He says she drives him crazy, that she messages him through social media nonstop, always questioning the way Forever Four is marketing her, and do you think that’s what my fans, the ones of our generation, would want?
I am pretty sure I hate her and her little dog, too. Like seriously, get a rescue pup, bitch.
Not that I do Hallmark holidays, but on Valentine’s Day, she monopolized his time. I was pissed at myself that it bothered me.
But, at eight thirty at night, I was called downstairs to grab a package. Everyone who saw me looked all too curious. That bothered me, too, and it had been a couple months since I had let them get under my skin. Why? Because Patrick said that’s why they do it—to get a reaction. He dealt with the same shit on social media, and he learned that, if he ignored it, then it didn’t fuck up his flow.
When I brought the package upstairs and opened the box wrapped in brown paper, it was a spade, some gardening gloves, and three bags of bulbs with the label, “Snowflake bulbs,” on it.
Underneath those items, that really, really were thoughtful and amazing, was his phone. He had gotten a new one and had tried to give it to me at school, because the glass on mine was now chipping. I told him to give it to someone else. He told me it was his, and he could give it to whoever he wanted to. I told him I wouldn’t accept charity from him. He saw his way around it.
There was a sticky note on it that said:
Happy Valentine’s Day,
XXX
Trisha.
I laughed so loud it dragged Chloe from the bathroom.
When she saw the box, she cried. “I think I want to be a lesbian, too. Men just don’t get it.”
“You can’t choose to be a lesbian. You’re either born that way or you’re not. But you can choose to like girls; that’s what I did.”
That was the first time I admitted it out loud.
“Wait—you like boys, too?”
I shrugged. “To me, it’s more about the person.”
“Then open up your eyes!” she yelled. “Patrick Steel is gaga over you.”
I clamped my hand over her mouth. “Shut up.”
She pushed it away. “Seriously, Savvy, he’s … so damn sexy.”
“You would know.” I shook my head and sat down then pulled out the phone.
“You know, your idea of being celibate for a few months to connect with myself, find my center?”
“Yeah.”
“I found it. I may be a slut, but I’m okay with it. How’s that for centering?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and I laughed harder than I think I ever had.
“I’m serious, Savvy.”
After getting myself together, I shook my head. “You own it. It’s on your terms. Do you, Chloe. But don’t call yourself a slut.”
“Be a ho, be a sexual being, own it, but slut’s a bit harsh.”
She and I are as close, maybe closer, than any other girls here now. I’m pretty sure it’s because we realize we’re both growing, changing, and becoming who we are supposed to be.
The realization that my fight to unite women so that we can become stronger is lost on ears that have yet to understand what it’s like to be truly powerful.
Patrick says I’ll find my tribe, my crew, that the less I scream, the more I’m heard.
We only have a month before the fundraiser. Tickets sold out, and the waitlist is so long we had to change venues and add more plates.
This has become a passion project. It has consumed me, just as the community garden did the last summer of my last life. But, unlike the garden, it wasn’t an escape from the reality that she was dying. With this, it’s nearly consumed me. I feel almost compelled by it.
Patrick tried to be helpful, he did, but we both quickly realized that pottery is not his thing. He felt bad, I could see it in his eyes, and I assured him that he shouldn’t feel any worse about it than I do, because I can’t play a guitar or sing.
“Straight up, Savvy, you’ve become my sounding board for everything going on in my life. Just wanna show you that I’m here for yours, too.”
“You want honesty, so you’ll get it. Just try not to take offense to what I’m about to say.”
“Is it going to be something along the lines that you spend more time fixing my fucked-up pieces than making yours masterpieces?”