pink

five

TW: suicide

a moment of realization hits me, and i introduce myself quickly. he shakes my hand, smiling. "billie. i know. you're all this one talks about." he says, pointing to a blushing bea who flips him off before holding her hands up. "guilty as charged." she mumbles, and i smile at her.

fifteen minutes later, we're sitting in the kitchen with maury, and bea is telling me about her memories here, while maury pitches in some times to tell stories about a younger bea, who sounds like a piece of work. now, she's pointing at the inside of the door where there's a million markings with sharpie, all in messy handwriting. i look closer, and my heart melts as i see it's bea's height over the years, all signed by her. "holy fuck bea, you haven't grown since you were 11." i say, and she swats me as maury laughs loudly.

i learn that bea lit a creme brule on fire in the fourth grade right here, and that that's why maury keeps the blowtorch up high now. i learn that bea started her baking career at the ripe age of four, and all she ever wanted to bake were cupcakes, and i laugh at the pictures of bea hung up at the desk, as she loudly protests. "fuck off maury, she's never gonna take me serious after this!" she says after he points out one that was definitely taken at the peak of beas awkward phase. i recognize maury in many of the pictures. smearing whipped cream onto a smiling beas nose, putting a tiny apron on her, smiling as she sits on top of the display counter, but there's someone else in the
pictures, a man maurys age, who looks an awful lot like bea.

the same strawberry blonde hair, and the same smile. he's in even more pictures than bea, but the pictures of him stop a few years back. "who's this?" i ask bea, and she goes silent for a second before answering, fighting a frown. "uh, that's my brother, jay. he's maurys, well, he's maurys best friend. they started the bakery together when they were 19, and i was 6." the room goes silent, and i know better than to ask any other questions. i pull her into my lap, kissing her forehead, and maury pretends to be really, really interested in the frosting he's mixing.

a half hour later, we leave, stepping into the unforgiving winter air, me holding a small bakery bag. my sugar cookie.

we walk, as bea explains how maury and jay met in kindergarten, and how they practically raised her. this is the first time i hear her talk about her parents, and my heart breaks a little as she explains how her dad is a surgeon, and her mom is a lawyer, and they didn't really want kids, not past violet and jay, so they weren't really around, instead opting for constant business trips for her mom, and long, long shifts at the hospital for her dad. she explains how jay raised her, fully and completely. she pauses for a second, and then continues.

"my name isn't really..... it wasn't always beatrice. my parents named me faith, but they let jay choose a middle name for me, so it was faith beatrice, but jay always called me beatrice, and bea for short. actually, he called me honeybea. and it just stuck i guess? i was never faith, i was never anything except beatrice. so i got it changed when i was 12. no one knows that." she admits, and i smile.

"honeybea?" i ask, and she laughs. "yes. isn't that adorable? i used to sign my homework with it; when i was really little. i didn't understand names. my kindergarten teacher hated it, but i didn't respond to faith, so she folded. imagine, in little kid handwriting, honeybea. it was so cute." she says, and i nod.

"you sound close." i say, and her smile flickers. "uh, yeah. we were. we were really close, i miss him a lot." she admits, and my heart sinks, that last sentence confirming what i was thinking. bea didn't have her brother anymore. seemingly reading my thoughts, she walks a little faster, and blurts it out.

"he shot himself." she says, and my stomach turns. "when i was eleven. that's why i got my name legally changed, that's why there's no more pictures of him after that."

i study her face, trying desperately to see what she needs. "i don't know how to make it better" i admit, and she half smiles at me. "you just being here makes it better." she says, and we keep walking. "he would have loved you." i turn to her, eyebrows raised slightly. "yeah?" "yeah. definitely." she says, and i can sense she's done talking about him.

a few minutes later, she stops in front of a huge white house and pulls me inside. instantly, cold air hits my skin and i shiver. "my parents keep it cold." she mumbles, leading me upstairs and into a bedroom at the end of the hall. it's large, and slightly gloomy. her windows are open, and pushed next to them is a bed strewn with pink and white pinstriped bedsheets. there's jars of paint water and a few plants on her windowsill, and there's a few clothing racks as well as a white velvet chair, an easel, and a chalkboard covered in signatures from her friends.

i wish i could say it seemed like beatrice, but it hardly looked like anyone lived in it. "i don't spend that much time here" she mumbles, seemingly reading my mind, and i nodded. of course not, she practically lives in my bedroom.

"aren't you gonna ask me?" she says, and i look at her, playing dumb.

"ask what?"

"ask me why i just broke my best friends nose?"