Page 62 of Flying

Looking at the square decorated for Stef’s shower I wonder,would I have this sort of event ever again? Could I?

Trying to visualize an alternate reality as I walk around checking that everything in my section is just so, I feel like the girl who lives in delusion.

Lingering walks along the banks with Pete while holding hands with River. Family picnics with Stef and Lee. Then, when they have kids, a large blanket spread on the lawn and those tiny little snack cups kids hold. Seth is grumbling and reading, but it’s a kids book for that little niece or nephew they give us all. Nessa is jotting things in a notebook while Delia perfectly reapplies her lipstick. I try to take it further into the future, could I sit there with grade school kids belonging to my people, wearing rings that River gave me?

Could one of those small humans be mine? Would I mess them up and repeat Belinda’s mistakes?

It only took one small negative to feel the slide from “manifesting a different future” to an anxiety spiral.

Thankfully, I feel two strong arms wrap around me from behind. The sensation starts to ground me, and I look for something to focus on, I see the paint chipped gazebo. I try to focus on a smell, there’s the smoke in the air from the pig roast. I listen for something I can hear, it’s River.

“Darling,” he whispers before slowly turning me to face him. Planting a soft kiss on my mouth, he gives me the last of the five senses for grounding. I can taste the cinnamon and whiskey of the craft cocktail he was mixing batches of. River has left overseeing the team setup just long enough to snap me out of my potential spiral. I’m not even sure if he knew what he just helped to do, but I’m breathing in him for reassurance anyway.

I lean back enough to look up into those pine and sky eyes that have made my weeks here begin to feel less like being lost in the woods and more like Christmas morning, awestruck once again by our ease together. He drops something in my hand, and peering down, it’s my pill bottle from the counter.

“Good thing my sundress has pockets,” I say before pushing the orange container in one and my fist into the other. The delicate floral T-shirt dress with a swinging skirt flows with me as I move side to side.

With a gentle forehead kiss he says, “I didn’t know if you’d get too busy to pop home, and I know that something like this” he gently gestures around us before putting his hands back on my upper arms with soft but firm touches, “with Susan, the possibility of Belinda, so much socializing, can make it harder for you. I didn’t want you to skip the optional afternoon dose if you didn’t want to. I can put it away too, I just saw it was on the counter. It’s your call.”

For a moment I want to balk at this kind gesture, but then my brain catches up with my ears and realizes he said one important and empowering word. If.

He didn’t tell me I must, or tell me that I was forgetful, should have ‘just’ set a timer, or would be wrong to not want to take optionalmedicines. It was simple:if this would help me, he didn’t want access to it to be an obstacle.I jump, my own arms squishing around his back, feet kicking into the air forcing him to lift me slightly.

“Thank you,” I whisper while kissing his jaw lightly. I am in love with him I realize, and the thought has my already frazzled nerves working overtime. This man has the ability to make me believe in being someone's chosen person. That he wouldn’t leave no matter what and I cannot help but soak him in.

I’m so lost in my own thoughts that it feels sudden when Mateo Santos-Manolo interrupts.

“What’s up, girl?” Mateo shouts across the lawn towards me with a nod in his perfect impression of Jason fromThe Good Place.

I quip back, “Not a girl,” before we both break into giant smiles.

This silly greeting between Jason Mendoza and The Good Janet became our go-to when we wound up at the same Halloween party a bunch of years ago.

I was one of a slew of cocktail waitresses at this resort dressed as Janet for the night when he arrived. Wrapped up poorly in bed sheets, the costume was intended to be Jason’s red and gold Buddhist monk robes.

Mateo kept his team on their best behavior and then doubled the bill for tip. Whatever he has been doing in real estate is clearly going well for him, yet his eyes betray him. He’s bored and confused. He seems like a lost puppy, he’s searching for someone and something familiar.

“Hey there co-best man,” River breaks away to greet Mateo. Clearly, everyone really brought out the big guns for today, based on the outfit Mateo’s pulled together.

Mateo swaggering over—there’s no other way to describe it— feels like a movie scene, a slow motion saunter paired with head nods, sunglasses removal, and possibly Delia closing Nessa’s jaw. I’ll need to poke her on that later. We see him fully now in a slim fit maroon suit. As Mateo makes the rounds—handing out large greetings via jokes, high fives, and hugs to every business owner from the town—you would think he’s Mister Peacock Springs.

River drops me a quick kiss and a goodbye, then doubles back fora few more. He pecks at my cheeks, forehead, and nose rapidly with adorable succession.

His playfulness is warming me as much, no more than, as the spring sunshine. Watching him retreat, the tight fit of his charcoal gray suit pants over his behind and the black button down neatly fitted to his broad shoulders, I’m taken by how blissful I can feel while standing on these grounds. I understand the appeal of being here.

I might even be able to do it for real this time. Even with yesterday’s nonsense; leave it to Jim, Nicole, and Pru to stage an ambush at the town meeting. The only thing that can keep me from making this my home again is me. Not Grant’s behavior and rude comments about the state of my life, not Landan’s ongoing unapologetic stance, or Belinda’s disapproval of me. None of that is important.

Right here; the work we’ve completed around the square matters. Nessa is primping floral centerpieces and obsessively tucking ribbons and adjusting things before setting up sternos for the buffet. Delia is sitting with the sunlight streaming across Stef’s blushing tan features, her deep set warm brown hooded eyes closed for Delia to do a touch up on the makeup she set for her earlier.

“Oh my god, Nessa! Stop, just move the jars. I do not need you having a panic attack today,” Stef shouts.

Despite her closed eyes, she’s clearly been in education for too long if she can see without looking at this one.

“How did you…” Nessa trails off mid question.

“Girl, I’ve known you since we were three. I just knew. Move the damn flowers, I don’t care what Susan says when she gets here.”

With a deep throat clear, we hear a posh voice correct, “I believe that is Nanay or Mother to you, Stefanie. Correct? Delia, stop fussing, she looks beautiful. We do not want her overdone.”

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