#narrativestutter

The music, which had been a jaunty mix of Irish pub and American country with fiddles and whistling and — of course — Banjo on the, well, banjo, fizzled out into silence and while everyone applauded Banjo's newest composition, which had obviously been inspired by his Irish mumma and his Wisconsin upbringing, Lemen unhooked her arm from Mack's with a smile. Mona had initiated a circle dance of skipping and spinning from one hooked arm to the other during Banjo's demonstration, and Lemen had somehow ended exactly where she'd begun, her arm in her sister-in-law's.

Twelve years ago, when Lemen first found her way to the backyard she was standing in at that very moment, the idea that she'd one day be dancing and grinning as an almost thirty-year-old woman would have been laughable. Not only had she been an almost fatally ill sixteen-year-old, she'd been violently angry and unforgivingly mistrusting. It had taken years for Lemen to trust the other teenagers and the adults who had lived in Mona's home, but somewhere along the way, they had become her family. For some, like Mack and her younger brother, it was more than just in spirit but also legally, as Lincoln had married Lemen's own brother some five years prior. For others, like Honey and Banjo, it was no more legal than the weed growing in the greenhouse 20 feet away, but even more real than she could have ever expected.

Thank you, Banjo signed after bowing, before putting his oldest possession neatly to the side so he could set up the playlist that he had interrupted for his impromptu performance.

The crowd that had formed the circle dance thinned out a bit as people returned to their half-eaten paper plates left on the long banquet table, or picked up conversations on the porch under the watchful eye of Saxon's two free-flying birds where they rested in the rafters. Saxon, Lemen's twin brother, had gone inside when Banjo had warned him of the string instruments to come because the fiddle was one of the instruments that grated on Saxon's sensitivities more than most, which was why Lemen had given up the violin when they'd left home at fifteen.

She wondered now what Saxon would say, what any of those gathered there that night might say, if they knew that she had picked up the hobby in recent years, playing only for herself and the little girl inside her who had once loved it. The little girl whom Lemen had been trying to heal.

As the music picked up again, this time a song Lemen recognised as being popular when she'd lived in San Francisco and experienced the traumas of middle school, she stepped to the side, taking up post near one of the tall black frame legs so that she could gather two points of her long cream coloured skirt and shove them back under the hem of her simple brown corset. Lifting the skirt like that, making it shorter at the front, showed off the matching soft leather boots she wore, and made the otherwise pirate-y aesthetic feel a little more modern — especially with nothing below the corset other than a sheer, cream-coloured balero. Untucking the skirt had been a conscious decision, so she could throw the ruffles around during the skipping and dancing, but she couldn't help but readjust her outfit to the way it had been intended for the night.

Attached to the four-posted black frame that ran between the raised porch and the banquet table were strings of alfresco lighting, criss-crossed intricately and waiting for the sun to set so that they could be turned on, much like the bonfire waiting to be lit a safe distance into the clearing before the woods behind Mona's began.

Lemen braced herself against the post, remembering a full moon years ago, just before Lincoln and Saxon began college, when Lincoln had run full pelt into the first attempt at an alfresco lighting set-up. The big white wolf had ended up wrapped in yards of black wiring and shattered globes that thankfully didn't worm through his thick coat to his skin, although Lemen still thought it would have served him right for being so stupid. The posts were thicker now, reinforced and sturdy, which was for the best considering it had been Lemen herself and Honey play-brawling with hands and feet that had broken the next attempt, but she stood by the defence that they weren't being stupid like Lincoln had been, they'd just been careless.

"What are you smiling at?" The question came from Saxon, and Lemen couldn't pinpoint when she'd stopped knowing exactly when and where he was in a room at any given time. It was strange, Saxon being able to get close enough to talk at her shoulder and her not realising he'd even come back outside.

"Where di—" Lemen paused to consider the question, knowing the question would get a literal answer from Saxon and not actually wanting to know where he had been during the music. "Did someone come and get you after Banjo's performance?"

"Yeah. Mack came and found us." Us.

Lemen knew that, if it wasn't Saxon's birds, then the us would be him and his husband. She hadn't noticed that Lincoln had gone inside with Saxon instead of watching Banjo, but it didn't surprise her either. She'd watched everyone else in the house bond with the youngest of them over the years, and she'd watched Banjo try to turn Lincoln into a big brother, only for the efforts to slide right off him like water on a duck. At least, over the past two years, she'd heard from Saxon that Lincoln had started helping Banjo with his homework over video calls, that they were beginning to bond, but she couldn't help but wonder if it was too little too late, or if, maybe, Banjo was disappointed that Lincoln hadn't stayed out to listen.

"You didn't answer my question."

Lemen tilted her head at him, raised eyebrows in question, trying to find the question he'd asked, before registering his greeting and smiling again. "Just remembering Lincoln tangled in all the alfresco lights."

It was Saxon's turn to frown, not pleased with the memory, which was fair considering he had been quite panicked seeing Lincoln like that. Lemen wished there had been someone with thumbs conscious to get a photo.

"He could have gotten seriously injured."

"He shouldn't have been running blind," literally, "through the yard after the installation."

Saxon conceded the point without further comment, just a mild incline of his head, and turned his attention to the informal dance floor below the lights as they blinked on one by one. Someone had decided that the orange afternoon had finally sunk into a violet dusk, and even though the sun had not yet completely disappeared below water level, it had well gone down behind the mountains.

"Keegan and Chuck will be lighting the bonfire soon," Saxon mused, then turned to look at Lemen's cheekbone to speak. "I have a feeling my husband will be there, so…" he left the concern to trail behind him as he walked towards the small crowd that was gathering near the fire structure. Lemen watched him go for a moment, but didn't find herself lingering cautiously to make sure he was okay, instead choosing to watch the fairy lights hanging around the porch railing blink on and begin twinkling.

Another girl, a new face in the gathering, was also watching the lights come to life in the rapidly darkening evening. Claire Davis was pretty, like a flower in a bouquet is pretty. Not very striking on its own, maybe not even the prettiest in the bunch, but still pretty enough to have been picked. Long legs, but not very tall. Fit, but not muscly. Soft, but not chubby. Slim, but not skinny. Her hair not quite blonde, but certainly not brunette, and her eyes were, as far as Lemen had been able to tell, simply hazel.

When Lemen had met Claire in Aldi a few days prior, her round face had been open and bright, welcoming and inviting as she'd introduced herself to Lemen, offering to show her around town, having mistaken Lemen for a newcomer to the town that had given Lemen life. When she'd realised who Lemen was, her sweet face had shuttered a little, her arm crossing her middle like a high schooler about to walk past her bully. Lemen had seen that expression, that body language, on girls before when they'd bowed their heads and hurried past her. It had been years since she'd made someone feel the need to protect themselves, and it had taken her aback to see again on a woman she didn't even know. Lemen had realised, before Claire had needed to explain, that she was close to Liam.

Lemen saw Claire shift her weight now, clearly aware of someone watching her, and Lemen turned her attention back to the dance floor before they could make eye contact. When Lemen had run into Liam the day previous, on the street outside Mona's coffee shop, and invited him to the Samhain bonfire that was doubling as her welcome home party (which, she assumed, was why the Lavenders hadn't been invited in the first place), she'd wondered if Claire would be the plus one she'd said he could bring after assuring him his mother wasn't a plus one, but instead had already been invited that morning. Lemen had not been surprised when Claire had shown up, hand clutching Liam's as she walked around the house into the backyard.

What Lemen had not been prepared for was seeing him on the street. It had been ten years since Liam had put his foot down and taken his heart off his sleeve to shove deep under the bulky layers he'd worn for as long as she'd known him. He'd looked so small, hollowed out, a boy grown tired of begging to be loved, and Lemen had told him too many times that she wouldn't. He'd tried before, walked away and told her he wanted more than she could give, had even had a girlfriend for a little while, before he'd crumbled under her hands like limestone turned to dust, settling back at her feet where she could walk all over him again. Every time he'd tried, Lemen would make a quiet bet with Lincoln: "Five dollars he's back in two weeks." "Ten on a month." "Deal."

She could remember the last time, when she'd asked Lincoln, "How long this time?" He'd looked almost pityingly at her before his gaze had wandered away, searching for Saxon like Lemen used to. "Everyone has a limit of what they can take before they break."

Sure, in hindsight, that was probably a lot more about what was going on inside Lincoln's brain, and Lemen wasn't sure now if he'd even overheard Liam's final bow, but the words had rung true, and Liam had never sought her out again.

In fact, the day before, when she'd exited The Crescent Nook Cafe and Bookstore and stepped right into Liam's path, she was sure he still hadn't been looking for her. It wasn't the first time she'd returned to Silver Springs since she'd left with Lincoln and Saxon to follow them to college, but it was the first time she was planning to stay for longer than a few days and hadn't stayed close to the Werehouse or kept her return need-to-know. She was there to stay, she was moving home, and the word had spread like wildfire—and running into Liam's girlfriend hadn't really helped that, she was sure. Still, he'd looked surprised to see her, just like she'd been surprised to see him. She'd heard the quick step of his heart, recognised the nervous shape of his confused little smile, the half-step backwards as if too frightened of what would happen if he got too close to her. The locks sliding home on the walls she'd forced him to build, keeping the conversation somehow even less welcoming than small talk without outright excusing himself from talking to her. She'd not been able to sit with how it felt to see him again until after they'd parted ways, the desperate wish for him to be at the bonfire in his ear, disguised as a carefree afterthought of an invitation. Watching him go, Lemen had been able to register the drum of her heart, the ache in her ribs, the guilt clawing its way up her throat, the sorrow like a seed sprouting roots in her stomach. She'd thought she was over it. Over the hurt she'd caused him. Over feeling sorry. Over wishing she still had him for a friend. At least she could acknowledge it now. Her therapist would be so proud.

Lemen's attention was snagged by Baby, Honey's wife and resident part-pixie of the Werehouse, as she broke away from the dance floor and beelined for her. Lemen raised a curious eyebrow and watched her approach, but not before glancing at Honey to see if she could glean any intention from her about why Baby was on her way with quick, precise steps. Honey was, as usual when it came to Baby, uselessly watching her walk away with no thought behind her eyes other than adoration.

"Hey, you alright? Hanging here all by your lonesome," Baby asked. "Do your feet hurt?"

Lemen, who had been about to reassure Baby she was fine, drew up short and looked down at her feet with a frown. "Huh?" They didn't but the question felt so out of left field, it warranted a question in reply.

"You're just leaning on the pole. I thought your feet were hurting. I was going to remind ya to take ya shoes off," she said with a flashy grin.

"Oh, well, no, they don't hurt. I was just…watching. Preparing myself to live here again, surrounded by the likes of you," Lemen teased.

Baby's grin grew and she put an arm around Lemen's waist in a tight hug. Lemen hugged her back, arm snaking around Baby's narrow shoulders and bending at the knees to rest her cheek against the much shorter woman's head. "We're happy you're back. Even if Honey hasn't said so yet, you know she missed you."

Lemen straightened to look at Honey again, to see if she'd overheard from the other side of the party, but she was sitting on the floor with the little boy who had arrived with Claire, Liam, and Liam's mom, Joe. The little boy had been introduced as Liam's little cousin Zeke, but everyone had been calling him Pip, and he was standing on Honey's thighs to better reach her mop of blonde hair, pulling the curls and letting them go, but Honey hadn't defined her curls in as long as Lemen had known her and all the kid was managing to achieve was even more frizz. Lemen knew Honey didn't care and would spend the rest of the night with Pip if she was allowed, or until Baby returned to her.

"I missed her too," Lemen promised, looking down at Baby who had stepped away from her in her distraction and Lemen took the opportunity to bend down and slide her boots from her feet. They didn't hurt, but half the party was barefoot and she wanted to feel the earth beneath her feet, dig her toes into the land that she'd returned to and called home.

Baby's smile was knowing, green eyes bright and full of mischief as always, and she opened her mouth to speak, but the next song began and the bouncy quartet with the synthetic piano on a fast beat had a memory clanging like a bell inside Lemen's brain and she felt her eyes widen as she straightened.

"Sorry," she said quickly to Baby before moving swiftly to the porch steps where Liam was leaning, watching Honey with his cousin.

Lemen's heart was racing as she bounded up the steps on light feet and slid in front of him. "Do you still remember the dance?" she asked, voice a little breathless and not from running the few yards to the steps. "The dance challenge, competition, thing, at the house party, when we were like…seventeen?" she pressed.

Immediately, Lemen felt stupid for the hope that had lit up behind her ribs and quickly extinguished it. It was over eleven years ago. What had she been expecting? That he'd jump up and say that of course he remembered, how could he forget winning with their silly little dance they'd come up with in her living room after they'd pushed the coffee table aside. Instead, Liam put his hand on his thigh and puffed his cheeks up with a breath he let out slowly, squinting up at her, calculating, thinking, maybe even remembering, and it coaxed the embers of hope back to life inside her.

"I could probably figure it out," he said, straightening up, the nervous smile back on his face.

Lemen grinned, resisted the urge to grab his hand, and ran back down the steps towards the dance floor as Chris Martin's voice crooned out "I used to rule the world…"

In the middle of the crowd on the dance floor, Lemen drew to a stop and waited for Liam to slide into place beside her before she began the dance they'd once created together, tipsy on red soda and high on being teenagers awake at two in the morning, laughing so hard they'd tripped over nothing until they had it memorised.

It wasn't a complicated dance, done entirely side by side apart from a point where she slid right and he slid left behind her, then back they went with her behind and him in front. With a couple of square steps, a silly disco move, turning in a circle while pretending to swing a lasso over their heads, planting their feet and knocking their knees together while they swapped their hands in front of them, and doing a skippy grapevine left and right, the dance was ridiculous and cheesy. The silly competition they'd entered at a house party Liam had been invited to, Lemen his plus one like always, hadn't been about challenging choreography but about fun, about being in sync with your dance partner, and about impressing the rest of the party however you could. The winners were the ones who got the loudest cheer, basically. Lemen hadn't exactly expected to win, she wasn't well-liked and the dance was stupid, but they had.

The dances had been recorded on someone's phone and posted to social media, and Lemen had watched it the next day over Liam's shoulder when he'd come across it, then made him send it to her. She'd watched that video over and over again. She'd never been able to explain what about it had kept her gaze, not even to her therapist, not even to herself, but she could see the short video behind her eyelids when she closed them years later. That video was filed away on a flash drive and tucked away in a small box Lemen didn't open anymore. Still, she remembered the easy synchronicity between them, almost as if they were one mind in two bodies, and it had knocked the breath out of her to see. There'd been a small, private smile only for Liam on her face while they'd danced, even though they'd barely made eye contact, and he was clearly enjoying himself despite the concentrated pull between his eyebrows as he made sure not to mess up.

That wasn't the case this time. Lemen's grin was wide, visible for the whole world if it wanted to look at her having fun, and instead of letting herself worry about what her childhood dance teachers would say about her form, she let herself relax into the music as it fell over her. She kept her attention on Liam's denim-clad legs, making sure she was remembering the same steps as he was, and when he messed up, she reached out with a gentle hand and circled her fingers above his elbow to pull him left. When she messed up, she threw her head back and laughed, leaning into the mistake with her whole chest before finding his rhythm and falling back into step with him. At one point, the claw clip that had been holding onto her thick blonde hair for dear life finally gave up, and she had to catch it and pin it to her skirt before it fell to the ground.

In that moment, all of Lemen felt at peace, buoyed by an unashamed joy, and she laughed again, bright and clear. She was laughing at the teenage version of herself who had been too serious for her own good, too frightened to want anything, so instead she had missed everything. What did she have to show for it? A little box of memories that made her feel too much to look at?

Seventeen-year-old Lemen had danced with her best friend in front of a crowd of their tipsy peers. Danced with a boy who loved her so openly and honestly that he was breaking his own heart. Danced around under strobing disco lights to music playing on crappy Walmart speakers with a broken subwoofer, and she had been more concerned about where she put her feet than where she put her joy.

The little girl inside Lemen, the one that she was trying to heal, danced with her now, free and wondering about the beauty of the lights above them against the night sky, amazed at the genuine smiles around her, and fascinated by the string instruments in the song that was playing.

The teenager inside Lemen was screaming at her not to look at his face. Not to feel anything other than the music.

The little girl wanted to see.

The teenager wanted to run away.

The little girl wanted to dance.

The teenager wanted to shove the little girl so far down, make her disappear, tell her she's a naive and useless little thing and tell her it was all for her protection.

Lemen looked.

Beside her, Liam fell into the last few steps, and she looked at his face, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. The lighting was softer this time, no RGB strobe lights slashing against his dark skin or harsh white flashes of light making them both blink and squint through the dance. The lights above were warm, slightly yellow, and they turned Liam's beautiful face to gold.

The little girl giggled.

The teenager flinched.

Lemen realised she loved him.

She'd fallen in love with him all at once, the night they'd put the dance together and ended up in a giggling pile on her lounge room floor. She'd kissed him many times before that night, and kissed him many times after, but she'd loved him in that moment without any kisses shared. She'd loved him every moment since. She remembered every time she'd told him she didn't love him and that she probably never would, and the roots growing from her sorrow threatened to squeeze the life out of her heart.

Lemen hoped the grief didn't reach her eyes as the song ended, and she kept a smile on her face as they jumped to face each other for a final, cheeky shimmy between them.

She was breathless again, but not from exertion because it took more than a four-minute dance to tire a werewolf, her chest rising and falling a little too rapidly, and she took a step forward to give Liam a hug that she didn't linger in, holding her breath to not breathe in the smell of him she was sure would crush her lungs.

"Oh, Daisy, thank you," she said softly as she stepped away, doing everything in her power not to search his gaze. Not to look for something she'd once seen in his eyes. She didn't want to see the absence of it now. I love you. "Did you want…I should…thank you," she finished clumsily, unsure what she could even offer him now. I love you.