As she explains why the universe has dictated to her that sheneeds to dump me as a friend, I take the opportunity to think about every red flag I have ignored that has led to my utter astonishment that this is actually happening right now.
How even though Leilani was here for me the last eight years, she was only here in the most superficial way. She’d bring me vegan cake or buy me a series of classes on transcendental meditation. The second I started weeping from my grief over seeing my fucking baby sister fall to her death? Lani’d realize she had a meeting or appointment to run to. If she knew I was having a really bad depressive spell, she’d leave me on read for up to two weeks.
How slowly, over the years, Leilani has become an entirely different person from the one I used to know. She’s gone from encouraging me to go to therapy when we were teens to telling me that if only I’d just focus on love, all the bad things in my life would fade away. And if they hadn’t yet, that was because I just hadn’t tried hard enough.
How Leilani has had everything given to her. Her claim,I got here on my own, without any help, is the biggest lie I’ve heard in a long-ass time. Her parents are millionaires. Everything she has achieved has the underpinnings of extreme financial privilege…and she’sneveradmitted that. Because then her idea that she’s become a self-made woman by the sheer power of the universe’s love would pop into a zillion sticky pieces.
Besides the fact that she steals. She steals the gods and the sacred designs of cultures she doesn’t belong to in order to make a profit.
I bury my face in my hands. Why hadn’t I listened to Sage about Lani? But I already know the answer. It’s because of my own damn pride.
“Plus, you know I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings on this, because I know that it’s your whole family tradition and all—”
I whip my head up, trying to figure out how she’s bullying me now, in that way that is so unique to her. Spiritual-washed bully, that’s Leilani Rodriguez to a T. It’s only taken until now, when it’s directed at me so acutely, to see it.
“…because you just happen to get sad every time the weather’s bad. It’s…no offense, but it’s a little narcissistic, you know? Projecting your feelings on the weather?”
“What did you just say?” My voice is low and guarded. The thunder is rolling back in, and I can feel it in a way I’ve never felt before. Like it’s not just on the outside, but also inside me. “You think my and my family’s gifts are lies?”
She shakes her head. “Not lies, just metaphors. I mean, come on, Teal. Did you seriously believe that you control the weather?”
Lightning returns to the sky, and it gets so close that Leilani jumps. She clears her throat. “So I just wanted to wish you a really good spring, before I go. I’m sure you’re going to have a great life and I wish you all the best. I will pay for our table here till the end of the season, you know, as a parting gift. You’ve got a lot going for you, Teal, with your little candle-making hobby and—”
I want to hurt her. To somehow help her feel a smidgen of the way she is making me feel right now. I slide my hands under my thighs, pressing in on them until the chair pinches the meat of my hands. If I don’t restrain myself, I might punch her like I punched Sage four years ago.
It’s not that she doesn’t want to be friends anymore. That’s not the big deal. I understand that people have the right to be friends or not friends with whoever they want. But does she seriously have to insult me on her way out the door? Does she have to tell me that the one thing I trusted her with, the one thing in my life that has caused me so much suffering, is just in my head?
I need to go, and I can’t let her see how mad I am. It’s toorisky. The urge to knock her out hasn’t passed yet. So I paste a saccharine-sweet smile on my face. “Aw, Lani. You didn’t have to. And I wish you all the best, too.”
She beams. I know this is exactly what she’s hoped for—for me to be complacent, to focus on the love of the universe and just find it in my heart to understand. To understand that she’s toofull of loveto be cruel, even as she insults me to my face. To understand that she’s toospiritualto culturally appropriate in her designs, even as she basically copies-and-pastes the work of my ancestors all the way to the bank.
“I gotta run to the bathroom.” I wink at her as I leave.
7
Hurricane winds slice all aroundme as I walk, and thunder rumbles again.
“I thought you checked a weather app!” one woman says as she scowls at her husband.
“I did! It said four percent chance of rain!”
With every half-choked gasp of an inhale, the wind gets sharper. With every tear I force back in, thunder rumbles louder. It’s going to storm so, so bad if I don’t get it together soon.
I’m looking for a place to deep-breathe without anyone bothering me when I run face-first into someone’s black shirt. Well, not just the shirt. There’s a whole firm torso under there, too, and it startles me enough for the wind to instantly stop, for the thunder to cease midroar.
“Carter?” I can hardly believe it’s him. He’s never been to the craft fair. Not once.
He’s looking down at me, a crease between his eyebrows, his mouth angled into a frown. “Teal? What’s happened?”
I start to shrug it off, to sayNothing, it’s fine, but I can’t. I can’tever hide a damn thing because whatever is happening inside is reflecting in the deep black underside of the clouds, the shock white of lightning, the voice of angry thunder. “Leilani just dumped me as a friend,” I finally say, not able to make eye contact. “Because I’m…” I don’t know how to summarize it for him, but I finish the sentence with “bipolar.” And I realize that’s actually perfect. Bipolar disorder, or the way it shows up for me—deep depressions where I can’t get out of bed for days interspersed with impulsive decision-making episodes like random shopping sprees or, I don’t know,literalrainbows and sunshine, is too real for Leilani, who has carefully constructed a life made out of what she thinks are angel wings but are actually moth balls—toxic and highly flammable.
“Shewhat? Because ofwhat?” Carter’s voice is low, almost a growl. He looks up at the sky and takes my hand.
“Where are we going?”
He doesn’t respond. But we don’t stop until we reach the oak tree in the middle of the pavilion, its huge, big limbs reaching over us like an umbrella. He pulls my hand until we’re both touching the scratchy bark of the tree’s trunk.
“Your sister said there’s lots of water in trees,” he tells me.
