katie: Brunch. My place. Now. Don’t argue. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
Junie: It’s 11:30.
Katie: I’ve been able to tell time since the first grade, Juniper. I also know you’re about to do something stupid involving the new house, and I’m instructing you, as your best friend, to get your hot little ass over here.
Katie: Now.
Katie: Brunch.
Katie: Mimosas.
Katie: I even made a fruit plate, for fuck’s sake.
Junie: YOU’RE IN ON IT TOO?
Katie: I have no idea what you’re talking about. My house. Now.
I only go because I’m nosy. And, if my nosiness gets me into trouble, I have a better chance of taking down Katie than I do Cole.
So here I am. At her house that’s like a full-size version of Debutante Barbie’s dream home.
And she’s made two mimosas roughly the size of fish bowls. Hers is already half gone, which means she’s nervous.
Her job is obviously to keep me on this side of our zip code.
“Where’s Cole?” I ask.
“Last I heard, he was headed to the library.”
“The shelving for the library wasn’t supposed to be ready until next Friday.”
“Hmm. Yay for meeting deadlines early. Drink your mimosa.” Her gaze darts around her home. Katie’s always a little flighty—God love her—but this is a lot even for her.
“Katie.”
“Just drink your damn mimosa, okay?”
I take a sip and choke. “Since when do you add vodka to your mimosas?”
“Since forever.”
“Katie—”
She doesn’t let me get another word in. The woman has prepared talking points and barely breathes.
She tells me a long-ass story about Stanley’s golf cart needing a new battery.
An even longer story about Marley joining the bridge club, Marley getting kicked out of the bridge club, and then Marley taking over said bridge club.
Then she moves on to a completely fabricated story about how Bea was once engaged to a man she met at the post office, which I don’t believe for a second, but Katie commits to with such force that I assume she’s under duress.
“Katie,” I jump in the second she takes a break long enough to suck down a quarter of her fishbowl.
“Hmm,” she hums around her straw.
“You wanted the role of my BFF, so we will have a conversation about how you’re lying to me.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Maybe not about all of it, but you are lying. Spectacularly. With dedication. I respect it. That’s the only reason I’m not going to acknowledge it further. For now.”
Katie has actual tears in her eyes, and it hits me how much our friendship might mean to her too. I’d just always assumed she’d taken me under her wing like a broken bird pushed out of the nest by its mother. “I love being your best friend.”
“I know.” I allow a large smile just for her.
“You’re being very generous about the lying,” she grumbles. Katie likes being called out even less than I do.
“Only because I can tell you’re under a lot of pressure today and I don’t need to add to it.” I lie back on her couch. “Just pour yourself another mimosa, sans vodka, and we’ll sit here drinking our faces off while I wait for whatever it is to happen.”
She finishes her drink before I’ve finished speaking.
Cole fetches me at three fifteen with sawdust in his hair, my favorite expression on his face, and a smudge of something gross and gray under his chin.
“It’s installed?” Thankfully, I only drank one of Katie’s special mimosas, or I’d be slumped over and swaying like she is.
“Yeah.” He tugs on the back of his neck and breaks eye contact. “You going to be okay, Katie?”
“Finally,” she slurs with a big smile on her face. “You owe me. I need a shower and some water. Oh, there’s water in the shower.” She giggles.
“Is she going to be okay?” he asks when she’s out of sight.
“Fine. She’s not that drunk. I cut her off after one of her fishbowls, and I hid the vodka before she could make another.”
“Smart girl,” he says, crossing the room in two strides. He takes my face in his large hands and kisses me with the kind of slow precision he uses when building a very special model.
“Cole,” I say when he rests his forehead against mine. “What the hell’s going on today?”
A slow, devious smile spreads across his face. “Put this on and then meet me in the car.” I hadn’t noticed anything when he walked in, but that’s because he must have hung it over the banister the moment he entered.
“My green dress?”
“My favorite dress,” he says. “Meet me in the car.” Cole practically runs out of Katie’s house, and with her in the shower, I have no choice but to do as he says.
The drive to Papa’s fishing hole takes less than two minutes, and that’s only because Stanley has a procession of golf carts crisscrossing the road in front of us. They only fall away when we turn onto the dirt road that leads to Papa’s land.
Six months ago, it was just land and a dock. Now it has a house that’s almost ready to become a home—our home.
I’ve walked this drive more times than I can count now. I know what’s at the end of the road. I’ve memorized it.