I was leaving. More importantly, I was divorced—and freshly so. It was like trying to cut into a wound that hadn’t yet scabbed a new skin. I was dipping a sharp blade into warm blood, and I didn’t have any concept of how crazy that made me.
Frustration finally won over, and I kicked the covers off. Rev skittered off the bed and ran down the stairs as I padded to the bathroom. I thought through my bathing suit options with tubing in mind as I went through my normal morning routine, tying my hair into a high ponytail before reaching for my makeup bag.
I paused, eyes meeting my reflection.
I tried to remember a day when I hadn’t worn makeup, tried to recall even a single day in the past several years. My head tilted, eyes squinting, reaching back for a day I wasn’t sure existed. Even when I was sick, I’d never wanted to miss work, and that meant putting on a full face of makeup.
But I did remember one Sunday—Keith and I didn’t have plans, which never happened, and I’d had no reason to put on makeup. I’d woken up that morning and baked us an entire sheet of cinnamon rolls before settling in on the couch with a book. I didn’t even like to read, but I had nothing to do, and it felt like the right way to spend a lazy Sunday.
When Keith woke up, he’d walked over to kiss me and had paused, his brows furrowed as he looked down at me. You look different, he’d said. And when I’d asked him if it was a good or bad kind of different, he’d simply stared at me, as if he were seeing me for the first time and wasn’t sure if he liked what he saw.
He’d responded with only two words, but they were enough to make me abandon my book and reach for my concealer.
Just different.
Later, when we would sit down in front of our marriage counselor, I’d learned that Keith said things like that on purpose, because that was how he communicated. He was passive aggressive, hinting to what he desired rather than asking for it. He’d even admitted to not responding to my I love you when he would leave for work before me, my penance because he was upset about something I’d done, but he didn’t want to verbally tell me. It was a game to him, and I’d played it for years without even knowing the rules.
For so long, I’d tried to decipher what I needed to do to make him happy, all while forgetting to ask myself the same.
I’d always taken my makeup off one side of my face at a time, but after that day with Keith, I’d paid even more attention to the differences. Looking back on our relationship now, it was like finding Easter eggs—remembering all the tiny moments like that one, hidden in the tall grass of the good times. I’d never seen them, but I think I’d always known they were there.
It was like a mosaic: none of the pieces made sense individually, but when I took ten steps back and saw them all together, they painted a crystal-clear picture of the truth.
My hand gripped the makeup bag, fingers brushing the zipper, but I didn’t open it.
Anderson said he’d liked the bare side of my face better, and as I stared at it in the mirror I couldn’t fathom why. The skin under my eyes was dark, sunken in, and even with a resting expression, there were slight lines on my forehead, at the corner of my eyes, and around my mouth. I hadn’t really noticed how my age was starting to show until my twenty-seventh birthday, and ever since then, I seemed to notice something new every day.
Still, there was no reason to put on makeup to float down a river. My eyes would be hidden behind sunglasses, wouldn’t they? And I’d need lip balm on my lips to protect them from the sun, right?
I laughed to myself, shaking my head as I shoved my makeup bag away. I took one last look in the mirror, tilted my chin to each side, and then, for the first time since I could remember, I turned and walked out of the bathroom without a single ounce of product on my face.
As I descended the stairs, I already felt lighter.
I spent the rest of the morning lazily drinking my coffee and pouring through the latest editions of the magazines I’d had delivered to the cabin. Tucker, Davie, Yvette, and Sarah were picking me up to head to the river around noon when the sun would be hot and high in the sky and we would only be slightly crazy jumping into the river. I’d dipped a toe in on the third day I was at the cabin and cursed out loud—the water was freezing. Still, everyone assured me I’d get used to it as long as the day was hot enough.
And here we were, the first ninety-degree day of the summer.
I had just grabbed my oversized hat and slipped my sunglasses on when I spotted Anderson walking up the drive with a large trash bag slung over his shoulder. He wore a simple, black V-neck and distressed jeans, an outfit way too dark and hot for the heat. A light sheen of sweat gathered on his neck as he made his way toward my cabin, his eyes hidden behind all-black sunglasses.
“Change your mind?” I asked, not even fighting the grin on my face as I walked outside and leaned against the banister.
Anderson squinted up at me, his boots heavy as they hit each stair. “About?”
“Tubing?” I asked. That was why he was here, right?
“Oh.” He shook his head as he hit the top stair, shrugging the bag off his shoulders to hold it by the neck in one fist. “No, I have somewhere to be...” His voice trailed off, and even through the tinted shades of his glasses I felt his eyes on my chest. I’d strapped on my favorite boho print bathing suit and paired it with a dainty gold chain that wrapped around my neck once before dipping between my chest and crossing over my ribs.
He sniffed, holding the bag out toward me. “I just came to drop these off. My clothes. Well, the ones that could probably use a little TLC.”
My eyes lit up and I reached for the bag, but Anderson snatched it back, brows shooting up into his forehead.
“No frills, Wren.”
I threw my hands up in surrender. “I promise.”
He smirked, just slightly, and handed the bag over, tucking his hands in his front pockets.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” I asked, peering into the bag at my project before setting it just inside the cabin and locking the door behind me.
“I can’t,” he said, lips pressed together. He was tense, the muscles on his forearms tight as he glanced around at pretty much everything but me.
I opened my mouth to ask why but was cut off by the sound of a truck flying into my drive, tires sliding against the gravel.
Tucker was in the driver’s seat with Davie in the passenger. Sarah and Yvette sat in the back, laughing with their hands up as the truck skidded to a stop. They were both sprawled out on a pile of tubes, wearing bathing suit tops and tiny shorts.
All of their faces froze when they saw Anderson.
“Hey, you ready, Wren?” Tucker asked warily, his eyes moving from where Anderson stood in front of me, to me, and back again.
“Yeah, one sec!” I called back.
I turned to Anderson, but his eyes were hard on Tucker, jaw ticking under his skin. When he faced me once more, an anchor fell from my throat into the pit of my stomach, immobilizing me completely. Because even though I ‘d tried to convince myself I was wrong, I recognized the look in his eyes.