I see a woman with her hair and her kind of walk, all heavy-footed and sure. The laces of her combat boots dance back and forth as she strolls at the pace of a star-crossed tourist.

She turns to point out the PIG OUT WITH US! sign that seems to be hanging onto its last breath, affixed on the side of Mcfarland's barbecue, and the man beside her laughs.

I get a glimpse of her cat-eye sunglasses and glorious smile that stretches from ear-to-ear, and it seems like too many memories that come pounding against my skull on little drums, begging to be let out.

My eyes snag on how her hand weaves perfectly into the man's. And the way she's so carefree and happy, laugh lines gracing her features, as if she's moved on from the shit we went through.

I wonder where she's living now, how it feels to be holding hands again.

But I don't ask her, for some intangible tap against my consciousness. No, she is a broken teacup that just got glued back together. And touching her seems like too great a force to reckon with.

I can still smell lingering whiffs of McFarland's as it falls behind us. Robin and the man, their hands still linked as she points out landmarks: Travis street, where I taught her how to drive, my hand guiding hers on the steering wheel. Greenwood Café, were we celebrated her eighth birthday with vanilla ice cream cake and Candyland. And then...

And then she points out me.

She's frozen for a second. Stares at me wide eyed, slowly folding her cat-eye sunglasses away. Then a smile cracks across her face.

"It's been a while."

✧ ✧ ✧

The man dismisses himself, claiming that he doesn't want to intrude. Waves goodbye with a sheepish grin as the two of us find refuge in the bar. I buy two Coors Lights and slide one her way.

"You were holding hands," I hiss under my breath, mind tinted with the thought of how she promised so much. It feels like betrayal, but the blame is slicked to the back of my throat. I still find it hard to look her straight on, so my gaze trails to her lips. There's more color to them than before.

She shakes her head, eyes hollow with apology. "He helped me once you left. With money and food." She takes a gulp of her beer, winces at the taste. "Then he told me he was interested, and I thought he deserved a chance."

When my face falls, she recovers. "Chandler, It was never going to get farther than where we were. I just... felt bad for him. And I needed a little karma on my side."

I watch the neon lights whirl across her skin, then nod quietly. "Fine," I breathe, eyes trained on her fingers, how they circle her bottle in a limp, stale halo.

"Hey." I lay a hand on her palm, and a brief shock jolts her body as I touch her for the first time in years. But then her fingers knit into mine, and I can feel her pulse against me. "This is a stupid question, but are you okay?"

A laugh rises like hot air into her mouth. "You're right, that is stupid." A dark light flickers through her expression, and I feel my stomach drop. She looks down into her beer bottle, swirls it around, then meets my eyes. "Truthfully, it's fine. My paychecks are getting better. But that's not what you meant."

She knows, and I'm sure I gave it away through the little hitch in my breath, as if I were slapped. And suddenly, I recall that night of the dance, her eyes fringed with thick black lashes, striking coat of red over her lips. I remember how her thumb was rested on my bottom lip, and how I bit it, ever so careful as not to hurt her.

"Every day, without fail, Mom crosses my mind. It doesn't hurt as much anymore." She draws circles on the base of my thumb. "But when I think of you, that's when I feel my chest start to ache. On bad days it's my whole body, and my hands get numb."

She takes a swig of beer. "You were everywhere. Your fingerprints on the porch swing, the backyard, MTV. I can't move without some kind of reminder."

Robin smells like caramel. Her hair falls in a black sheath across her face, eyes trained down at our clasped hands. "I still have your favorite paper crane, the one you gave me back as you packed up for college. New Year's Day."

"I will begin again," I quote automatically. "I will be with you again." It's the words that pounded through every bad night, whenever I would wake up in the night sweating, eyes wild, the darkness of my dorm room curdling under my skin. Because my future tastes like cardboard and Robin tastes like moonlight.

She nods. "We're halfway there."

Our beers are long-empty. My ears are clouded over by music and the ambient omniscience of TVs in every corner. The air hums with energy and chatter. Robin is a glaring star in my vision, and I can't look away, and I pull her head towards mine and plant a quiet kiss on her forehead.

She smiles into my shoulder. "Aren't the flowers beautiful?" She muses, and yes, every blooming moment against the darkness, they burn like lipstick prints against my skin.

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Published 12-16-16
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