Page 16 of Flying

Nessa, always one to swoop in and stir the pot counters with, “To River! The bestbest manin town!”

Before shooting back the sweet floral añejo cries of “To River!” ring out.

River’s gaze becomes uneasy when he’s called the best man, and it takes a minute to piece it together. This is not the first time he’s held the role, because he was our best man too.

The Hendrix and Long families were close, Grant and River played hockey together, so it was perfect. Elizabeth was often around, our moms would work together on school activities and town events. Hell, it was Elizabeth who found me digging under the sink trying to read the boxes of feminine products and re-explained what we learned in health class to me when my first period came. She sent me for clean underwear, showed me how to put the pad on, and waited by the door for me to change. When I exited Elizabeth pinched my cheeks hard before giving a soft hug. She explained that her mom did the same, a family tradition to bring the blood back to your face to ensure rosy cheeks and beauty in womanhood or some old wives tale.

River though, he did almost nothing for that wedding. He stood up there and planned a boys’ night out. From what I recall hearing, it was just another typical hockey party at Kirk’s mom’s house. It seems like there is something more to it. Does he believe he’s cursed? I never took him for someone who believed in those, I should take him to Prudence for a reading.

Unfortunately, I can’t because the front doors swing open and the crowd roars, “Congratulations!”

Stef is visiblynotsurprised as they make the rounds to her large family, his parents, college friends, sorority sisters, and townsfolk. Finally, as they approach the bar, I pray Lee can’t tell or doesn’t care. She’s blissfully lit from within as she waves her new jewelry around for all to see. This sparkle is more than just her self-proclaimed drunk “Asian Glow.” Although they do partake in another round of tequila shots with us.

Between the drinks, appetizers, and shots, a trip to the ladies' room is very necessary. It’s urgent enough that I step directly into a woman exiting the bathroom.

“I’m so sorry, excuse me!” comes out in a huff before I fully process what’s happening.

It’s Belinda exiting as I rush in, and now my head is spinning. Whether the cloying scent of her floral perfume or the alcohol hitting me is to blame, I can’t tell. The womens’ room door shuts too quietly to know how long she stood there before walking out.Did she care that it was me? Would she want to talk?

I feel an ache set into my chest, as my brain asks the worst question to itself:Does she miss me?I mean, it’s my mom. Even if Belinda Long is not my favorite person, she’s my mom. I don’t think people understand the number of times I hovered over her contact card in my phone, thinking that if I tried to call or text she would help me. Nothing serious, just advice on adulting.

Should I use credit cards or cash and have less saved? Do I pick the job with a more interesting location and a worse boss? Do you miss me at holiday time? If I showed up, wore the lipstick I hate, and smiled in photos, could we meet in the middle? Why has she never called or written to me?

The world is coming further off its axis. I desperately need to leave.

Leaving the stall, I walk to a row of sinks topped by a large mirror. While I wash my hands, I take a self-inventory. Makeup: not running. Hair: a bit frizzy because of the humidity, but managed. Freckles: those are showing, and she can get over it, I can’t help that she hates her own and I inherited them. It’s a trait I finally learned to love in the last few years. Outfit: feminine and appropriate. My blue dress is a shade between midnight and royal. A soft cotton cut to cover any undergarments, heaven forbid someone knows you wore a bra with straps. My neckline is an appropriate height and the simple gold chain with the ‘L’ pendant they gave me at graduation still skims my throat. I’m wearing peacock feather earrings, dangling and fluttering within my waves. The hemline is respectable. Everything is completed with metallic gold sandals.

All in all, this is a cardigan away from fully Belinda-approved but it’s too hot for the added layer. Beyond that door is a large public gathering.She did not try to speak to me, I guess she will ignore me. Is that better than us making a scene? Probably.I’ll try to accept it, but the bile in my stomach is creeping towards my throat.

In my tequila haze, I find Jim still at the bar without his dad or my friends. His shoulders climb towards his ears, his tension is palpable, but I’m too frustrated to be passive.

Poor Jim gets all of the wrath meant for Belinda.

“Fuck, Jim, you know where the girls are. Just tell me.”

I’m not sure how River tolerates their cordial relationship but his stuffy demeanor just makes me boil.

“Can you please just get over whatever caused you to dislike me so much that you’d sabotage the only party I almost hosted in high school? Can you just act like a human being towards me?”

“Yeah, thanks for the invite, Long,” Jim grumbles.

Turning, I snap, “What was that narc?”

I’m about to pounce when a firm arm pulls me towards their chest, and a hand lobs a s'more into my mouth.

“Easy there, tiger,” River nods, “I’ve got it from here, Jim.”

thirteen

River

“Lily Jayne Long, you are going to be the goddamn death of me,” I huff as I pull her through the crowd.

We snake our way towards the staircase before I shove her into the coat closet along the wall, closing the door behind us. As I follow her into the space, I realize this is too cramped for more than one adult. Fumbling for the light switch, I find myself accidentally grazing her body including the curve of her breast.

Drunk and angry Lily is someone I only saw once, and that girl set her ex-husband’s hockey gear on fire. Why she’s so mad now is a mystery. She was doing fine, until I lost sight of her for a few minutes. Something may have happened. I’ve been watching the crowd: no signs of Grant, Landan, or her former in-laws, no terse conversations with Susan, no run-ins with her Mom and Dad, at least that I saw. I’m stumped and frustrated because Jim needs to sign off on every update I make on this property.

“Lily, Jim is not a narc.” I am desperate to be patient but he’s a thorn in my side. “But he is the head of the Historical Society. I have to keep him happy to get approvals.”

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