28. six years later
six years later
“So, is it as good when we’re sober?” Atlas asks as he folds into the seat beside me.
He carefully places two trays between us.
Normally, we’d be eating nachos and hot dogs and other fair-style food.
Now though, we have a spread of vegan options.
My nose scrunches at the sight before I can stop it. “Don’t make that face, baby.”
“Sorry.” I laugh and pluck a carrot from the tray. “Force of habit. It’s just…a lot of veggies.”
A heavy thrum of bass comes from the stage and I startle, chin jerking toward the gathering crowd.
We come to Bumbershoot every year, but this is our first time watching from the stands.
It’s also the first time The Grandfathers have returned since we saw them six years ago.
We’d been on the fence about attending this year, but when they were added as a last-minute surprise, I declared it fate.
It has to be a sign, I’d told him. Nat wants us to go.
No matter that I don’t know whether she’d actually like The Grandfathers. Atlas only smiled and nodded. And here we are, halfway up the stands with a bowl of quinoa between us.
I snatch a carrot from the tray before inspecting the quinoa. I take a tentative bite and scrunch my nose, desperate to find it disgusting. Instead, I release an irritated sigh. “Dammit. It’s so good.”
“If you say so.” Atlas laughs as he picks up his burger. A vegan burger, because even though he didn’t have to join my new diet, he’s been vegan right along with me. “You know. If I didn’t know this was fake meat—”
“Don’t lie.” I flick his knee, smiling as he laughs again. “But I love you for trying.”
As we eat, The Grandfathers take the stage. Six years later, they look exactly the same, at least from here. Young guys in their twenties, dressed in basic black clothes and seeming larger than life itself. Below the stands, thousands of people compress against the stage.
“I can’t believe that used to be us,” I say, nodding toward the pit.
“Don’t say that like we’re eighty.” Atlas scoffs. “We were down there last year.”
“But look how crazy they look now,” I insist. “All squished together in a mosh pit.”
“We are not going down there.” Atlas plays with the back of my hair. I’ve barely cut it since we got together six years ago, and it’s nearing my waist. “Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m not, obviously.” It’s the truth. I became obsessed with music festivals over the past few years, partially because I feel closest to Nat when I’m at one. Partially because they’re just fun. That said, it’s been perfectly fun from up here.
I take a final bite of quinoa before dropping the bowl onto its tray. I rise to my feet, stretch my hands as high as they’ll go.
“Terrible news,” I say, right as the lead singer starts calling out to the crowd. Wild cheers fill the air, and Atlas waits until they quiet before responding.
“Right now?”
“Yup,” I say. Fortunately, since switching to vegan food, my constant breaks aren’t due to vomiting anymore. Unfortunately, nothing can be done to help my cramped bladder. “Stay here with the food. I’ll be back in, like, five minutes.”
“It’s going to take you five minutes to get down these stairs,” he argues.
“Probably,” I admit with a laugh. “But if I don’t go now, I’m going to pee my pants.”
“Want me to come?”
“I think I’ll be okay.” I laugh as I pass him, throwing him a wink over my shoulder. “I might decide to stop at the pit on my way back.”
“Not funny,” he says with a scowl, but it quickly dissolves into a smile.
Despite all our years together, my stomach still fills with butterflies when he looks at me like that.
It only takes me two minutes to get down the grand stand stairs—and yes, I do time it.
It takes longer to exit the main arena though, and by the time I’m finished in the bathroom, The Grandfathers are deep into their third song.
The entire arena vibrates with bass, with the echoing rasp of the lead singer’s voice.
I’m so focused on getting back to the stands, I almost don’t see her. A solitary figure, standing at the top of the stairs to the arena. From the way she’s looking at me, it’s not a coincidence we’re colliding. She saw me before I saw her, and she’s been waiting.
“I thought it was you.” She doesn’t raise her voice, and with the pulsing music, I barely hear her. And yet, it plunges me into the past, to years and years ago, when she sat at the foot of my bed writing bucket lists. The same lists that one day led me here.
I step closer. The world around us ceases to exist as I bridge the distance, until we’re separated only by the rising staircase.
“Nat.”
She’s not the Nat from my memories. Any of them.
She isn’t underweight and shaking. Her skin isn’t pallid.
But she isn’t mousy and cowering either.
She stands tall and strong, wearing a cute outfit our father never would have allowed.
She’s more alive than she’s ever seemed, standing before me like our terrible past never happened.
“Nat.” I say her name again, louder. I’m terrified this is an illusion, that I’m seeing her when she’s not actually here.
My voice doesn’t sound like mine, not to me. But my sister’s body shudders when I say her name. She closes her eyes briefly, grabbing the railing. Behind her, the concert rages on, but here, we are the only people who exist.
I surge on instinct, on pure, selfish need.
I hurry up the stairs, moving faster than I have in months.
It’s only when she immediately stumbles back that I realize she doesn’t want me to approach.
She’s looking at me like she’s afraid of me, and of course she is.
I ruined her life. The last time she trusted me, I betrayed her.
I watched her drown for months, and when she sank under, I let it happen.
I stop, halfway up. I don’t know how long passes, only that I’m frozen, unsure what to do. How to act. All at once, I am a child again.
Maybe that’s why I do something I haven’t in over a decade.
I place a loose ‘o’ shape against my brow. Wait, unsure she’ll even remember. But of course she does. It’s Nat. It’s really Nat, after all these years, after so many unanswered whispers into the universe.
‘O’ means, are you okay?
The last time I made this sign to Nat, she didn’t respond. I’m not even sure she saw it. I don’t know what I’ll do if she ignores me now, or worse, if she runs, disappearing from my life forever.
Again.
Tears slide down her cheeks as we stand, frozen in a silent stalemate.
She taps her chin twice.
Yes. Yes, I am okay.
I continue up the stairs, more slowly this time. I leave two steps between us, enough of a gap that I couldn’t reach her if I tried.
She makes the ‘O’ shape in return, presses it against her temple but I can’t bring myself to answer with a tap on my chin. Not after all this time.
“I love you,” I say instead. She flinches like I’ve struck her. “I love you and I miss you.”
“I’m sorry.” She’s crying, and her makeup is starting to smear. She wipes at her mascara. Somehow, I know she’s not apologizing for crying or for reeling away from me. She’s sorry for running. For leaving me.
“I love you,” I say again.
She doesn’t nod this time. Instead, her attention drifts to my stomach.
“You’re pregnant.” She swallows. Without realizing it, I’ve placed a hand on my stomach. Before I respond, she smiles. “And married.”
“I would have invited you,” I say. My voice is thin, watery. I’m crying now too, but I don’t bother wiping at my face.
“Is it Atlas?” she asks. Then, “You don’t have to tell me anything. It’s just—the guy you’re with kind of looked like him.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” Anything. Everything. Forever. “And yeah, it’s Atlas.”
“I always hoped you would.”
We’re standing less than ten feet apart now, the closest we’ve been in years. And yet, she’s impossibly far away. I stare at her, dissecting her entire appearance. The healthy glow of her skin. Her dark hair that’s cut to her chin. The barely-visible tattoo on the back of her wrist.
“I’m clean now. Eight years.” She didn’t need to tell me. It’s clear in the way she looks and the way she’s holding herself. Even nervous and frazzled and emotional, I know what Nat looks like when she’s sober…and when she’s not.
Why didn’t you find me? I want to ask. Why didn’t you come back?
I don’t ask either. Instead, I swallow the emotions to the back of my throat and say what really matters.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” I glance at the stage far behind her, where The Grandfathers break into one of their most-popular songs. “When I first heard this band, I thought of you.”
“They’re my favorite.” She’s smiling, a bit nervous, but there’s light radiating from her. Wherever she’s ended up in this world, she seems happy.
For years, I’ve dreamt of this happening.
I don’t think I was ever going to stop secretly hoping for it.
There are so many things I knew I would ask her.
Did you hate me for what happened? Were you Dad’s anonymous caller, the one who got him locked away?
What does your life look like now? Is it better than you knew possible?
I’m fidgeting, scrambling for the right thing to say, the thing that will make her stay. Not just in this conversation but in my life. Before I can come up with anything, a woman comes from the arena, eyes darting frantically through the crowd. She only relaxes when she spots Nat.
“Hey, where’d you go?” the woman asks. She’s pretty and petite with auburn hair that trails past her waist. She sidles up to Nat with the same familiarity between me and Atlas. “You took off on me.”
“I saw an old friend. Wanted to catch up.” Nat nods toward me. Without looking away from my face, she grabs the woman’s hand and pulls her closer.
The woman looks at me quizzically. Nat and I have never looked much alike, but it stings all the same. This woman is clearly important to Nat, but she has no idea who I am. She’s never seen my face. I doubt she even knows Nat has a sister. Maybe, somehow, that was for the best.
“We can go back in,” Nat says. She’s got the woman’s hand in a death grip, like she’s the only thing tethering her to the ground. Despite the lingering hurt, I am happy for this. For the fact that whatever Nat’s gone through, she hasn’t done it all alone.
“It was nice to see you,” I say weakly. I want Nat to break away from her partner and come hug me. I want her to say she loves me too, that she’s missed me more than I could imagine. That she doesn’t hate me for what happened.
“Are you…” she trails off, looking ashamed. But her partner nudges her, encouraging, even though it’s clear she doesn’t understand what’s happening. “Are you at the same number?”
“Yeah.” The word is a single breath, held for so many years it’s painful to release now. “It’s the same. Do you want me to write it—”
“I remember it,” she interrupts. “I could text you. If you want. If not that’s—”
“Please.” It’s my turn to interrupt. “Please text me. Call me. Anything.”
“I will, Violet.” She nods at me, the movement somehow familiar and foreign all at once. “I promise.”
The last time I knew my sister, her promises were nothing but empty words. Now though, I can’t help but believe her.
I remain on the stairs long after she and her partner disappear. I’m standing, dumbfounded, when Atlas breaks from the crowd. He grabs me by the shoulders briefly before tugging me against his chest.
“Jesus. Where have you been?” He kisses the crown of my head, his hand finding my stomach, as if by muscle memory. “I’ve been calling you. I was convinced you were in labor, and Tali was going to be born in a port-a-potty.”
“You’re never going to believe who I just saw,” I whisper against his chest. I’m clutching his shirt, smiling against the soft fabric.
Hours later, after we’re tucked into our AirBnB and I’ve convinced myself I’ll be okay regardless of whether Nat ever reaches out, my phone buzzes. The text comes from an unknown number with an Oregon area code.
I’m really glad you’re okay too.
I send a response, nestled on the worn leather couch of the same rental we’ve used every year for Bumbershoot. With my head on Atlas’s shoulder and his fingers in my hair, I smile to myself. Because maybe some things can never be fixed, but maybe, some things can.