The Art of Longing

I never thought I'd get to hold Avery again, and I never thought it would be like this. I'm literally holding her. With my feet.

She won't look me in the eyes. She looks above my head, down at our hands, at my tits a few times like she just can't help it.

We agreed I'd be the base, she'd be the flyer, so I laid on my back, lined my feet up with her pelvis, and took her hands in mine. Then she took a breath, released it, and I lifted her off the ground. Her muscles are rigid, lips pulled into an unamused line.

"Now, take a breath," Durva instructs, "and let go."

Avery still won't look at me. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, opens as she exhales, and lets go.

She still won't look at me when she starts to wobble, her form too stiff to center.

Only when she reaches out in a panic and takes my hands do I finally catch her gaze, and even then her nostrils flare with irritation. But I catch a hint of something else in her expression.

Relief, because she didn't fall.

That's what I tell myself.

But I notice the way she starts to soften, and when she lets go again, she keeps her eyes on me. And looking up at her like this—airborne, free, long pink hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders, honey eyes crinkling with a smile she tries to hide—I suddenly feel every moment of longing from the last two months, every drop in the bucket, crash down on me like a tidal wave.

The tip of my nose burns red, eyes stinging. Oh my god.

Do not fucking cry right now.

I breathe, focusing on my hips against the mat, hers against my feet, focusing on becoming the anchor. This helps me compose myself, but only after I feel the solitary tear trickle down my temple. I hope she doesn't see it.

But I know she does. I watch her eyes flicker to the outer corner of mine and I know she sees it.

I guess I'm not the only one who's vulnerable, because I see the exact moment her expression softens and her body relaxes.

More than that, I see what's left when the anger dissipates. I see the mirror in her eyes, reflecting back the same thing she sees in mine.

I want you.

The rest of the session is a masterclass in erotic torture, and I'd say I am now quite skilled in the art of longing. Because fuck. If I wanted her before, I'm ready to mainline her straight into my veins now.

An hour of drowning in the depths of her amber eyes. An hour of breathing her in, her sweet honey skin burning my lungs. Hands against soft flesh where I never thought they'd be again.

I had truly given up. When I came to today's class, it wasn't out of hope. It was because after she left my apartment eight weeks ago, I went to every single class for weeks in the hopes she'd turn up. She never did. And she was obviously mad when I saw her at Northtowne, so I skipped the next class in case she showed. And then I kept skipping classes and then I'd skipped seven classes and I just finally decided today that my body and brain needed the class, regardless of Avery.

Of course, the moment I stopped searching for her, stopped hiding, and decided to just live my life regardless of her, the universe dropped her in front of me. Irony is a cruel mistress. A sadistic bitch, if I'm being candid.

We go through a catalog of poses, each more emotionally brutal than the last.

The temple has holding each other up, eyes locked to keep our balance.

Double downward dog has her walking her feet up my back until they come to rest on my hips, her breath hot on my neck sending shivers up my spine.

Twin tree has our bodies pressed together, arms around each other, hands pressed together. I can feel the way her breath picks up in a moment that should be calming. Mine is the same way.

Yab Yum has my entire body shaking. With desire, with restraint, with the memory of her in my arms like this before but wearing so much less. I sit cross legged, and Avery sits in my lap with her legs wrapped around my body. Chest to chest, eye to eye. Our lips sit an inch apart, and it takes every bit of willpower I've amassed over the years not to close the distance.

I'm absolutely sure that's going to be the most painful position. What could be more devastating than this?

Then comes the final pose.

Double Savasana has us lying head to toe on our mats, one hand over each of our hearts. I don't miss the way Avery's breath catches when she places my hand over her heart, bringing my thumb to rest on her nipple. I swallow hard, trying to keep my breathing steady. But it's hard to do when I swear my heart is beating off the walls. My exhales are shaky as I feel the rhythm of her heart against my hand.

There's no hiding from each other now.

I wreck her as much as she wrecks me.

And she fucking wrecks me.

When class finally ends, we roll up our mats and clear out of the room. I race to catch up to Avery in the parking lot. She's already at her car.

Just as she starts to open the door, I reach out and hold my hand over the door frame. She gasps and jumps back, then registers that it's me and sizes me up.

"Yes?"

"Don't go." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. It sounds insane. What's she supposed to do? Camp out in the parking lot?

"Why?"

Resignation takes over her voice, overpowering the desire I know I saw in the studio.

"I just... I need to explain."

"Explain what, Stevie? You don't owe me anything." She reaches for the handle again. I step closer, only inches from her this time, hand still blocking the door.

"Yes I do. I know you're mad at me. I'm not stupid, Avery. Is this about the DoorDash order?"

She cocks her head and hits me with a lethal stare. "I thought you said you weren't stupid?"

Damn.

"Fair enough," I surrender, taking that one on the chin.

"I didn't think you were ignoring me," she says, dropping the guard, "until you canceled the order."

"I didn't cancel," I say immediately.

"Or remove yourself, whatever, semantics. You know what I mean."

"I do," I confirm, "and I didn't."

She looks at me, confused.

"My phone crashed. And when I got it restarted I had lost the order."

"Right." She rolls her eyes now. "Convenient."

"No, I mean it. You have to believe me."

"Actually, I don't," she says, and pushes me aside. I let her. I can't prove it. I can only ask her to believe me. And she doesn't.

She starts to open the door when I realize—

"Wait! Look!" I pull my new phone out of my pocket. "Look, please. I got a new phone. Literally the next day. Because it kept crashing. Your DoorDash order was the last straw, Avery. Please."

She looks at my phone, then back to me, then back to the phone, a few times, each turn of her head ratcheting the knot tighter in my chest.

"You... got a new phone? For me?"

"Well, no but—" I start, then stop. Did I?

I spent three years with this phone. With its cracked screen and time delays and glitches and shitty service and low storage. For three years, I just begrudgingly moved forward with the same shitty phone.

So maybe she's right. Maybe I did.

I settle on, "I don't know. I guess I did. You're important to me, Avery. Okay? I was excited to see you that day. And then my phone crashed, and it literally felt like the world was ending, okay? Yes, it's dramatic. Yes, it's pathetic. But I meant every word I told you that night, Avery. Every word. I still do."

Again, she stares at me. Processing my words. She doesn't look pissed this time, so I guess that's good?

Finally, she speaks.

"I don't know, Stevie. I need some time to think."

That's not a no.

The relief is palpable, and I feel the weight start to slide off my shoulders. I didn't realize just how heavy this has been until I put it down.

"Just... meet me here on Thursday. I'll be here waiting for you. And if you don't show up, well..." I stop and look at the ground, forcing myself to say the words. "Then I guess I'll leave you alone."

"But that's not what you want?" she asks, her eyes boring straight into the marrow of my soul. "To leave me alone?"

It's my turn to stare at her. To take in every feature like it's the last time I ever will. The pouty heart of her lips, her button nose and angel eyes and her pink locks blowing over her shoulder with the breeze.

"No," I finally say, and let my hand fall from her door. "But I will, if that's what you want."

🜫

I completely fucking forgot about Juneau's birthday.

I mean it's fine, I already got her presents and stuff. By all technicality, I was prepared. But when I woke up today, I didn't realize it was today.

Fortunately, I'd already set alarms for this morning. Now it's just a matter of getting the girls up and ready.

I sneak out of the apartment, trying not to draw a parallel to the morning Avery left. Too late. When I try the door to Reese and Willow's apartment across the hall, it's locked. So I put in the spare key and voila, I'm in.

I don't know why I'm even surprised that the boys are here too. In Reese's bed is Logan, as has been the norm for the past three weeks or so. I fucking knew she was into him. We all did. What we didn't know was that Logan is actually Travis's brother.

Travis is a whole other story, and honestly, I don't know if I like him. Sure, he's been great to Willow this time around. But who knows how long that lasts? I know I wasn't the only one with my eye on him. Reese was very suspicious of him when they first got back together. As she damn well should be. She said she loved him, and he ghosted her.

Asshole.

But we all went to the bar for Willow's birthday, and lo and behold, sitting there with Logan, was Willow's ex. Logan's brother.

Like I said, Irony is a sadistic bitch.

I guess he not only apologized, but admitted to being a coward and told her he loved her. It was a whole thing. Willow said it was actually very romantic. I don't know. Sounds very romcom to me. But as a wedding planner, I guess romcom is exactly what Willow is looking for.

Now here they lie, curled up in domestic bliss like they've known each other across lifetimes. And they probably fucking have. Just like Reese and Logan.

And yet, I still can't bring myself to mention Avery. It's never the right time.

Instead I watch my friends smile besottedly at their boyfriends, willing this kind of love to find me.

Realizing that maybe it already has.

And then I go through an exhausting array of emotions—excited for yoga tomorrow, nervous because what if she doesn't show, annoyed with Reese because I feel like I can't tell her about Avery because she's technically her ex, annoyed with myself because Reese probably wouldn't even give a shit, she's been so up Logan's ass for the last month. I admit they're a cute couple. It was disgusting when we invited him to the fair. Spent the day watching her giggle and flutter her lashes at him.

Willow did the same thing, but I don't know. I guess I almost pity her for the way Travis discarded her so I'm just hopeful that she's happy. It's not pity, though. Pity implies patronizing her and I respect her too much for that.

I should probably show more respect to Reese.

Then I get annoyed again, because Reese should have shown more respect to Avery. She discarded her the same way Travis did to Willow. And I guess, in the same regard, it's hard to trust Reese now. It's hard to root for her.

I guess that's not fair either. She's my friend.

So is Juneau, so it's time to get over this stupid spiral and get to work.

We're going to the Ossuary today. Juneau has been showcased in several art exhibits there, as well as some burlesque shows and other alternative events, and at the last show the owner, Briar, pulled us aside while Juneau was presenting.

"Let me know if y'all ever wanna plan something special for Juneau. I love that girl to pieces, ya hear? Take my card, gimme a holler."

Reese said something about how Briar was "y'allternative" and she laughed for a solid minute straight before we took the card.

So when we started thinking about Juneau's birthday, I pulled out Briar's business card and... gave it to Willow because she's the event planner. I guess I'm a bad friend because, honestly, I'm not entirely sure what we're doing today. But I know where we're going.

We all take a space in the living room to do our makeup, Logan next to Reese and Travis next to Willow and Avery's ghost next to me.

Reese does her makeup, then Logan's. He stares up at her with twinkles in his eyes as she straddles his lap and does his eyeliner. Willow doesn't do Travis's makeup, but she does straighten his hair. And it's, well honestly it's not bad, but it's fucking hilarious to see Mr. CEO with Andy Sixx hair. Not Andy Biersack—Andy Sixx. Think Knives and Pens.

I can't help but snort a laugh, but I really try not to. I fail. So does Reese.

He doesn't look bad, he actually looks pretty hot. It's just so funny the way he'll let Willow do anything. She could ask to put pink bows in his hair and he might say yes.

Maybe I don't hate him. Willow seems genuinely happy with him. And he looks at her much in the same way I look at Avery.

And Reese seems genuinely happy with Logan. So I should be happy for her. And I am.

Mostly.

I don't know. There's a bitterness I can't let go of. I guess it's watching her love him publicly while I suffer in silence over a woman I wanted long before she got in the way and tossed her aside.

I could just talk to her. But not now. It's not the right time. Today is about Juneau.

And I really do my best to be here for Juneau. But it's one of those days where my body is here but my mind isn't. I catch the smell of patchouli and lavender as we enter the building, catch the candlelit sconces and the low drone of cello music playing through the space.

I catch the horrific smell of absinthe as we toast to my best friend, and the sweet juxtaposition of my drink. Anise is a key ingredient in absinthe, and something I'm deathly allergic to. Since that will literally kill me, I'm drinking mead instead. Not that I'm missing much, I hated anise long before it started to hate me back.

The smell is still awful, but it's not a threat to me unless I consume it directly. And I took an allergy pill just in case.

I'd have ordered Rhodomel anyway. I've always liked mead, always liked honey. But since I met Avery, I've had a much deeper appreciation for honey. Honey and rosewater.

Like the smell of her skin. It's not a perfume, because even her sweat has a sweetness to it that feels like magic in human form.

Rhodomel is rosewater honey mead. As soon as Briar mentioned it as a safe alternative for me, I had a new favorite drink. Fuck an AMF. She's my new favorite color. My new favorite smell. My new favorite drink. My new favorite person.

God, I hope she feels the same.

I don't notice much else. I'm so focused on the weight of my phone in my pocket, a reminder of Avery.

"You bought a new phone for me?"

Focused on the dripping of the fountain and the buzz of electricity and the dancing candlelight along the walls. On anything that will get me through tonight. Anything that brings tomorrow faster.

"Hey, you okay?" Juneau asks, putting a hand on my shoulder. It's an unwelcome reminder that my body still exists here and tomorrow has not come.

"Yeah, the anise is kinda giving me a headache," I lie, taking a mental inventory of my body. Maybe I'm not lying. It's probably bad I can't tell the difference. If the intent was to lie, does it matter that you speak the truth?

She eyes me with suspicion, but ultimately drops it.

"Willow has Tylenol in her purse. I'll get you a couple."

"Thanks."

"Of course. You're my best friend."

The words hit my heart like an earthquake. And my own inattentive behavior hits like an aftershock.

"You're my best friend too. I love you," I say earnestly. I need to be there for her more. And I will be... after tomorrow. No matter what happens tomorrow, I'll have closure. I can be there for her. After tomorrow.

"Happy birthday, Juneau."