Epilogue

“So, are you going to let me read it?” I make grabby hands at Pearl, who’s lying on the couch next to me. Her head is against the armrest, her knees raised so that there’s room for me at the end of the couch by her feet.

She sighs dramatically, but can’t hide a grin. “Oh, it’s mushy; you wouldn’t even like it.”

I lean over and pluck the notebook out of her hands, and she doesn’t protest. Instead she just repositions so that she’s leaning against my side. This way we can both read.

It’s a short story she’d written the during the summer camp she’d attended. She’d texted me about it while she was there; unlike at YRJ they were allowed to keep their phones. It was an engineering camp, which she’d said had only proven to her that she doesn’t want to be an engineer. She’d just returned home yesterday, and I’d been eager to see her.

We’ve been seeing a lot of each other this summer, but that’s mostly because she’s no longer under the watchful eyes of her mom, just her dad. He’s a lot more understanding of Pearl, and generally lets her do more of what she wants. This is a good thing overall, but it’s the result of something less good--her mom has moved out. Pearl says the only reason her parents haven’t gotten a divorce is because it’s against the church’s teachings.

Pearl nudges me and whines, “Oh, it’s embarrassing reading it back.” I can hear a smile in her voice.

I skim the page, and make a noise like I’m gagging. “None of this really happened, did it?” I ask. The story is about two girls at an engineering camp flirting ceaselessly. She claims not to keep a diary, but this is basically that.

Pearl swoons, putting a hand to her forehead. “She was gorgeous, there was nothing I could do to stop myself.”

I giggle and read the rest, because she does have a way with words. She makes everything sound so romantic. In a pretty way instead of an uncomfortable way. It sometimes makes me wish that I could be so enchanted by other people.

“Was her name really Cierra?” I ask when I’m done.

“Why? Jealous?”

I slap her shoulder and scoff while she just gives me a sly grin. “I wouldn’t be jealous of someone who said–” I consult the notebook and read, “In some lights, your eyes look like the moon, big and bright enough to lure me just about anywhere.”

Pearl snatches her notebook back. “I can’t believe you don’t appreciate award-winning literature,” she grumbles, tossing the notebook on the floor and scooting away so she can stretch her legs out again, but this time she settles her feet in my lap.

“That’s not award-winning,” I say. “Yet.”

She waves an arm in the air. “Award-winning author, then,” she clarifies. She’d won a round of the writing competition at the end of the school year, and even gotten a trophy.

I twist and reach onto my dresser, which is conveniently within reach of the couch, and swap out the record that’s playing on my record player. Jackson has been taking us thrift shopping to find more records this summer whenever he's not working, even taking us as far as the next town over. “I’m just honored to be in the presence of greatness,” I say as square dance music begins to play.

Pearl sits up suddenly, her feet hitting the ground with a thump. “Not this, Trinity! Any other record, please!”

I laugh, delighted, because she’s the one that had found this square dance record, not thinking I would buy it. And here we are. I let it play for a few more moments before returning the record that had been on, the voice of a cruise line singer, which previously I hadn't even known was a job. The record has some excellent saxophone moments, so I don’t regret buying this one either.

“Oh, that reminds me! I’ve brought you something,” she says, digging her backpack out from underneath the couch, where she’d kicked it. She pulls out a bulky shape wrapped in paper. “I’d bought it before the engineering camp, but forgotten to bring it over.”

“Any special occasion?” I ask, taking the gift.

“Start of the new school year next week? I don’t know, I just happened upon it.”

I pull the paper away, and it’s a ceramic dragon, its mouth open to reveal a tongue that’s really a spout. “You didn’t!” I exclaim, turning the pitcher to see it from all angles.

I can see her grinning in my periphery. “Yes!”

It’s the dragon I’d seen all those months ago, before Easter, when we’d gone shopping together. And she’d remembered that I liked it. I laugh again, because it’s perfect.

“I love it! I can’t believe no one else bought it.” I get up and put it on my desk, right next to my miniature aroace--aromantic asexual--flag, which Pearl had bought for me this summer. I’d gotten her a mini bisexual flag in return, even though I didn’t know if she already had one. But she didn’t, so it worked out.

I pat the dragon’s ceramic head then return to the couch--which I’d recently stolen from Rory’s room, since he’s not using it. And I’d taken a TV from the basement, too, which meant limited floorspace, but unlimited movie-watching.

“Thank you,” I say, and she beams.

She flips her blonde braid over her shoulder. “You’re welcome! Now, as much as I love cruise music, let’s get movie-ing! I expect something with a ghastly amount of romance.”

I let out a laugh. “That’s why you butter me up with gifts? Alright, you can pick.”

Cackling, she picks up the remote, and I turn off the music then cuddle up next to her, perfectly content.

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(first part: https://theprose.com/post/432343/trinity)

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(previous part: https://theprose.com/post/467636/trinity-55)