Page 35 of Lotus

She flattens her feet, lowering herself back to the ground, her fingers twisting the sleeve of my shirt. “Sorry.” A rosy blush stains the apples of her cheeks as she quickly lets go of the fabric and steps away. “Well, I’m going to freshen up. I appreciate the offer, but you don’t need to subject yourself to that kind of torture. It’s loud and crazy, flashing lights, an obnoxious DJ… women drunkenly throwing themselves at you. You’ll hate it.”

I swallow, my lips still tingling. “That does sound unpleasant.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” she agrees. Nibbling her lip again, her eyes flicker across my face before she says, “Bummer about dinner, by the way. I literally daydream about your cooking.”

I can’t help but smile at the compliment. I’m a fast learner when I set my mind to something, and cooking has definitely piqued my interest recently. “Thank you. Perhaps I’ll actually have something to teachyou.”

“Gasp.” Sydney feigns offense, clinching her hands over her heart. “Are you dissing my culinary abilities?”

“Abilities is a bold word.”

I hope she catches on to my sarcastic quip. I’ve learned from the best, after all, and well… as I said, I’m a fast learner.

Luckily, she doubles over with laughter, gripping her belly with both arms as if it aches. “Oliver Lynch,” she scolds with mock audacity. Her wink softens her words. “You’ve been picking up some bad habits. Must be that blasphemous girl next door. Terrible influence.”

I stuff my hands into my pockets, head ducking briefly before glancing back up at her with only my eyes. “Yes, well… I must admit, I’m rather fond of her.”

My innocent accolade reads more like flirtation, and my lips tickle in remembrance of her botched kiss. Sydney’s smile slips, just marginally, making me wonder if I’ve made her uncomfortable, or if she’s pondering the same thing.

“I’m fond of you, too, Oliver.” She breaks our hold after a potent beat, folding the black dress over one arm, then scurrying around the bedroom searching for accessories. “Wish me luck tonight. It’s a holiday weekend, so it’ll be madness. How are you feeling about Gabe’s party tomorrow?”

I teeter on the heels of my feet. “Anxious. Fireworks and crowds of strangers both make me skittish—the combination of the two will likely have me holed up in my bedroom all evening.”

Sydney pauses, hairbrush in hand. “Shit. I didn’t even think...” Her eyes shift from me to the carpeting beneath her bare toes. “Fourth of July. God, it’s the anniversary of your…”

Her words trail off into a void of ‘things better left unsaid’.

“I didn’t forget, Oliver,” she continues, closing in on me once again. “The whole reason Gabe started throwing parties every year was to celebrate you. We wanted to turn a tragic day into something positive and memorable. It’s just… now that you’re back, I didn’t even consider how something like that might affect you.”

I nod, my throat bobbing with a strained swallow. While I don’t have a vivid recollection of my abduction, I do recall the fireworks that night. I remember the cracks and booms lighting up the sky with pretty colors—a deceptive sort of beauty. I sat in the backseat of a strange man’s vehicle, my eyes fixated on the display outside the window, wondering why everyone else was watching the show on their front lawns with friends and family, while I was lost and confused, my arms roped behind my back.

The fireworks are the last thing I remember of that night before a blindfold was wrapped around my eyes and I was led into a new life of loneliness.

“One person’s suffering shouldn’t take the joy out of something others may find pleasure in,” I tell her. “It would be a very sad world if that were the case.”

Sydney’s smile reappears, but this time it’s accompanied with glossy eyes. “Your suffering matters more to me than the joy of fifty acquaintances and strangers. I hope you know that.”

A solemn, yet poignant silence travels between us until Sydney lets out a long breath. She holds up her dress and hairbrush, indicating she needs to withdraw from the conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow. It won’t be that bad. We can hang out in a dark corner together and silently judge everyone.”

With a wink, she departs.

I linger for a moment, listening to the sound of the showerhead twist on, trying not to envision what Sydney may look like underneath that showerhead. When my skin heats at the image, I take that as an indication to head back home. The lasagna should be nearly finished.

Making my way down the stairs, I give Alexis a few pats on the head as she circles each one of my ankles—her way of trying to prevent me from leaving, I’m sure. My heart swells at the token. I spare a few moments to pet her fur, smiling at the way her rear and tail lift up at my languid strokes.

Crouched down to my knees, I watch as she scampers over to the far wall where a canvas sits perched, facing away from me. Alexis rubs her body against it as she strolls back and forth, and my curiosity stirs. I rise to my feet and pace the few steps over to the canvas, bending to read the markings etched in pencil along the backside.

Oliver Lynch — 01.22.17

My heart lurches inside my chest. The date is from years ago, long before my return. My hands tremble as I reach for the canvas and flip it around, closing my eyes for a simple second, then popping them back open.

Alexis lets out a soft meow, masking the gasp that surely passes through my lips. It’s a portrait of myself—though, how she could determine my physical appearance as a grown adult is a mystery to me. The details are exquisite, the resemblance uncanny. I’m looking slightly upward, to the left, my hair overgrown and dappled in various browns, reds, and golds. My eyes seem to match the color of my hair, and there is an expression in them that I can’t quite pinpoint.

Worried, whimsical…haunted, perhaps.

“We’ll be best friends forever, right?”

“Yes. Until I die.”

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