Lotus

by Jennifer Hartmann

“Because we’re a fucked-up, complicated species prone to self-sabotage, baseless insecurities, and the notion that there’s always something better around the corner. We’re constantly chasing imaginary destinations, thinking we’re missing out, wanting more. We’re never truly present.”

“If we were on a real date, and things were progressing well…” I begin, my nerves frayed, both hands now clenched into tight fists at my sides. “Would it be appropriate for me to kiss you right now?” Fluttering eyelashes glance up at me, her pupils dilated, her irises the brightest blue. “Oh, um, I think that depends on the girl,” Sydney explains, her voice catching slightly. “Let’s assume that girl is you.” A slow nod accompanies her sudden fidgeting. “In that case, yes. It would be appropriate.”

When she pulls back for air, I hardly let her take a breath. My right hand curves around to her back and glides up her spine, landing at the nape of her neck and tangling in her hair. I pull her to me once more, our mouths crashing together with fierce potency, my body ablaze. Our tongues continue to mingle and twine as Sydney fists the collar of my shirt, our chests melded together.

UTVUTUYVJHBUYVUYTT

I almost don’t hear her. I’m inclined to taste her further, deeper, entirely. But the request finally registers, trickling into my ears, overriding my racing heart. “Yes,” I croak out, and it sounds more like a pained gasp. “All right.”

“Like every star in the galaxy tumbled to earth and crawled beneath my skin.”

I’m not exactly shocked to discover Oliver standing on the other side of the door, but I am a little taken aback by the way my heart skips more than one beat at the sight of him in dark running shorts and a crisp, white T-shirt that accentuates his pectorals. And then my heart almost spontaneously combusts when I spot the singular flower in his hand, stem rolling between his thumb and forefinger. “Hello,” he greets, an adorable, dimpled grin on his face.

MY SWEET MAN 😭😭💕 AUGHH

“I was hoping I could kiss you again.”

i would fold immediately

“But I enjoyed it immensely.”

BCHCHXHDHXHX

“Listen, you mean a lot to me. Our friendship means a hell of a lot to me. Stuff like that—kissing, sex, romance—it complicates everything. It tears people apart, and I refuse to lose you again. What we have right now is good. Let’s not shake it up.” Oliver’s attention is fixed on the way my hand slides down his wrist until our fingers intertwine. His mouth twitches into the faintest smile before he gives my hand a tender squeeze and glances up at me. “I understand, Sydney.”

“I have a hard time believing someone could kiss you and regret it.”

Before I make it to the porch, my peripheral vision catches movement to my right. My head swings in the same direction, and my body goes rigid when I spot Oliver sitting on his front stoop, his head bowed, staring down between his knees. Shit. We shared an epic kiss, and two days later he sees me making out with my coworker on my front lawn like a giant sleazeball. I’m the worst.

NOO😭OLIVERRRR

“What did it feel like to you?” “Like every star in the galaxy tumbled to Earth and crawled beneath my skin.”

“I won’t hurt him, Gabe.” Gabe gives my shoulder a light nudge with his fist, his smile wistful as he reaches for the door handle. “I know you won’t mean to.”

My gaze traveled over my stepbrother with his baggy T-shirt and sweatpants, his boyish features and tousled hair. He was a good-looking person who certainly had no trouble with sexual conquests. The proof was in the numerous holes carved into his bedroom wall from that overused headboard. But the playful spark in his eyes seemed fabricated—a well-crafted veil for everything stored behind the ruse. Gabe was happy-go-lucky, but I didn’t believe he was truly happy. The women, the alcohol, the drugs…they were all vices to temper his loneliness. Therefore, his opinion felt invalid to me.

She is fierce. She is goofy. She is beautiful. She is Syd.

“I’m Tabitha. Tabitha Brighton. This is my friend Cora.”

OMG

“I, um…well, I went through something similar. I was also abducted, but my circumstances were very different from yours, from what I’ve seen. Cora and I both suffered at the hands of an evil man, and we know what it’s like to come out on the other side. It can be just as scary, just as harrowing, as the ordeal itself.”

“I’m so sorry if I upset you,” Tabitha says softly, the sweetness of her tone overwrought with apology. “I just wanted you to know that you’re not alone. Cora and I connected through our shared tragedy, and now she’s a dear friend. Good things can be found everywhere…even in our worst nightmares.”

“Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you while you’re working. But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here every Tuesday at eleven.”

That same month he was taken from me, I told him I was going to marry him one day. I planned our wedding, documenting it in my Lisa Frank journal, from the dress I’d wear, to the floral arrangements, to the beachside honeymoon in Maui. Leaning out my window on a sweltering summer morning, I asked him if he wanted to marry me, too. Oliver replied, “Who else would I marry?” Our future was set in stone. Life was good. And then he was gone.

“Yes,” Oliver says softly, his gaze still fixed ahead. “But not all love is meant to stay. Sometimes it only serves a temporary purpose.”

IM IN PAIN

Oliver slips a chuckle as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a tiny bouquet of green leaves tied at the stems with a red bow. Fucking mistletoe. My eyes trail slowly from the greenery up to his face, chest heaving, grip tightening on the edge of the dresser. His expression is a deep, penetrative stare, laced with a singular question that has rendered me silent. Oliver takes my silence as an invitation and places the mistletoe right above my head, on top of the bookshelf beside us. When his arm draws back down, his hand lands on my jaw, cupping it in his palm, his thumb grazing my cheek with gentle strokes. “You hypnotize me,” he whispers in a ragged, fervent breath, the words touching my lips like a prelude to the kiss I crave.

“There’s no way you could possibly feel what I’m feeling, what I’ve felt, from the moment Gabe told me they found you. That you were alive. You have no idea what it was like to be haunted by you for twenty-two years, then to hold you in my hands, flesh and bone, like you were back from the dead. You couldn’t understand any of that.” Sydney’s fingers curl tighter around my wool sweater, her gaze tormented. “So, no, Oliver…we don’t feel the same. It would be impossible.”

“I’m here now, Sydney. I’m right here.” Another fervent head shake. “The only thing worse than not having you is having you and breaking you apart all over again.” “I’m not made of glass. You won’t break me.” “You don’t know that…”

“I don’t want to lose you.” Sydney wraps her arms around herself, breath hitching, gaze tortured. I worry my lip between my teeth, piecing together my response. “You’re going to lose me by trying too hard not to lose me, Syd.” A quivering gasp echoes in my ears. “Good night.”

The truth is, I didn’t have a heart to give. My heart was with a ghost.

“I’m uncertain why everyone considers me to be so breakable. I survived in a basement for over two decades with not much more than a sleeping bag, a bucket, and a lifetime supply of Chef Boyardee.” My back is all that faces the two men across the room, so I don’t see their expressions when I deliver the bold statement. “I’m not nearly as fragile as you all seem to think I am.”

“What can I get for you, Oliver?” He sets the menu down, eyes lifting until he finds my baby blues. They seem to steal his breath for one blissful moment. “Oh, um, this strawberry creation looks rather good. It comes with a little fruit medley.” His eyes twinkle with authentic joy. Over a fruit skewer. “God, I love you.”

AWWW

“Hey, handsome. I have good news,” I say, leaning forward on folded arms, not missing the way his gaze hovers on the peaks of my breasts before trailing upward. Slowly. Very slowly. “You think I’m handsome?” He beams. His goofy grin and sluggish stare carry me to one conclusion: he’s buzzed. So goddamn cute.

I LOVE HIMMMM

“I do,” I tell him, unable to scrub the flirtatious inflection from my tone. “Very handsome. You’re also sweet, generous, smart, loyal, and brave, among a thousand other things.” “I’m quite good at Boggle.”

“Just let me hold you.” A whispery breath leaves me on unsteady legs, my arms and heart clinging tighter than ever before. “I’m hard to hold,” I confess, my words pulled from the coil of fear inside me. But Oliver’s smile only swells as he lowers my cheek to his chest, his palm still cradling the back of my head like I am cherished—like I am his missing piece. “Nothing worth holding is ever too hard.”

Before sleep fully takes me over, I feel his arm encircle my waist, tugging me toward him until we’re shamelessly spooning. Oliver’s mouth meets the nape of my neck, the shivers running rampant as he whispers good night, snuggling me closer. Holding me.

awwww

“I’m right here, with you, and I’m still holding on to your heart. Please don’t ask me to give it back.”

“I crave to be inside you more than I craved freedom in all of those twenty-two years combined.”

“I love you, Oliver Lynch.” I say his name, I say it loud and clear, because he is real. He is someone. He is everything to me.

Sydney loves me. And I love her, so entirely, so painfully… I always have. I tell her in the way I hold her, in the way I look at her, in the way I say her name. She is my favorite part of me.

“You’re beautiful, Syd.”

She pauses, momentarily entranced by the breakfast. “It’s shaped like a heart.”

AWWWWWWW

“You always deserve what is meant for you, and if anything is meant to be, it’s us,”

“I want you to teach me everything. How to touch you, taste you, worship you.”

“It’s hard to break someone who has already experienced the worst out of life. We tend to be fairly resilient.”

For the very first time, I am truly and exceptionally happy. I have a family. I have freedom and possibilities and fresh air and sunshine. I have hope. I have meaning. I have her

“Sydney…you’re awake.” I smile, overjoyed to see her because that will always be my reaction to seeing her.

Sydney wants space. I can give her space. I’ll give her anything she asks for.

Sitting up, heart thumping, I can’t help the smile from blooming on my lips, much like my mother’s precious garden. Memories of her trickle back in, wrapping me in a warm hug, a familiar smile, a comfort I have unknowingly missed for a very long time. Tears swell against my eyelids, a burning sense of loss mingling with the sweet memories. Chasing butterflies, baking cookies, gardening, making crafts with Sydney at the kitchen table, watching Winnie the Pooh on that same living room sofa. Bedtime stories, tickle fights, board games, underdogs on the playground swings. Holidays and bonfires. Piggyback rides and sing-alongs. Bubbles in the bathtub. Laughter. Love. My mother. My beautiful mother. My God, how she must have missed me. She’ll never know that I’m okay. She’ll never, ever know.

I used to think strength was rooted in the fight. Prevailing. Surviving the things determined to tear us down. But true strength isn’t necessarily overcoming the fight—it is how we fight. It is not within the sword itself, but in how we wield it. And sometimes, it’s not about survival at all. It’s about living through the worst possible loss, heartache and pain, regardless of whether or not we make it to the other side. My mother lived through an unimaginable tragedy. A devastating loss. In the end, she did not survive. But while she did not survive the battle itself, I am certain she wielded her sword with grace, dignity, and love. And that is true strength.

I cannot go another moment without relieving her of her worries, regardless of her misguided request for space. Of course, I love her. I love her more than I love fresh air. And, well, it’s Christmas Eve and I have a gift for her. Sydney opens the door looking disheveled, dabbled in paint smears. Her glasses are crooked, her hair wild, clothes wrinkled and worn. She’s perfect.

“Syd…” I shut the door and set the gift down beside my feet, moving in on her with outstretched palms. Cradling her face between them, I whisper, “This was never about losing me. This was about trying to become the best possible version of myself, even if that meant a temporary sacrifice. It was never permanent, and it was only considered out of my feelings for you.” She places her hands atop mine. “But what if we grow apart, or you meet someone else, or…” “Shh, that’s nonsense,” I tell her firmly, thumbs dusting away her tears. “That’s all in your mind. There is only you.”

A pink lotus flower is painted along the bottom of the canvas, fading up into a fairy-tale scene: a little boy in overalls holding hands with a little girl with sunshine pigtails as they stand atop a grassy hill, watching fireworks light up the sky. Reds, blues, and violets are spattered across the top of the portrait, raining color and beauty down upon the storybook image. And sitting next to the little girl is an orange tabby, while a raccoon rests beside the boy. It’s us. Me, Sydney, Alexis, and Athena. We are watching the fireworks together.

My eyes close for a few heartbeats in an effort to prevent my own tears from flowing. “I love it. I love it so much, thank you…” Then I set the canvas down, leaning it against the desk, and pull her into my arms. I hug her, cling to her, cherish her, my fingers twining through her hair while my mouth presses a kiss to her temple. “I won’t leave,” I murmur softly, tightening my hold. “I can’t…I can’t leave you, Syd.” Her gasp is strained, cracked, a strangled cry of relief. Sydney buries her face into my chest, breathing me in, while her arms link behind my back. “We’ll make it work, I promise. You’re all I need, Oliver,” she whimpers. “You’re all I need.”