19
Iz: Please let me in? Sorry about your sweater but it REALLY wasn’t my fault. I’ll let you use ANY of my stuff you want. Even my new Janet Jackson CD. Though if Mom hears how dirty it is she will TOTALLY take it away from us both, so you’ll have to use headphones. Please?
—Note slid under Izzy’s slammed-and-locked door by Penny, age eleven
This was what Izzy had had in mind when she’d chosen Yellow Springs. And to think that if she hadn’t found Rhoda’s mail mixed up with her own, hadn’t dropped it by before resigning herself to another Friday pajama night, she would have missed her ticket. The invitation came spontaneously but not halfheartedly, and Izzy, in the habit of saying no to so much, had allowed herself to be talked into a yes.
Which is how she found herself, not two hours later, here at Forest Meadow—to Izzy’s delight the actual capital-letter name of the place, which was indeed a meadow at the forest’s edge—for a Harvest Moon Celebration hosted by the Guardians of the Glen. Though Rhoda had explained the Guardians were simply a group of volunteers who maintained the trails in the nature preserve, Izzy was still picturing fairies or sprites, and really she wasn’t all that far off, though here they were in human form.
The moon lingered beneath the tree line, but in the glow of the massive bonfire, the party was in perpetual freeform motion. Those who’d brought guitars or bongos had assembled themselves in a semicircle of camp chairs and started to riff in an almost primal rhythm, while a cluster of women on the other side of the fire had begun to dance, their long skirts flowing. A row of people seated cross-legged and barefoot in the grass had formed a chain to give one another shoulder rubs, pausing only to pass a bota bag down the line. There were coolers of strawberry wine, and mead, and cans of craft beer, and the air smelled of clove cigarettes and pipe smoke, with occasional whiffs of something less legal floating in from the dark periphery.
Izzy hung back, huddled in her fleece on one of the thick quilts Randi and Rhoda had spread at the edge of the firelight, taking in the scene as her neighbors walked Adele from one cluster to another, showing her off from the flowered sling wrapped around Randi in elaborate layers. Izzy admired the way they’d simply melded the baby into their lifestyle, rather than recentering their world around hers, and though a part of her wondered how long it could last, tonight in the near utopia of the circle, almost anything seemed possible.
“Whew!” Rhoda flopped onto the blanket next to her. “What do you think? Do you love it?”
“Love,” Izzy assured her.
Randi glided up with a precarious hold on three paper cups of golden liquid and handed one to each of them before settling herself gingerly onto the ground. She nodded down at Adele, who was sleeping now, and tipped her cup, gesturing for them to do the same. Izzy took a small sip. By the second helping, the honey wine would seem sickeningly sweet, but for now, it was just the thing.
“I’m so glad you came,” Randi said, smiling around Rhoda at her. “I’ve been wanting to run into you for days. That segment you’ve had going, on divorce stories? Hilarious.”
“And sobering,” Rhoda added. “Almost made me wish we didn’t have the right to marry. Well done!” Sonny’s idea had been so popular they’d end up stringing the discussion through the rest of the week, leaving Izzy feeling like an imposter in her own life, a producer of things she hadn’t quite produced. Truthfully, it was the last thing she wanted to discuss out here in the open, under the constellations, in the midst of all that was good and true in the world.
“Thanks,” she said reluctantly. “I was a little worried it might be in bad taste.”
“Everything’s in bad taste,” Randi said, shrugging. “The world is in bad taste.”
“Not this,” Izzy said, gesturing around them. “I think you all have the right idea.”
She could feel Rhoda’s eyes on her.
“You really don’t like your job, do you? I mean, you told us, that night at Clara’s, but I thought it was more about the Second Date stuff bugging you when you’re trying to get over the thing with your sister.”
Izzy shrugged. They were fans of her radio show. How could she suggest that they shouldn’t be? They were her neighbors. And she hoped they’d become real friends.
“It’s not the job. It’s me. The fluffiness of it weighs on me.”
Rhoda laughed. “Okay, by definition, that’s the opposite of what fluff is supposed to do.”
“I know … But I’ll be looking for nonnews to cover, and fall down this rabbit hole of awful headlines, and then it’s like, How can you all joke at a time like this? Which of course makes no sense, because it’s always ‘a time like this.’” She made air quotes with her fingers, then felt ridiculous, like a politician at a Grateful Dead concert. She rushed ahead. “Also, I didn’t want Paul to think we were making light of his…” What to call it? “Situation,” she said finally.
Randi nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. I mean, we’re conscientious. We spent I won’t tell you how much to make our house as sustainable as we could without going off the grid. We raise chickens. We compost. We march in Take Back the Night rallies. We’re citizens of the world, damn it!” She raised a fist, then dropped it. “But the world will drag you down if you let it. Sometimes you have to be happy in the little bubble you create for yourself. And thus we can celebrate the full moon equinox by night and still love superficial morning radio by day.”
“Loud and proud,” Rhoda said, laughing. Izzy had to admit it made her feel better—if a bit silly—though she noticed neither of them had chosen to comment on Paul.
“Well, thanks for keeping me in a job,” she said. “Actually, I’d like to return the favor. Do you have any more of those knitted moccasins you sold me? The ah-mazing ones?”
Randi smiled. “Just got more in.”
“I was thinking of getting my sister some.”
“Birthday coming up?” Rhoda asked.
“No, she’s … she’s pregnant.” It was the first time Izzy had said the words aloud. They made her slightly dizzy. “I thought I’d get her a gift. Pregnant women get achy feet, right?” She looked to Randi, who had given birth only months before, but Randi was just staring at her.
“Pregnant? With the guy who—”
Izzy held up a hand. “I really shouldn’t have told any of you that. I’m well aware that he’s off-limits. I hope you don’t think I’d ever—”
“Of course not,” Randi said firmly, saving her from herself.
“Poor Iz,” Rhoda said. “We also got some horribly itchy moccasins in. I was going to send them back, but maybe you’d like to gift her those instead?”
Izzy laughed. “That’d be more tempting if I weren’t buying this as a peace offering.”
“Uh-oh. What happened?”
“Just…” Blood flooded her cheeks. “My parents hosted a congratulatory thing for her and Josh the other day, and I couldn’t make it because I was sick, and—”
“You were sick?” Rhoda raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I felt sick…”
“Oh, honey.”
“I know. I’m a terrible human being. I need to unterrible myself.” She took a big swig of the wine, and winced. Apparently even honey could burn going down if you weren’t careful.
Randi perked up. “Our friend Infinity is offering this new thing at the Humanist Center where she resets your karma.”
Izzy blinked at her. “Isn’t that kind of cheating?”
“That’s what I said!” Rhoda looked smugly at her wife.
Randi scowled back. “It’s fine if Izzy doesn’t want to do it, but I still don’t see the harm in performing the ritual for Kristin,” she said defiantly. “Especially now that—”