Page 68 of Under Locke & Key
The words pulse through me like a heartbeat as I hold her close to my body. Her soft breathing and the window unit are the perfect white noise but I can’t give in to sleep. Not yet. Not when I’m lost because I’ve never ached so badly for more than right at this moment. More time. More touch. More of Rachel and all the next times she’s willing to give.
* * *
Logan dropsby every afternoon he can, the two of us working side-by-side to clear out the final room. Gabrielle joins when she can and by the end of July, two weeks after we had to move up the deadline, the rooms are ready for paint and the structural design elements that will make up each space.
Rachel’s got the Dulaney room all figured out, as well as outlines for the other two and she’s ready to present it to us all, my friends and parents included, once the last of the paint has dried. We’re gathered on folding chairs in what will be the Dulaney room—the largest of the bunch—and Rachel takes a deep breath before launching into the first idea.
“The plan is to have each room themed after a movie, or in the case of the main attraction, the theater and Dulaney itself. We’ve settled on an adventure room, loosely based on movies like Indiana Jones and The Mummy for the first of the movie rooms. The basic premise is a trap. Not so much solving a mystery as trying to find your way out of the room before it’s too late. We’ll be playing with things like lighting to give the illusion of the room closing in, and torches being extinguished, as time progresses. With each ten minutes a torch will blow out and it will become more challenging to escape. This one will have a disclaimer and be geared toward more serious escapees who have done this sort of thing before.” Rachel hands out a stack of stapled papers to each of us with the basic premise of the room, ideas for puzzles, and how the tech will be incorporated into the experience.
“What about the other rooms?” Logan asks, flipping through the pages.
“The room we’re in right now has been nicknamed the Dulaney room and will evoke a murder mystery vibe. We’re basing it on a fictional murder that took place when this was still a stage theater in the forties and caused the place to shut down. Participants will have to scour the theater for clues on who committed the murder before the killer figures out they’re looking, orthey will be next.” Rachel adds a bit of drama to the end of the sentence, the fake danger in her tone making the group laugh.
“Lastly, we've got a more entry-level room. This one is based around a heist and the participants get to be the criminals. Sometimes being bad is more fun. We're taking notes from Steven Soderbergh movies like Ocean's Eleven and Logan Lucky. They'll have to gather all the intel on breaking in, disable the alarms and cameras, and bypass all the security codes before the system comes back online.”
I can't help the pride that sweeps through me as Rachel lays it all out for them—the closest people in my life and those who believe in me even when I don't believe in myself. It finally feels within reach.
This endeavor might have started as a way to prove to Steph and myself that I am more than she saw me as, but it's become so much more. This business, this time with Rachel—it's been so healing. Outside the bubble of Philadelphia and Stephanie, and the soul-sucking office nightmare that was the “family business,” I feel so much more alive.
Life isn't justhappeningto me.
“So, what do you all think?” Rachel asks and I can see by the determined set of her jaw and the fear in her eyes that she's hoping for praise and terrified that her weeks of work won't garner the response she wants and deserves.
“You're a marvel. I don't know how Bryce swindled you into all this but you are killing it.” Gabrielle is the first to speak and Rachel's stiffness eases under the words.
“Thank you for making this dream come to life. I know it's sappy to say but I've never seen Bryce happier and more fulfilled. No matter the outcome, you've had a tremendous impact on my son, by extension all the people in his life, and this town.” My mother approaches Rachel, tugging her into a quick hug that says even more than her words do.
Mom isn't a hugger. Her physical affection is reserved for family. Heck, even Logan just gets a cheek pat, a little fake smack in greeting or when he says something ridiculous. So it just drives home how much my parents must like her.
Rachel's face flames and she nods at my mom before carrying on. “Bryce has given me your availability and I've made up a tentative schedule and duty list. Between the six of us, we should be able to pull this off in time.”
Dispersing, the chatter of my loved ones discussing what they're excited for, I let myself bask in the warmth of this moment. It's happening. A year ago I was devastated by Steph changing the world as I knew it. The checklist I hid behind in order to keep me safe was pointless and in her pushing us in the right direction it became glaringly obvious just how unfulfilled I was.
I'm so grateful for it—for the spite that turned into a sort of confidence. For the pain that kept me centered. For the ability to see what's actually good for me instead of what I have to pretend my way through.
I'm grateful for Rachel and her small hand tucked into mine as we walk past the tea shop and up into her apartment. Even though it's only been a couple weeks since this thing between us finally burst free, there's a quiet comfort I don't take for granted.
It's there . . . the feeling I'm still too scared to name.
It's there through every heartbeat of hers I can feel against my skin, and the soft puff of her breathing against my neck as she sleeps.
Rachel Mackey, without even trying, has flooded every single fracture in my chest with her light. She's left an indelible mark on me that is all the more beautiful for who made it. With her touch I am a kintsugi piece of pain and growth, acceptance and affection.
And a tender fledgling love that I hope to coax into something strong and enduring.
Placing a kiss against the top of her head, I breathe in the scent of her shampoo. I'm not sure how yet, but all I know is that when this contract is up Ihaveto find a way to convince her to stay.
It’seasy to lose myself in the demands of the last big rush—the final push that will make or break the last few months of my life. Somehow, in a short span of time, everything is different. I don’t wake up dreading every day. I don’t spend it constantly being second guessed or passed over. Bryce considers me an equal, even more sometimes when he says things about how smart or brilliant or creative I am.
The fulfillment is only rivaled by the warmth that being by his side brings.
But there’s a pall, a niggle at the back of my mind. When it’s dark and quiet and Bryce is asleep beside me, my thoughts race. Combing over every part of my conversation with my mother and analyzing how all the little lies by omission—from my burn out to my sexuality—and keeping my feelings to myself for so long caused it all to go wrong.
Was it during the months here in Dulaney? Before? Was it when I realized that I hated piano but kept taking lessons because she thought it would help me be more well-rounded? When I stopped looking for faces that echoed mine in photographs?
As the days stretch into a week, then two, then more . . . I ache. As much as things between us are strained, as much as I want to please her and prove my worth—I can’t take it anymore. I have to be my own person. I just wish my mom could see that all the tools, all the work and time she gave served their purpose. Just because I’m not living out the life she devised for me doesn’t mean it’s not a good one—a great one even.
Bryce doesn’t bring it up again outside of his genuine, “I’m here if you want to talk,” type thing—giving me the space to work through my thoughts and feelings and I appreciate it. As we get closer to the end it’s become clearer that he’s the kind of person who keeps things close to the vest and needs time to process but once he does he’s honest. Him affording me the same has been so helpful.
