Resting Place

Hailey was smoking on the back deck when she heard the sound of the party swell louder as the sliding glass door opened and closed behind her. She knew it was Milo by the sound of his boots on the wood deck, and sure enough, he appeared beside her, reaching for her cigarette as though four years hadn’t passed since the last time she’d seen him.

In his other hand was a half-eaten, whole peach - juice dripping down his wrist. Since whole fruits are not typically the kind of food a host puts out for guests, it occurred to her that Milo was likely just eating their regular groceries. It was comforting, this small, weird act -- proof he was still Milo when so much else had changed.

“What’s everyone talking about in there?” She said, looking at the partygoers through the glass door as though it were a zoo exhibit.

“Movies, mostly, but also how it turns out nobody had the childhood they wanted,” he said.

“Did you? Have the childhood you wanted?” she asked, and he let out one, sharp bark of a laugh.

Maybe “party” was the wrong word to describe this event – “A Celebration of Life”, the invitation had said, but that felt inaccurate too.

Six months ago, Lauren, their best friend through all of grade school, rented a cabin in the mountains, spent two nights there, and just before midnight on the third, walked down to the river and shot herself.

Hailey still couldn’t stop picturing it - her long hair billowing, dream-like in the night black water – like Millais’ Ophelia, only much more violent and much less floral. She thought a lot about Lauren’s small body, wondered if she felt cold on the walk down to the river, if the gun was heavy in her hand, how long she may have stood there with the water parting around her shins. But mostly she thought about how sometimes there exists a darkness like a wild animal inside the cage of your ribs that will chew through anything, even your very heart, just to get out.

“When’s the last time you talked to her?” Milo asked.

“Six, eight months, at least. I thought she was just too busy to really catch up.”

“She seemed like she was doing the best of all of us – the one who escaped,” he said, nestling the peach pit into a pot of begonias.

A true celebration of Lauren’s life as they knew it would have been somewhere with a dartboard – but they were at a mansion in Westport and there were passed hor’d'oeuvres and a signature cocktail unironically called The Lauren. It only confirmed how long it had been since she and Milo had really known her, and how much a person can change when given the chance.

They had been so happy for Lauren when she got into grad school at Yale, even if they all quietly knew it was the end of something golden. After her first semester, Lauren took out her nose ring, started wearing cable knits and sperrys, and stopped coming home for Thanksgiving. She left a burnout town and a disappointing childhood behind in favor of friends who were controlled and predictable and whose families owned boats.

Milo and Hailey had tried to stay friends, but Lauren had really been the glue holding everyone together. Milo started dating a guy in Rhode Island and spent a lot of time there, and Hailey just sort of stayed behind.

“I hate these people,” Milo said. ”Rich, insufferable fucks. I would have killed myself too if these were my friends.”

“Jesus, fuck, Milo.”

“What? It’s true,” he said. “You can’t just exist with friends like these, they make you feel like you have to keep up. There’s no hanging out, just discourse.”

This didn’t help Hailey’s constant anxiety that she could have prevented this – if she hadn’t let the miles between them rust their friendship, she might’ve noticed that Lauren’s will to remain amongst the living had atrophied.

“Why the fuck do they even get to have her ashes? Those should be with her brother,” Milo added.

"You really haven't changed at all," Hailey said, smiling. "Still filterless and unafraid."

Milo shrugged, and they both looked out at the backyard for a moment. Hailey thought about what he'd just said, and realized she hadn’t even noticed the urn sitting beside a big, framed picture of Lauren. She didn’t feel as much hate toward these people as Milo did, but she did feel a latent rage at the way they delighted in their proximity to tragedy and how they wanted ownership over Lauren’s memory. She thought at least a part of Lauren should go back home.

“Will you help me with something?” Hailey asked. “And do you have a small container?”

Milo pulled a film canister out of his jacket pocket. It was full of weed, which she emptied loose into her purse, a problem she’d solve later. She told Milo to distract the hosts and anyone else he could – tell a story about Lauren long enough for her to slip to the bathroom. Milo, who was always up for anything if it’d make a good story, was buzzing with this new twist to an otherwise infuriating evening.

He immediately gathered everyone into his orbit as Hailey picked up the urn and carried it to the bathroom. The lid had an engraving of violets, Lauren’s favorite flower.

“Hi Lauren, I miss you,” she whispered as she opened it. Inside was a thick plastic bag she hadn’t anticipated. “Oh fuck, sorry, I don’t have time to be super delicate here.”

As soon as she opened the bag, a small plume of ash dust billowed upward and into her mouth. She spat into the sink as a reflex and felt immediately guilty. But she had to press on now, so she took the film canister and scooped some ashes into it with her fingers. In the process, more of Lauren spilled over, settling into the sink and immediately darkening in her spit droplets. Hailey started to panic. She didn’t want to wash her childhood best friend down the drain, so she got a piece of toilet paper to try and wipe up the now mud-like human remains.

She put the toilet paper in her purse along with Milo’s loose weed, briefly worrying the smallest parts of each would get mixed up and they’d end up smoking Lauren. She was sweating now, and hastily double checked there were no streaky ashes left on the counter or sink, picked up the urn, and went back into the living room.

Milo was still entertaining the group, but the host’s husband had strayed away to refill his signature cocktail. He looked up and threw her a kind smile, which quickly fell as soon as he saw what she was holding. He hurried up to her, looking back over his shoulder. She decided to get out ahead of the problem.

“I’m so sorry, I just wanted to say goodbye to her privately for a second.” She sniffled a bit.

“Oh. That’s um, that’s actually my father-in-law.” He set his cocktail down and reached for the urn. “We don’t have Lauren…obviously.”

He said the last word like it tasted bad, clearly disgusted with her behavior and entire existence. She knew she should give him the canister from her purse, but she couldn’t bear the thought of this interaction lasting another second. So instead she said she was just on her way out, and she was sorry again, and thanks for having her.

Milo followed Hailey out and kept pace as she hurried down their street, finally stopping at a little playground. She told him what happened, almost in tears all over again, but Milo started laughing so hard he sat down on the swings.

“Hold on, you have that woman’s dead dad in your purse?”

“Just a little of him. Maybe enough for like a thumb?” she said.

“You know who would fucking love this story?” Milo said, not needing to finish the sentence. Even though she had the wrong ashes, they both felt Lauren there somehow. Hailey closed her eyes, trying to hold on to her presence and recall the soft details of her face, the timbre of her laugh.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” he said. “Well the ashes thing back there was, for sure. But none of the big stuff. You know that, right?”

She let him pull her up off the swing and into a hug, where she put her face against his chest and finally let the grief strike her like a gong.