Page 62 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
“Wanna hear my plans for spring break?”
“One thing at a time, Pheenster. One thing at a time.”
The season was changing, and while I followed suit many things about me remained the same.
Trying new things didn’t always mean that who you were before was wrong, or not the real you. It meant you could say with absolute certainty who you weren’t, because you’dtried.
I still preferred reading to partying, and I’d still take hot chocolate with marshmallows over a beer any day. I liked getting to know new people, but if given the choice I’d spend a relaxing night curled up on our living room chaise watching film adaptations of Shakespeare’s plays. And while the highlight of my weekends now included getting my butt handed to me by Juan in a game of chess, I sometimes missed my isolated friendship with Theory and Danny. And who knew I’d love social media.
I was more sure of my choices. More confident in what I believed about myself. And in hearing other’s stories, I became okay with the times when I wasn’t okay. When I’d questioned everything I had been sure of as early as the day before. Moments where the loss of Sebastian was so crippling, I couldn’t get out of bed. I still had bad days. I didn’t need to be perfect.
I finished up my latest post, added my hashtag and sent it out into the world.
I reached for my hair—my typical reaction when my thoughts sought out Sebastian. I’d had several haircuts by now—the sides tapered low, and a tight mop of curls nestled at the top—but Sebatian loved my hair, so it was instinct to seek out the thing he treasured when thinking of him.
I imagined he would consider me beautiful either way, but it wouldn’t matter. Not now. Not to who I was now. I loved it. It made my neck appear longer, my hair lighter—closer to the shade it was as a kid, and I looked more mature. It matched my insides.
I’d promised myself I would live for me first and foremost. I mentally checked in with myself often to confirm that what I was doing was for me and not him. It could be hard to differentiate between the two, especially in the beginning. But if we were somehow to make our way back into each other’s arms, I had to be strong in who I was, and I needed to find peace with my father’s passing.
I shut down my computer and stripped before getting into bed. With my hands behind my head, staring at a dot on the ceiling, I lasted about twenty-seconds before reaching under the sheet with a frustrated curse.
Flashes of Sebastian’s face flickered in and out of my mind like a changing channel. Sweat running down his sleek body as he made love to me with the rhythm of a trained dancer. Me standing, him on his knees, me coming into the air and him catching it in his open mouth.
I flipped the sheet back and came. “What would he do with this?” I drowsily asked my hand before bringing it to my mouth and licking it clean.
I drifted off wondering about Sebastian’s road to redemption. Hoping it wasn’t riddled with too many bumps and setbacks. And then I wondered how much longer I would love him.
Forever.
And how long would I be willing to wait for him? Because if I understood one thing now, that I hadn’t before things fell apart, was that love didn’t cure all. In life things got in the way. Roadblocks were a real thing. And it wouldn’t be as simple as running down the street in slo-mo and jumping into his arms as the movies would have me believe. Bash had demons, and he’d have a child. And I had much more growing to do.
But how long would I be willing to wait for him?
As long as it takes.
Day three of spring break and it was my turn to choose an activity for our Six-Pack. I chose rock climbing.
“Remind me...to...kill you later,” Danny wheezed as he threw himself down on a boulder, but nothing could ruin my mood. I stood triumphantly near the lip of my rock, my gaze fixed on the horizon. I’d been anticipating this outing for months. Ever since Dad’s belongings came from the university. He had loved rock climbing, and I couldn’t wait to determine if it was a love that we shared. I felt exhilarated standing there. Accomplished. Strong.Brave.
The rest of our group huffed and worked their way up with the second instructor. In truth this was a test run. One of the safest drills we could’ve taken. Danny and I were the most fit of our team, but looking at him hugging the rock with his face it’d be hard to tell.
“You don’t get to choose ever again, Pheeny.” Theory glared at me, situating her helmet hair.
Voices infiltrated my peace as they complained and collapsed behind me. Mason sidled up next to me. “This is beautiful.”
“Yeah, it is.” The air was crisp and the sun close enough to touch. I reached a hand toward it, then laughed at my own silliness.
One by one, everyone lined up to catch the scorching rays.
“Okay, maybe you can pick one more time,” Theory said, knocking her shoulder into mine, and I wrapped my arm around her.
“I love you.” I kissed her nose, and she scrunched it up.
“You’re still such a sap, Phoenix Michaelson.”
We ate lunch on our boulder, cracked jokes, and took photos. We stayed to watch the sunset.
I went back the following weekend. This time without the gang, and I climbed higher. With Mom’s permission, I gave Dad’s ashes to the wind, asking her to protect him as she carried him away. I laughed through my tears as two cranes chased Dad through the sky.
