It was also in our treehouse that Tasha made me promise not to sleep with her dad. It has to be there that I tell her about Beck and me. I wasn’t able to bring her to the treehouse when I first lost my virginity; being a few states away had made that conversation happening in person unlikely. All our big events had been shared in the old oak tree with its planks of wood and a rope ladder Beck had replaced with one not so dilapidated after I dislocated my shoulder falling from it.
When I called Tasha from the company party and asked her to meet me at our old hideout, there was no asking of why or delaying it to tomorrow. She knew whatever I had to talk about was big. She promised to bring the requisite popcorn. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no. Rituals were meant to be kept, even if promises couldn’t be. I couldn’t wait. Couldn’t risk her hearing it from someone else.
Ahead of me, the darkness is pierced with the golden glow of a lantern. At least one of us thought ahead. I only have my phone’s flashlight, and I don’t want to use up the battery that quickly. If she abandons me here, I might need it to find my way back.
“Lia?” Tasha’s voice is uncertain, wavering as she calls out to my crashing through the underbrush.
“Yeah. It’s me.” I emerge into the clearing surrounding our refuge and look up at the sky. The stars are brilliant overhead, unchanging to my eyes despite the years. I stumble over a gnarled root exposed in the dirt and catch myself on the tree trunk.
My fingers close on the ladder’s rungs, and I start to haul myself up. It is harder now than six years ago, and I have little doubt that even six months from now it will be near impossible. My forehead is sweaty by the time I reach the platform, and I sort of wish I had gotten here first so Tasha doesn’t have to witness my lack of dexterity and grace. She is the gymnastics enthusiast.
Inside, even by the yellow cast of the light, Tasha looks pale. She’s sitting cross-legged with her phone resting on one thigh. An opened bag of store-bought popcorn lies in front of her. “Watch out for the board on the right. It has mostly rotted through. The rest seems stable enough except right by the tree trunk.” She watches me as I crawl over to sit beside her. “I wish we still had blankets and pillows out here. I don’t remember the floor being so hard before.”
“We were teenagers,” I remind her. “I hope I didn’t pull you away from Chris.” She had to work late at the gymnastics school where she works as a trainer and choreographer. Tasha had not been interested in rushing to her father’s work party when it would mean she could have a night with Chris instead.
She shakes her head, curls springing free around her face from their bun. “No. I had just gotten home and showered when you called. Besides, if you had something to say here,” she says while patting the floorboards, “it outranks getting laid or watching him work on old cars before we go snuggle on the couch and watch movies.” We’re silent for a few minutes, both of us waiting for something…anything… to break the tension. Tasha gives in first. “What’s wrong, Lia? Are you moving away again? Please not that!”
The lantern light gleams on her tears, and I pull her over into a hug. She sobs into my chest, shaking while she begs. “Anything but that. I just got you back, Lia. Please don’t go again!”
I rock us both side to side, biting my lip to stave off my own tears. “No. No. I’m not going anywhere.” Making shushing sounds, I smooth back her hair and rub Tasha’s back until she calms. “I’ll be right here. Well, probably not right here unless we do a serious overhaul on the treehouse. I don’t think it’ll hold both our asses for many more years.”
When I judge that she is ready to listen and I have the guts to tell her, I adjust our position until Tasha is leaning her head on my shoulder instead of being half in my lap. “Do you remember my promise?” It seems the most logical place to start. Jumping into the deep end and flailing in my attempt to learn to swim was always my style. Beck had been there to grab me and swing me up onto a raft for a gentler approach then. He isn’t here to save me this time, but I know he’ll be waiting with food and hugs inside when we’re ready.