the summer after their childhood best friend commits suicide, six estranged friends meet up in his hometown for a holiday to clear their heads and honor his life. when the only thing that connected their different lives, backgrounds, and personaliti...
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thursday, june 29 arrival
THE screen door swung open with a soft, echoing screech, a muted distortion of ungreased door hinges being opened for the first time in months. Yael dove in to hold the door before it could recoil and emit the sharp scream back into the wild once again. With her foot holding back the weight of the screen, hands occupied by a large paper grocery bag that threatened to tear with any given shift of balance, she made room for Elliott to snake around her and jam the key into the door knob, half-rusted from negligence and severe humidity. When it would not budge, he thrusted his shoulder onto the door, the blue denim of his jacket clashing with the ugly olive green paint job. The door shot open with his force.
"Fucker," Elliott muttered as he walked through, shaking his hand as if he was in actual pain. Yael danced around the heavy screen door and side-stepped into the house, watching as the screen slammed against its frame and bounced to stillness. She shut the front door with her back, listening for the latch's connection with the strike plate. The door shivered against her.
The house was foreign and completely unfamiliar to her and Elliott. They both retreated into the entryway with hesitance, stopping to purvey the outlying interiors: an unlit kitchen to their left, an open-floor dining room to their right, and an unimpressive sitting room ahead of them, crowded by a large couch, a coffee table littered with lifestyle magazines and myriad television remote controllers, and a dusty-looking television tucked away into a small entertainment set. A darkened hallway extended past the kitchen, which Yael immediately identified as their individual bedrooms—one master bedroom and three child-sized guest spaces, and a screened-in patio was visible through the windows that dimly lit the living space, comfortable and wet from the humidity.
There was a certain kind of magic about unfamiliar houses, strange places that feel untouched and smell of lemon-scented hardwood polish; the stifling boredom of childhood vacations in timeshare condos, in family lake houses with dusty board-game cabinets. The fenced backyard, which has grown dull and lifeless to its proprietors, becomes something out of a dream, a magical garden of rotten tomato stalks and rusted wrought-iron table sets. Guest bathrooms suddenly regain their luxuriousness: weakened water pressure, medicine cabinets stocked with uninteresting ephemera, the softened touch of fresh towels against wet skin.
"It smells awful in here," Elliott announced as he placed his heavy duffel bag on the couch, feeling the upholstery bounce beneath the weight of the bag. Yael rolled her eyes and felt around for a light switch, watching as the room filled with yellow light as she flipped on an entire panel. She smiled.
Yael retreated to the neighboring kitchen, charmed by its small and intimate size. She placed the paper bag on the marble countertop and began taking out its cramped contents, exhuming ripe banana bunches, packages of English muffins, and a heavy bottle of cheap wine—all necessary groceries that would them over for the next few days.
"Elliott," she spoke as she opened up the empty pantry cabinets, looking to stock the few nonperishable groceries they brought with them, "can you grab my suitcase from the car?"
"Yeah," he agreed, his tone uninflected. His shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he walked out of the house.
Yael exhaled as the door shuddered behind him. Turning around to lean against the countertop, she closed her eyes and swallowed, attempting to calm her nausea and balance her equilibrium. She had a pounding headache that would not subside, a relentless throbbing at the center of her forehead that was crippled by an upset stomach. The last thing she wanted to do was to spend the week writhing in bed with the curtains drawn shut, but she was afraid that doing anything else would send her over the edge.
She was more than willing to help Elliott organize the gathering in the preceding months, but her enthusiasm began to dwindle as the date inched closer. Elliott's indifference to his wrongdoing, along with his sudden callousness and insensitivity to her feelings, has worn her patience thin; she was embroiled in her own misfortune, and she was not looking forward to reacquainting herself with the overwhelming feelings of grief and resentment that she endured earlier this year. She felt like she was stuck in a perpetual state of lonesomeness, a glass ball colored blue from misfortune.
Six years.
Things were finally starting to fall into place for the both of them. She was completing her cosmetology license and taking less hours at the Starbucks she worked at, slowly building up a cushioned savings account that would go towards the conception of her own beauty salon. They were finally making enough to comfortably pay rent, car insurance, and weekly dinners at restaurants they read about in the Post-Gazette, an unexpected luxury that they did not take for granted. With more leeway in his work schedule, Elliott was beginning to think about enrolling in entry-level classes at the local community college and working towards a business degree. When they found out, they were both elated, and the focus of both of their savings accounts shifted indefinitely.
She loved him. She really, really did. She couldn't see a version of herself without Elliott attached to her side, remaining as much of an appendage to her as she is an appendage to him. They were fused together at the core, a tender love delirious from devotion. High school sweethearts. She would do anything for him, anything for her beloved. When she caught and confronted him, that glorious image she held in her head—grubby children, Christmas dinners, birthday after birthday, promises of every golden hour held at pinnacle—did not change, but as time continued on and his behavior soured, she began to question her resilience. And then she started to ache.
The sound of the door shutting offset her focus. She opened her eyes and watched as Elliott wheeled a small suitcase into the living room. He looked up at her innocently, and Yael cracked a small smile.
"You okay?" Elliott asked gently.
"Yeah," Yael exhaled, wiping her hands on her pants. "Let's go eat."
✦
hello! i apologize for the plainness of this chapter—it (along with the next few chapters) is supposed to be a exposition of sorts.
from here on out, every chapter will be titled after a song that reminds me of the character or the plot progression. this chapter is titled after:
