Since we’re a smaller town, it’s pretty much revamped versions of the same floats every year, but I love it. None of it all is quite as impressive as I remember it being when I was a kid, but it feels like home. The good parts of home.
I’ve braided my recently dyed hair into two long French braids, and my neck is heavy with beads as I walk up and down the sidewalks, waving at familiar faces and passing out flyers.
As the tail end of the parade is rounding the corner, a girl’s voice shouts my name. “Ramona!”
I spin on my heel, searching for the source.
“Ramona! Over here!”
And then I see her. The sight of her knocks the wind out of me, and my first reaction is to run the other way.
Grace.She’s across the street with her mom, dad, and brother.
I stand there for a moment as a slow-moving float blocks my field of vision. Beads are flying past my head and brass music is blaring in my ears.
I see her again. Just a glimpse.
The moment there’s a break in the parade, she runs across the street to me. Her mom waves, and I do, too. Though my head isn’t fully aware of my body.
She crashes into me almost, and the crowd around us pushes us close together. She grips my shoulders, and all I see every time I blink is the image of her outside her house when I dropped her off before Freddie and I drove back home to Eulogy.
“Hi!” she shouts over the street noise, her fingers trailing down my arms. “Hey! How are you?”
I take a step back. “Good,” I yell back, and then flash her my fist of flyers. “Just working. Are you visiting?” I ask. Even though, yes, of course she is.
“Yeah, my parents wanted to make a quick trip. It’s sort of our last family vacation for a little while. I leave for freshman camp at Oklahoma State a few weeks after I graduate, so I won’t be back with them this summer.”
I nod, not at all surprised. “Good,” I tell her. “I’m so happy for you.”
“When is your shift over?” she asks, motioning to my flyers.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. “Two hours.”
“You wanna come by after?”
I hesitate. I’m not interested in—I don’t know what she has in mind. But I do know I’m not interested in being the grand finale in her last Mississippi Mardi Gras.
“Just to catch up,” she says.
“Oh.” I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Cool. We rented the same place we did over the summer. Text me when you’re on your way?”
“Yeah,” I say.
We both stand there for a minute, waiting for the other to either leave or speak first. “I wanted to text you.” She shakes her head. “But I chickened out every time. When I saw you here, I decided it was fate. Anyway, I’ll see you in a little while.”
I don’t know if I believe in fate, but seeing Grace again is definitely something. I watch as she looks both ways before running back across the street. She turns into a ghost under the Fat Tuesday drizzle.
Grace’s vacation house isn’t as huge and pristine as I remember, especially in comparison to Adam’s house. On this dark February night, the siding is stained with mud and the rosebushes are wilting and brown.
I sit with Grace on the couch. I expect her to sit at the opposite end, but instead she sits on the middle cushion right next to me. My mouth is dry, and I feel like this might be some kind of trap or like a staged intervention, even though I know it’s not. I can feel my body responding to her in a familiar way. Yeah, I definitely still like girls.
Hanging out in the living room is definitely new territory for us. Most of my summer with Grace was spent holed up in her room or sneaking around the dark house while the rest of her family slept soundly in their beds. But tonight Grace’s mom is in the kitchen doing dishes while her dad and brother watch college basketball upstairs.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” asks Grace.
I smile, knowing her mom would be proud to know she asked. “No, thanks.”
