It’s not that Mardi Gras here is as crazy as it is in a place like New Orleans, but the town of Eulogy is definitively livelier than normal. The days leading up to Fat Tuesday are peppered with mini parades through downtown and raucous parties on the beach and at bars, and Boucher’s is no different.
In fact, last night, Freddie and Adam were in picking up some to-go. At first, I thought about hiding and getting Ruth to cover for me, but I knew I had to suck it up or things would never get back to normal.
“Hey,” I said to Freddie. “I saw your name come up in the order queue. Let me see if it’s ready.”
He nodded silently without ever making eye contact, which pretty much describes all of our interactions since breaking up.
When I returned from the kitchen with their bag, only Adam waited at the counter. “He, uh, went outside to get the car started.”
I took his cash and made change. “I get it.”
He stuffed the receipt and money into his pocket after dropping a few singles in my tip jar. “I miss seeing you around, by the way,” he whispered. “Am I allowed to say that? Or is that, like, crossing enemy lines?”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. “There are no lines, but it’s complicated.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be.”
I watched as the two of them pulled away in Agnes’s car and the din of the restaurant chased them down the street.
During this time every year, Eulogy turns into her summer self. It’s a quick and well-earned reprieve from winter, but it never seems to last long enough. Schools are always closed the Monday and Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. Even if they were open, I can’t imagine many people would go.
This Fat Tuesday is one of those rainy days where there’s no real downpour, but a constant drizzle. After school, Tommy has me downtown handing out flyers with drink specials during one of the big parades. The floats are amazing and ornate, but still nothing compared to what you’d see in NOLA.
Since we’re a smaller town, it’s pretty much revamped versions of the same floats every year, but I love it. None of it all is quite as impressive as I remember it being when I was a kid, but it feels like home. The good parts of home.
I’ve braided my recently dyed hair into two long French braids, and my neck is heavy with beads as I walk up and down the sidewalks, waving at familiar faces and passing out flyers.
As the tail end of the parade is rounding the corner, a girl’s voice shouts my name. “Ramona!”
I spin on my heel, searching for the source.
“Ramona! Over here!”
And then I see her. The sight of her knocks the wind out of me, and my first reaction is to run the other way.
Grace. She’s across the street with her mom, dad, and brother.
I stand there for a moment as a slow-moving float blocks my field of vision. Beads are flying past my head and brass music is blaring in my ears.
I see her again. Just a glimpse.
The moment there’s a break in the parade, she runs across the street to me. Her mom waves, and I do, too. Though my head isn’t fully aware of my body.
She crashes into me almost, and the crowd around us pushes us close together. She grips my shoulders, and all I see every time I blink is the image of her outside her house when I dropped her off before Freddie and I drove back home to Eulogy.
“Hi!” she shouts over the street noise, her fingers trailing down my arms. “Hey! How are you?”
I take a step back. “Good,” I yell back, and then flash her my fist of flyers. “Just working. Are you visiting?” I ask. Even though, yes, of course she is.
“Yeah, my parents wanted to make a quick trip. It’s sort of our last family vacation for a little while. I leave for freshman camp at Oklahoma State a few weeks after I graduate, so I won’t be back with them this summer.”
I nod, not at all surprised. “Good,” I tell her. “I’m so happy for you.”
“When is your shift over?” she asks, motioning to my flyers.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. “Two hours.”
“You wanna come by after?”
I hesitate. I’m not interested in—I don’t know what she has in mind. But I do know I’m not interested in being the grand finale in her last Mississippi Mardi Gras.
“Just to catch up,” she says.
“Oh.” I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Cool. We rented the same place we did over the summer. Text me when you’re on your way?”
“Yeah,” I say.
We both stand there for a minute, waiting for the other to either leave or speak first. “I wanted to text you.” She shakes her head. “But I chickened out every time. When I saw you here, I decided it was fate. Anyway, I’ll see you in a little while.”
I don’t know if I believe in fate, but seeing Grace again is definitely something. I watch as she looks both ways before running back across the street. She turns into a ghost under the Fat Tuesday drizzle.
Grace’s vacation house isn’t as huge and pristine as I remember, especially in comparison to Adam’s house. On this dark February night, the siding is stained with mud and the rosebushes are wilting and brown.
I sit with Grace on the couch. I expect her to sit at the opposite end, but instead she sits on the middle cushion right next to me. My mouth is dry, and I feel like this might be some kind of trap or like a staged intervention, even though I know it’s not. I can feel my body responding to her in a familiar way. Yeah, I definitely still like girls.
Hanging out in the living room is definitely new territory for us. Most of my summer with Grace was spent holed up in her room or sneaking around the dark house while the rest of her family slept soundly in their beds. But tonight Grace’s mom is in the kitchen doing dishes while her dad and brother watch college basketball upstairs.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” asks Grace.
I smile, knowing her mom would be proud to know she asked. “No, thanks.”
Her mom pops her head in the room. “You girls okay in there?”
Grace sighs. “Yes, Mom.”
“So dark in here,” says Grace’s mom, and reaches for the lamp. “Did you offer Ramona anything to drink?”
I grin. “Yes, ma’am, she did.”
Grace eyes her mother pointedly.
“Okay, okay,” she says, and ducks back into the kitchen.
Grace waits for the sink to turn back on, and then she leans toward me, pressing her lips against mine.
At first my heart races. I close my eyes and kiss her back, picking up where we left off—sort of. Wanting someone is a hard habit to break. But then I realize what’s happening, and the sound of her mother doing dishes reminds me of where we are. And Freddie. And the way Grace broke my heart without even looking back.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I whisper, pulling as far back as I can.
Grace looks up, searching my face. She presses both hands to her cheeks. “I was a real shithead to you,” she blurts.
“Your mom’s in the next room,” I whisper sharply. And how could she somehow think that a kiss could fix all the damage between us? “It wasn’t completely your fault,” I add.
She throws a hand back. “That doesn’t matter. I . . . I thought that if I could show you I wasn’t scared anymore . . .”
I can hear the panic in her voice, and I wonder how many times she’s run over this scene in her head, because me sitting here with her? This is something I didn’t ever expect to experience again.
I shake my head and am careful to whisper, “Grace, we don’t need to make a thing of this. Especially with your mom right there and the rest of your family around.” I use my most soothing voice. “It’s over. I don’t hold anything against you.”
“You don’t need to whisper.” She inhales deeply and then exhales. “I came out. I told my mom first. The day after Thanksgiving. We were Black Friday shopping, actually. My dad didn’t find out until a couple weeks ago.”
I clap a hand over my mouth. “Oh my God. Are you serious?” This is, without a doubt, the last thing I expected her to say, and I somehow feel guilty. Like I rushed her into something she wasn’t ready for. “I didn’t mean to—I never meant to push you into anything you weren’t ready to do.” I think back to my own Thanksgiving, when Freddie kissed me in his backyard.
She grins. “If I waited to be ready, I might not have ever done it, you know? It was a . . . shock, at first. And it’s been harder with my dad. But it feels good.” She lifts her eyes to the ceiling, pointing upstairs with her gaze. “My brother said he knew all along. Mom said she thought something was up, but wasn’t—”
“Do they know? About us?”
She tilts her head to the side. “Some. They know some.” She laughs. “Hence my mom barging in with the lights.” She smiles. “It’s like they knew how to handle boys. No sleepovers. No closed doors. Lights on. But, well, this is complicated. And there were my friends, too. Some were okay.” Her gaze drifts for a moment. “Some weren’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “What happened? How?” But the truth that makes me feel a little gross inside is that I wish she’d just come out when we were together. It’s hard not to imagine how different things might be right now.
“I broke up with Andrew after we . . . after that weekend. With your friend. What was his name? Frankie?”
My cheeks burn with heat. “Freddie.”
She nods. “He was nice. Nicer than I deserved.”
“I know what you mean,” I mutter.
She nods but doesn’t ask me to explain.
“So you ended it with Andrew?”
“I think that was the hardest part. I tried not to tell him why, but he kept pressing and pressing. And finally I did. I told him I liked girls. And . . . I don’t know, there was something so sad about watching him realize that this wasn’t a fixable thing. It wasn’t something we could solve.”
Her words are salt on an open wound. All I can think of is Freddie and how he wanted to desperately to power through and fix whatever was broken with us. With me. My chin begins to quiver, but I hold back the tears. I can’t bring myself to speak, so I nod, encouraging her to continue.
“I don’t regret what happened between us,” says Grace, “but I hate the way I hurt you. And I’m so sorry for that. I always will be.”
I want to tell her we’re even, because she ruined our love and I ruined Freddie’s and mine, so somehow the universe’s heartbreak scale is even. “Thank you,” I finally say. “But I’m glad to hear you’re happy. Or at least you seem like you are.”
Her eyes are bright. “I am.” She loops a strand of hair behind her ear, which makes me feel nostalgic. Fondly remembering something that once was, but knowing it never will be again. “What about you?” she asks. “You gotta tell me you’re getting out of here.”
I shrug. “Hattie needs me. She’s on bed rest, and things are only going to get worse when the baby comes.”
“Ro, it’s not like you’re the dad or anything.”
A laugh sputters from my mouth. “I know that.”
She’s quiet for a moment before she clears her throat. “You shouldn’t pay for her mistakes.”
Her mother steps into the door frame. “You girls okay? Can I get you anything before I head up?”
“No thanks, Mom,” Grace says in an amused voice.
Her mother turns to me. “So good to see you, Ramona. And that hair!” She shakes her head. “You and your hair are like some kind of a fixture here in this sweet little town!”
I force my mouth into a smile as I pull one of my two braids over my shoulder.
“Nice to see you, too, ma’am.”
I wait for a moment until I hear her mother’s footsteps overhead. “I’m not paying for her mistakes,” I finally say. “She’s family. She’s my sister, and she needs me.”
She lets out an exhausted sigh. “You let yourself die on that cross, Ramona. But the only thing keeping you in this town is fear of the unknown.”
Silence sinks slowly between us. There was so much I loved about Grace, but I am so irritated at how she’s walked back into my life and has decided that she suddenly knows how to live it better than I do.
“I know what it’s like to be scared,” she says, her voice low. “Life will always be scary, but you can decide not to live in fear.”
I can’t listen to her lecture me about fear. “I should go.” I stand. “I have an early morning.”
Grace follows me to the door. “I didn’t mean for us to end on that note.”
I turn with my hand on the doorknob. “I know. I’m glad we ran into each other.”
“Me too,” says Grace. “You changed me. You inspired me to step out and be the real me. You pushed me to become that person, and . . .” She takes a deep breath. “It’s not like coming out fixed everything for me. In fact, it made a lot of things more complicated. But I’ll always be grateful to you, Ramona.” She leans in and gently kisses my cheek.
My anger softens at her touch. “I’m really glad you saw me at the parade,” I tell her.
“Yeah?” Her lips twist into an uneven smile. “Me too.”
As I ride my bike home, all of Eulogy is still awake and buzzing with life. I want so badly to feel all the joy around me, but I can’t.