four

BJ

I have three regrets from my lifetime. More, probably. But if a genie’s handing out wishes, these three are what I’m changing.

The first one you know: Paili and the bath. What I would give to go back in time and walk out my door instead of down those stairs. Go straight to Parks, tell her everything, skip all the breaking we did to each other between then and now.

The second, I don’t want to talk about, but the third one—probably not hard to guess.

When I think back to that day in the hospital, Magnolia all banged up and bruised in the bed, still unconscious—that’s the screaming image in my mind. How much it fucked me up seeing her all hurt like that, it was nearly impossible for me, in that moment, to see past her—but if I do, pull a curtain closed on her—tell my mind she’s fine, she’s completely fine, she’ll make it, she’s good, we’re good—if I tell my past-self that, peer back in my memory, let me remember some other things . . .

Bridget in that chair still in the clothes from the crash.

A little cut on her lip. Her arm bleeding. A light graze on her forehead.

She looked fine. Tired, but fine.

And I fucking told her to go.

Me and Claire have talked about this. How the doctors already cleared her and I’m not a doctor, so how was I supposed to know? Fair question, I s’pose, but I feel like I should have anyway.

Because I know her. All her life I have, so I should have seen it. It feels like the sort of thing I should have seen in her.

I was her first kiss, did you know? Bridget’s, I mean.

Funny.

Magnolia and I had been together just a few months by then, it was a Sunday night before we would go back to Varley the next day.

Me and Parks were lying on her bed watching TV when her sister walked past the bedroom door.

“Bridget,” she called to her, and Bridge poked her head in the door.

“What?” Bridge asked, already rolling her eyes because they’ve always been how they’ve always been. Even at thirteen and fifteen. Even at three and five.

Magnolia sat up, back tall, eyes pinched.

“At a party last night, did you play seven minutes in heaven with Dean Vinograd—arguably the hottest person in your year—” Magnolia looked from Bridge to me to further her point. “Only to not kiss him at all, the entire time?”

I sniffed a laugh and then Bridge crossed her arms uncomfortably.

“So what if I did?”

Magnolia eyed her suspiciously. “Well, why wouldn’t you? It’s just a kiss.”

Bridget shifted her weight between her feet.

“Right?” Magnolia blinked over at her.

Bridge glared over at her, chest getting a bit huffy as her face pinched.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Bridget said, nose in the air like her sister’s goes.

“What!?” Magnolia yelled dramatically before falling backwards on her bed. Like she was so fucking experienced. We hadn’t done much yet. A little bit because she’s handsy, but not much.

Bridget’s face went embarrassed and she rushed further into the room to defend herself. “I just—I haven’t—” She takes a breath. “And now I’m—” She doesn’t say it, but I could see it on her face.

Scared.

“That’s fine,” I told her, shaking my head.

She blinked. “Is it?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“No, it’s not.” Magnolia pouted. “It’s weird.”

Bridget huffed again, breathed out her nose, now pouting too. “It’s just I don’t know how—I don’t want to look stupid.”

“You couldn’t,” I told her.

“You definitely could,” Magnolia said matter-of-factly, and I gave her a look.

“I couldn’t kiss Dean last night!” Bridget yelled suddenly. “What if it was bad and he hated it and then he told everyone and then I was a big loser?”

Magnolia scrunched her face up. “What if you had the opportunity to kiss the hottest boy in your year, you didn’t, and then he tells everyone and you’re a big loser? Oh, wait—” She tossed her sister a look.

“I didn’t know what to do!” Bridget yelled.

“I’ll kiss you,” I told her.

Bridget blinks twice. “What?”

“Yeah.” Magnolia stared at me. “What?”

“I’ll just kiss her.” I glanced at Parks and gave her a shrug before looking back at Bridge. “Then it’s done and you’ve done it, and you won’t feel scared the next time it comes up.”

Bridget eyed me indignantly. “I didn’t say I was scared.”

“You didn’t,” I conceded. “But were you?”

She pinched the tip of her finger. “Maybe.”

“Hold on a minute!” Magnolia said, sitting back up, eyebrows arched. “You’re going to kiss her?”

I nodded. “Yeah, if she wants.”

“My sister?” Magnolia clarified, all horrified.

I leant in towards her and caught her eyes. Gave her the look I’ll give her infinity times over our lifetime together that turns her to puddles.

“It’s just a kiss,” I whispered to her with a shrug.

Her face softened and I stood, turning towards her sister.

“Ready?”

Bridge nodded, swallowed heavy.

“It’s nothing.” I gave her another shrug. “Just a kiss.”

She nodded again and then I slipped my hand behind her head and gave her a proper good snog.

Don’t have anything poetic to say about it, no nautical metaphors or exploding skies, no fireworks—can you imagine? What a fucking mess—solid little kisser though.

It was about two seconds into our practice kiss that Harley walked past the open door and bellowed, “What the fuck?”

Magnolia proper screamed, Bridget yelped, jumping backwards and away from me, and Harley charged towards me, shoving me away from his fourteen-year-old. Which, honestly, fair play . . .

“No, no!” Magnolia dove between us.

“What in the absolute fuck is going on in here?” He looked from Magnolia to me, blood visibly boiling on his face.

Pretty scary at sixteen, I won’t lie.

“Nothing!” Magnolia started shaking her head wildly. “Bridget’s just a big loser, that’s all—!”

Some heavy breathing from Harley and a glare at his eldest.

“What?”

“Because of Dean Vinograd!” Bridget scurried over to us, nodding.

Harley’s face pulled. “Who?”

“In the closet?” Magnolia nods, eyes wide.

Harley’s face scrunches. “What?”

“So embarrassing—” Magnolia takes the chance to toss her little sister a filthy look. “She just talked—”

“Who talked?”

I pointed to Bridge. “She did.”

Magnolia went back to head shaking. “Sullying my good name!” Tossed her father a courtesy head nod. “And yours too, I suppose, Harley.”

He gestured to himself. “My good name?”

Both his daughters nodded quickly with big eyes.

“So sullied,” Magnolia told him earnestly.

“Mmm-hmm,” Bridge said, and when I think back to it now, it’s so cute, the two of them creating a little barrier between me and their dad. Like I would have stood a fucking chance if he wanted to hurt me.

You know how there are men who thrive when they have daughters? Obama, Kobe Bryant, the Rock—the whole girl-dad thing? My dad’s one of them—loves having girls.

Harley’s not a girl-dad. Never has been. Don’t think he ever will be.

His face by then was in the depths of misunderstanding, not tracking a single thing they were panic screaming, except for maybe the one thing they wouldn’t have wanted him to catch.

Harley nodded his head at Parks.

“You have a good name for kissing people in closets?”

Bridget’s lips formed a little “o” shape, and Magnolia’s mouth fell open.

“Erm.” She cleared her throat then shook her head quickly. “No?”

Except that the “no” came out real high.

Harley’s face got a bit dark.

“Yeah, no . . .” I said, pushing between them, feeling like I should take over. “No. Like, we—actually . . . don’t even really, like, hook up—”

Their dad’s eyebrow went up. “Uh-huh.”

I shrugged. “She’s a massive prude, like we’ve done nothing—”

“I am not!” Magnolia cut me off, so I spoke over her, louder.

“No, like, man to man—” I shook my head. “We’ve done nothing—”

Magnolia’s face went so cross, little fists into balls.

She got out a “We do so—” before Bridget clamped her hand over her big sister’s mouth, who has been (to this day) always weirdly into confessing things she doesn’t need to.

Harley looked between us all, eyes pinched.

“I hate this.” He breathed out loudly.

I gave him a big hopeless smile and a half-hearted shrug.

“Yeah, same.”

After that, he left and then the three of us fell on Parks’ bed, laughing.

But it wasn’t a “yeah, same.” I didn’t hate it. Never have. Never will.

I love that memory.

By the time me and Parks were engaged, even Harley was laughing at it.

Fuck, I miss her.

So, yeah . . . The third one of my three great regrets is that Bridget’s dead and I’ll wonder forever if we caught it, if maybe she wouldn’t be.

14:19

Parksy

Hi

what are you wearing

Bit sexy!

Fun though.

I’m in.

What do you want me to be wearing?

. . . to our wedding.

Ah.

Less sexy

I mean—

God.

Hopefully not?

Hah

. . .

I’m not telling you

Please?

Nope

Don’t be rude

That seems racially charged