Page 79 of Late Bloomer
Opal doesn’t say anything back, snuggling further into meas the rain keeps pouring down. As she lets out a shuddering breath, the lights flicker, then snuff out.
We’re still for a moment, not breathing, then she turns, eyes glinting in the dark. I can’t make out her face, but I feel a small shiver of fear run down her spine.
“Well… damn.”
“That about sums it up,” I say, rolling away from her to test my bedside lamp a few times. No luck.
I open the drawer to my nightstand, rummaging around in the pitch black until my hand curls around the small flashlight I keep stored in there. I pull it out, flicking the switch a few times. Nothing happens.
The farm is just far enough outside of Asheville and any other more densely populated areas that the power regularly goes out and stays out for extended periods of time, and Grandma Lou always had flashlights at the ready, but apparently neither of us made it a habit to change the batteries.
“Ugh, I’ll be right back,” I say, fighting off a chill as the cold rainwater stuck to my skin sinks into my bones.
“You can’t leave me!” Opal whisper-yells.
“Are you afraid of the dark?” I ask, squinting at the Opal-shaped lump in the center of my mattress.
“Not a ton of horror movies take place in the sunshine, Pepper,” she says in a shrill voice.
I bite back a giggle. “I’ll be gone for a minute. Gonna get some flashlights from the kitchen.”
Opal whines, but I ignore it, carefully making my way out of the room. The sound of the storm is loud right behind Opal’sdoor, and I can’t bring myself to process all the damage that’ll be done by the time morning rolls around. I grab a towel from the linen closet, pressing it along the crack to her room like it will make much difference.
With cautious steps, I pad downstairs. The fire is completely out now, whispers of its warmth quickly evaporating in the cool night. In the kitchen, I rummage for a few minutes under the sink before finding two flashlights that actually work.
Back upstairs, I grab some fresh towels from the linen closet and slip back into my bedroom. The sound of Opal’s teeth chattering greets me.
“I’m s-so cold,” she says, sitting up as I flick on my flashlight and hand her a towel.
“Me too,” I say, wringing out my hair, fingers frozen, as a sharp gust of wind bangs at my poorly sealed bedroom windows.
“Should we… h-huddle together under the blankets for warmth?” Opal says through blue lips. “This isn’t a line, but I d-dead-ass read that removing clothing actually allows you to conserve body heat.”
I giggle, but nod, goose bumps prickling along my skin as I shuck off my shirt and jeans. Opal grins before doing the same. We dive under the covers, frozen fingers tickling across warm skin as we reach for each other.
I pull the quilt higher around Opal’s cheeks, tucking her in. She lets out a contented sigh against my throat, nuzzling close.
I play with the frayed ends of the blanket, the small tears in the fabric like windows into old memories—teenage me nestledin on snow days, twenty-year-old me sipping something warm and comforting with a book in hand, exploring emotionally complex worlds I never thought would be my own, twenty-one-year-old me being woken up by Grandma Lou, champagne flute in her hand as she sang “Happy Birthday.”
We burrow deeper, and I sink into the now adult me lost and confused and somehow comfortable in this moment despite it all. So many happy memories woven into this quilt, another tugging at the fabric.
“I’m sorry about your room,” I whisper, my arm cinching tight around Opal’s full waist, our bodies pressed together.
She lets out a tiny mumble, arm looping around me too.
Opal is so close and so warm and so soft and I find my throat working, vulnerable words bubbling up, wanting to be said, to be held by her ears.
“I was never supposed to live here,” I whisper.
“What do you mean?” she says, shifting so I feel the question against my throat.
I swallow. “This farm. I never even knew it existed until my mom dumped me here when I was seventeen. Thank God Grandma Lou was actually a decent person.” I gnaw on my lip, imagining what could have been. “My life could have ended up being so different if she’d been another asshole like my mom.”
Opal pulls back, and I feel her eyes on me in the dark room. “Your motherleftyou?”
I let out a scornful laugh, squeezing my eyes tight. “That’s not even the worst of it,” I mumble, the words like a blade against my heart.
“It’s hard to imagine something could be much worse than that.”
