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“That’s it?”
A chuckle. “Of course that’s not it. She’s an amazing woman. I lucked out finding her. But don’t get me wrong. I could’ve screwed it up. But it came to a point when I realized something. I could’ve run from her, run to the next woman who didn’t know my bullshit and didn’t get pissed off at it. But I wouldn’t be running from her, from Sierra. I’d be running from myself. From seeing myself reflected in her eyes.” An exhale that almost turns into a chuckle. Almost. “And you know what? Sometimes, I fucking hate it, how she will call me out. How she doesn’t let me get away with a lot of my tricks. But most of the time, I like it. I don’t have to pretend anymore, Emerson.”
This silence is the same that’s in my head.
“Dude,” I say.
“I know, I know,” he says.
“How... where did this come from?”
“I took an ayahuasca trip,” he admits. “Greyson had me down in Peru with this shaman. It was pretty cool. Other than that... I’d say it came from her.”
“Hey, you remember those parties we used to go to?” he asks in that same musing voice. Clearly, I’ve got him in a mood. Not that I mind. The way we’re talking about the real stuff, it almost reminds me of her. Wynona. “At the Watson mansion?”
“Hell, we were what, early twenties, late teens?” I laugh. “God, those were the days.”
I can almost see it now.
A six-story beachfront villa house. Strategically placed purple, pink, and blue lights painting everyone. Enough loud house music that the aliens were probably grooving somewhere.
I DJed there once or twice.
They went on for a good year or two, the Watson parties, until their parents divorced.
“At first, those parties were amazing,” Nolan’s saying. “An open bar with every pricey liquor you could think of. Those acrobats and jugglers with fire. That sauna full of the most gorgeous naked women you’d see anywhere. But I don’t know, maybe it was the fourth or fifth time you were there, didn’t it start to feel a bit...”
“Empty,” I say, frowning. “Yeah.”
His words scrape at me.
He lets the silence sit.
Fuck, this is not what I need to be thinking about right now.
What I need to figure out is how to get her back.
“I really should get going,” I tell him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Sorry for going off on a bit of a tangent. Just wanted to make sure that you knew what you were getting into.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I think.”
He chuckles. “Oh, and Wynona’s address is 314 Clair Creek Blvd.”
“Wait, what?”
“Sierra wrote it down while we were talking. Guess all my deep mumbo-jumbo convinced her.”
“Shit, thanks.” 314 Clair Creek Blvd. 314...
“All right. Good luck, then. Maybe you should leave it until tomorrow.”
Now I’m the one chuckling. “Not a chance. Wynona’s a night owl. She’ll be up. And she’ll want to see me.”
“You’re so sure?”
“I am.”
“Why?”
“Because I know. I don’t care what you said. I’ve felt it myself. How it’s shit sometimes, love. How it tears at you. How in a lot of ways, it’s easier with the others, the ones you care less about. But I want her. The good, the bad, all of it. I want to be with her, man.”
Nolan laughs and keeps on laughing. “All right, all right. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
Next thing I know, I’ve plugged the address into my GPS, am heading there.
As I drive, every so often, the moon peers out of its clouds like an eye glimpsing me every so often.
I pass a lot of things once I get into the neighborhoods. I pass a series of trashcans painted like different tropical red and yellow and green and brown and scarlet and black and ochre and peach birds that I’m pretty sure don’t exist. I pass a homeless man who looks like a bit like my dad, if my dad had ever decided to be homeless and stick a cigarette in the hole of a missing tooth.
My air conditioner is blasting goosebumps up and down my arms. Maybe it’s nervousness.
Fuck, I don’t want to do this.
In the same way you don’t want to check your mark for the big test but have to, want to. Only you can’t stand the looming outcome.
I pass some teens doing pushups. It seems too late for all this. For the number of people on the streets. But it’s the first real summer night we’ve had, maybe. Maybe it’s like hope is in the air.
Or maybe it’s me.
Fuck, I’m getting sentimental.
Guess Nolan really got to me.
Or this girl. This girl who is so much more than that.
This girl who’s like, well...
Like a smile out of nowhere.
Wynona.
I smile, thinking of how she got pissed when she thought about the boring meaning of her name—firstborn daughter.
“Firstborn daughter?” she groaned, years ago, one time when we were hanging out, bored, and were talking about just about everything. “What the hell is all that about?”
