Page 16 of Bloom

And then that moment ends.

Dropping his gaze, he brushes past me, his voice low and harsh. “Stop getting in the way and I will.”

6

She looks at him, and the fourth finger on his left hand burns.

“Lux…”

“Don’t.” My friend holds up a shaky hand, a sickly sheen to her light brown skin. “Don’t say it.”

I roll my lips together in an effort to keep them shut. It’s not like Iwantto point out the obvious. Usually, I much prefer blissful ignorance. Pretending everything is okay all the time is a pretense Iliveby, really. But the fire pit currently being constructed, the twinkling lights strung from every available surface, the threat of people’s imminent arrivals… Kind of unignorable. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

Lux’s horrified expression might agree, but the downward tilt of her mouth doesn’t. “I do this every year, Line.”

“I know, but—”

“Just because I have a baby doesn’t mean everything has to change. I can still have fun.”

Sure. Of course she can. I’m just not surethis, tonight, will really be her idea of fun.

I know the party Lux throws every summer used to be about her grandparents. I only met them once—a testament to their absence in their grandchildren’s lives—but once was all it took to chalk them down as awful, loveless people. Using the land they owned to host a festival-scale extravaganza, using their vast reserves of money to supply the whole town with booze, was a petty but satisfying way to piss them off.

But this isn’t their land anymore; Jackson bought it from them a few months ago before making it very clear they weren’t welcome anymore. And, with a bank account full of revenue from the ranch and years’ worth of monthly stipends received in place of love and affection, Lux has her own money to flit away.Andshe has a pretty fresh newborn with a crappy father and an apparent vendetta to turn the rest of the town against her, a vendetta that’s freaking working; because, you know, when a man refuses to take responsibility for the child he had a part in conceiving, it’s the woman’s fault. I don’t get why Lux would be so eager to invite people who genuinely believe she got pregnant to trap Mark, or that she cheated on him, or that she won’t let him be involved, onto her land.

I don’t get it, full stop. Until, that is, as we sit in my parked truck staring at the people Lux coerced into helping set up, I catch the wistful look on my friend’s face.

“It’s a tradition.” Twisting in the passenger seat, Lux reaches behind us to stroke the fluffy hair of the baby safely strapped in the backseat. “I want him to have traditions.”

“I get that.” God, do I get that. When I was kid, after my mom died and all our traditions died with her, I would’ve killed for something like this. But back then, I was old enough to actually know what was going on; to recognize the loss.

Right now, the only thing Alex cares about is the boob that feeds him.

Either Lux can read my mind or my damn open face is betraying me, because her lips flutter with a violent exhale as she clambers out of the truck. “Fuck, this was a shitty idea.”

Exactly what I’ve been subtly saying all day, but I’m not about to rub it in. “Too late to do anything about it now.” Leaving her to retrieve Alex from his carseat, I get out of my truck, flip down the tailgate, and start grabbing the many, many,manycanvas grocery bags weighing down the bed of my poor old Chevy. “Might as well try to enjoy it.”

Lux snorts;fat chance of that,that noise says.

I can’t say I feel any differently. It’s never been my favorite night of the year, despite never missing one. Jackson and I might’ve been freshly broken up when the tradition first began, but I was still invited by default—it’s always been an open invitation kind of affair. I remember that first one like it was yesterday, remember being eighteen and heartbroken and desperate for a glimpse of the boy I loved. Even though I was sick with nerves, I still let my friends convince me to come. I pretended to listen to their conversations while searching the yard for familiar long, dark hair. I had one stilted, awkward exchange with the boy who broke my heart. I went home and I cried.

I repeated that series of events every summer after, until this one.

As I haul groceries inside, I try to convince the anxious knot in my chest that this year will be different. I’m not here for Jackson anymore. I’m not here as his ex-girlfriend. I’m a friend. Maybe not of his, but definitely of the girl who helps me lug a twenty-four pack of beer—one of many of its kind—into the kitchen after putting her son down for a nap.

It doesn’t take us that long, but my arms still ache something fierce by the time we ferry everything from my truck to the kitchen table. Just as we’re setting the last bags down, a dooropens from somewhere deeper in the house, and footsteps start towards us.

“Did a bomb go off in here?”

I glance at the young girl lurking in the kitchen doorway and let loose a slightly unhinged laugh. “Sure looks like it.”

Creeping into the room, Eliza eyes me cautiously like I’m the real incendiary device primed to explode. “Hi, Caroline.”

A smile slots into place. “Hi, Eliza.”

Lux flicks her little sister on the forehead before shoving her towards the nearest pile of crap to be organized. “Line got you something, kid.”

Despite her wariness, Eliza perks up.

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