“I’m not going to end up in jail,” she said.
He took a carton of orange juice from the fridge, poured himself a glass. He lifted the carton toward her, offering, but she shook her head.
“When are you doing this crazy stunt of yours?” Jay asked.
Sasha didn’t have an exact day in mind. The sooner, the better. Otherwise, the fantasy would keep nagging her. She’d had it in her head that this confrontation of Angeni Luna would assuage her grief, at least a little. She had to believe something would. She couldn’t just spend the rest of her life feeling like she was walking through molasses.
“Soon,” Sasha said. “I’ll text you.”
He drank down the rest of the juice and put the empty cup in the sink, then headed back to the living room.
“Jay, are you going to be okay?”
She directed the question to the back of his head. She didn’t know if she could ask it while looking at his sad face.
He sat on the couch and looked up at her.
“I have no idea,” he said. His eyes were dark wells, filled to the brim.
She sat next to him on the couch.
“I need you to stick around for me,” she said, her voice shaky.
“I’ll at least stick around to find out what happens with Angeni Lunatic.”
Sasha laughed, and he laughed, and Sasha felt for a second that both of them would be okay.
He walked her to the front door, and she hugged him, long and tight. Ever since Daphne’s death, this had been how she’d hugged him. She would never again be able to hug someone without wondering if it would be the last time.
“I’ll keep texting you every day,” she said. “And if you don’t respond, I’m gonna have to call your ass.”
Daphne had loved talking on the phone, and they’d always made fun of her for it—Okay, boomer.
Jay strengthened his hold of Sasha, then let go.
“Please don’t call my ass.”
That night in bed, Sasha tapped the Google icon on her phone, typed in hippie names. When she visited Angeni Luna, she’d need a fake name, a name that would endear her to Angeni Luna and get her welcomed inside her home.
Indigo
Lark
Daffodil
Willow
Willow. That gave her an idea. Angeni Luna wrote often of her love of trees, spoke of the ones on her property as if they were resident friends. Sasha remembered there was one particular kind she’d mentioned as a favorite.
Sasha scrolled through Angeni’s Instagram posts, looking for the one she remembered, the one taken from inside Angeni Luna’s magazine-worthy kitchen.
There it was. The big picture window perfectly framing the giant tree outside.
The caption:
This, my friends, is the tree whose branches feel like arms, holding me up as I walk through this world. This, my friends, is the Sitka spruce.
There it was.
