“Your turn.”
So that’s how I found myself, at thirty-one years old, making my first-ever daisy chain in a field of wildflowers, under Iggy’s careful supervision. When mine reached a respectable length, he showed me how to knot the ends together into a circle. He took the delicate chain from my hands and gestured for me to lower my head like this was my coronation. When I did, he gently placed it on my head.
“Perfect!” he squealed, clapping his hands.
I couldn’t see what it looked like, and I was fairly certain I looked ridiculous. But Iggy was beaming, and that was enough. I fluttered my lashes and gave a ridiculous little wave, playing along with the role of newly crowned king.
Eventually his laughter faded, and for a moment we just sat there, quiet, looking at each other.
Then he said, “I’m worried people will find me boring now I’m sober.”
I reached over and tucked a strand of pink hair behind his ear. “I don’t think anyone could find you boring, Iggy.”
“What if I’m not fun anymore?”
He picked up another daisy and began plucking off thepetals, one by one. When only the yellow centre remained, he tossed it aside and grabbed another.
“You’re funny,” I said. “Even in group, when things are supposed to be serious. And you always wave your hands when you talk, like your thoughts won’t come out without help.”
He glanced up at me through his lashes.
“And you notice things other people miss,” I added, resting my hand on his thigh, just above the knee. “Like when someone needs a friend, even if they don’t realise it yet.”
He looked at me properly then, and my heart kicked when his face broke into a grin. Because I’d done that. I’d cheered him up. Again.
“I can’t wait to dye my hair properly,” he blurted out, gesturing to his fading pink and visible roots.
“I can’t wait to playLeague of Legends,” I replied.
“I can’t wait to catch up on all the Netflix shows I’ve missed.”
“I can’t wait to wake up in my own bed without feeling anxious about what I did the night before.”
“Speaking of beds,” Iggy said. “I can’t wait to sleep in sheets that aren’t boring, institutional beige.”
I chuckled and squeezed his leg. “I think you’re going to live a long, happy life, Iggy Pop.”
He placed his hand over mine. “I think we both will, Bodhi.”
A flash of yellow caught my eye. I reached over and plucked a lone flower from the grass, tucking it gently behind his ear.
He laughed when his fingers brushed the petals. “You’re ridiculous,” he complained. “And it clashes with my aesthetic.”
But he didn’t take it out.
“You looked like you could use something soft,” I replied with a shrug.
The wind picked up, and I stood, offering him my hand. He took it, and we started back towards where we were meant to be.Before we reached the wall, Iggy slipped an arm around my back, pulling me into a slightly awkward side hug. I returned it, feeling his warmth bleed into my side, his head resting briefly against my shoulder.
We didn’t talk. We didn’t need to. At the opening in the wall, we just let go of one another and stepped back through the gap, trading wildflowers for rehab.
And this time, it felt like something we were choosing.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
IGGY
