My Love, My Drug, My Release

Epilogue

Thelma and Jackson's wedding was very thrown together, probably because she was pregnant when they tied the knot, although she denied it when I asked.

"No, no, it has nothing to do with that, and I'm not pregnant," she assured me, sitting next to me in a booth at my father's favorite restaurant, where twenty or so friends and family (mostly friends) got dinner after the civil ceremony. "We just figured we'd do it now since you're in town visiting your father and everything."

Dad was sitting with his girlfriend and her three boys at a different booth, my brother standing next to their table, feeding the youngest an airplane spoon of mashed sweet potatoes.

"Yeah, haven't seen much of him this weekend."

"I'm sorry." 

I looked at her from the corner of my eye, twirling my spaghetti around my fork. "Why are you sorry?"

She toyed with the skirt of the dress she'd bought off the rack at Macy's, which was probably intended for school formals (it was mid-May after all). In the right light, the pale lilac color almost passed for white. "Because you left John and Yoko while you were probably having the time of your life traveling the world, and now everyone is so busy with the wedding so you're not even getting time alone with Jack and your dad..."

I put my hand over hers where it rested on her knee. "Are you joking? I wouldn't miss my big brother's wedding for the world." I nudged my shoulder against hers. "Or yours."

"You're the best, Lo."

"What are secret ex-girlfriend's for?"

She smothered a laugh, shushing me as Jack came to sit across us. 

"What are you two ladies gossiping about?"

"Nothing," Thelma said. 

"Accusations of gossiping?" I clutched my chest in faux-outrage. "Is that any way to talk to your new wife?"

He smiled across the table at the blonde at my side, his eyes warm and almost watering with genuine happiness. "No, it's not." He reached across the table and took the hand I'd just touched, bringing it to his lips to kiss. "Sorry love." 

I stuffed a chunk of garlic bread in my mouth, trying to ignore how his words made my chest pinch. How briefly I'd loved Thelma, just a small blip in my then-fifteen years of life, and it would only grow smaller and more distant as I aged. Even now, freshly sixteen, I'd stopped thinking about her everyday, enjoying my time with John and Yoko. I'd even went on a few dates with a girl I met on tour, let her spend the night in my hotel room, promising to write when we moved on to the next city, although I never did. I felt like I was a real, normal teenager for the first time. But now, sitting beside her, all those emotions rushed back. It was like picking a scab before it was ready to flake off, revealing a pinprick of fresh blood, the wound ripe for infection. And, worst of all, despite her careful affection, it was like Thelma didn't love me anymore at all.

A sharp rap on my door awoke me at just after five in the morning. I may have been an early riser, but this was excessive, even for me. I opened the door, expecting to see Jack with a joint looking to catch up properly during a bought of insomnia. Part of me hoped against all odds it was Thelma come to tell me she'd made an awful mistake and that she wanted me and only me for the rest of our lives. But that depressing sapphic fantasy dissipated when I saw the concierge standing outside, so sweaty he looked like he'd taken a dip in the pool, eyes wide with panic.

"I don't know what to do, they-they just landed on the roof, asked for a-for a Lorraine Foxwell," he stammered with a heavy Perth accent.

"Who did?"