60
Lillian
This afternoon, Cyprus told me Emelia was coming over earlier than the rest of us.
That she’d probably be gone before me or Sasha showed up.
She hadn’t decided yet.
Maybe she’d stay for a bit.
I wanted to ask more but couldn’t bring myself to.
I just said it sounded good as if I was relaxed about any plan, and I left Emelia’s book in my backpack.
Then I put a bow on Sasha’s present and added it to my bag too.
I filled the rest with different sets of clothes to insulate against the whole thing.
It gave me some sense of being prepared, like I’d have what I needed no matter what.
But when I arrived, Sasha’s bike was by the door and Emelia wasn’t there.
Nobody said anything about it beyond Cyprus smiling a sad smile at me and saying.
“Maybe next time.
Time breaks down everything, right?”
Which was precisely the problem between Emelia and me.
Perhaps also the solution, but I’m not patient.
I’m one of the angry waves that throws itself at the cliff face believing my sole effort will smash the whole thing down.
I had no idea what I wanted if we got another chance.
I had this picture of kissing Emelia underwater and my fingers in her hair.
I had a picture of us carefully being friends and of giving her the book and our hands touching.
A hint of hope at the corner of her mouth.
I had a picture of us entangled, sinking, but I didn’t know if it was good or bad.
I did feel relief when I saw Emelia was already gone.
Then again, half the time relief is just a sign of cowardice.
All the things I really want are terrifying, from stages to bedrooms to living forever.
I didn’t realize what time had done until I went to put my backpack in the changeroom and saw Emelia’s swimsuit hanging there.
There are dedicated rooms for going to and from the pool.
A space with dark tile and a bathroom and dry sauna attached.
I’d gone in alone to take a moment before we went outside.
Somehow the house felt very full.
Emelia’s swimsuit was hanging on the last hook, deep yellow, almost orange with the water clinging to it, dripping onto the floor.
It looked limp, half-covered by a towel.
I wondered if Emelia left it uncovered on purpose.
I’d never seen it before, but I knew it was hers, and I wondered if she’d thought of me seeing her in it and chosen it with my eyes in mind.
And then, I didn’t wonder anything.
All the need washed out to reveal a clean surface with only melancholy curiosity.
Something like nostalgia.
In a few months, I’ve gone from knowing every detail of her life to not knowing when she’d been here or what she’d looked like or where she’d gone.
I don’t know the girl who chose that swimsuit anymore.
I felt like I was going to cry, then it faded without ever streaming down my face.
I was exhausted in the way you are when your chest has been ripped open and sewn back together.
I cuffed my jeans and put on a shirt I didn’t care about over my sports bra and said some very Lillian-consistent bullshit about the swimwear industry even though I’d brought proper things to swim in.
Today, I defend myself with heavier clothes and let the water drag at me.
Every stroke to the surface was hard.
And it was good.
Amidst Quinn’s easy, self-assured movement, Cyprus bright enough to be seen from space, and her sisters in their expensive bikinis, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Sasha.
I haven’t been able to for a while.
They’re more dazzling with each day their expression gets freer.
My eyes ache from floating underwater with them open, taking in the blurred edges of Sasha’s form.
The way their feet shift on the pool floor like they’re wearing heels, the muscles in their legs, their hips and their hands and their softness and the way they seemed weightless that makes me want to touch them and send jolts of feeling through them.
My desire hidden under the water above me.
Hiding me thinking of my mouth all over them, leaving marks on their exposed stomach and their neck.
Of peeling everything off them and falling onto a bed with both of us entirely naked, laughing the way we’ve been laughing all evening, but alone.
The wondering gone, replaced with wonder.
So as people left one by one, I stayed in the water even though my limbs were tired.
I watched Quinn run across the frozen deck and through the door.
Until it’s just Sasha and me in the steam off the water with the night wrapped around us.
It’s true I want to give them my present, but as I swim past them, it’s all I can do to stop myself taking the few strokes that would get me close enough to wrap my legs around them.