When Sparks Fly

Harley rubs my back, but doesn’t answer my question, which I suppose is answer enough. “Declan, I appreciate that this is your place just as much as it’s Avery’s, but I think we could use a few minutes alone to sort out how we’re going to move forward.”

Declan defers to me. “Are you going to be okay?”

I nod.

“I’ll be in my room, but if I hear raised voices again, I’m coming back out here.” Declan turns around and walks down the hall, kneading his neck.

I flop back against the cushions. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, and so does my head. “I should probably see this video so I can understand how bad things are.”

I get about thirty seconds in before I turn it off. “How many people saw this before it came down?”

“Not that many,” Harley says, looking away.

“At least a few hundred from what I saw before I could pull it from social media. But there were screenshots, and I think you may be a meme…”

I rub my hand over my face. There isn’t going to be an easy fix for this. “I should reach out and explain the situation.” Although I’m not sure how much good it will do since I was high out of my gourd. I could blame it on pain medication.

“I’ve already called. They are no longer interested in working with us, and I’m not sure what it would take to make them change their minds, so I think we need to move on. In the meantime, I’m looking into some not-for-profit environmental groups we can sponsor or feature to help us do damage control.” London reaches into her purse and pulls out one of her star strips. She doesn’t even have to look at it, just starts folding. There are bags under her eyes and despite being put together, she seems slightly disheveled. I hate seeing them this stressed out, all because of me.

“I can’t pretend to know how difficult this whole thing must be for you, Avery,” London says gently. “I can imagine it must be a challenge to be reliant on another person so fully, and you have to be struggling with how little physical activity you’ve been getting, but getting stoned out of your mind on pot brownies isn’t a good alternative based on the end result.”

I feel awful that this has happened. “You’re right, you have no idea what this is like for me, but the whole thing was an accident, from the pot brownies to the video.”

“Why were the pot brownies even there? You’re healing from multiple breaks. And why in the world did Declan agree to video you when you were in that state? He should have said no.”

“He did say no, but I kept nagging him.” I have very vague memories of telling him I had important things to say that I wouldn’t remember tomorrow. “And like I said, I had no idea they were weed brownies, otherwise I wouldn’t have eaten four of them and made an ass out of myself. It was a mistake, and I’m sorry, but you need to stop blaming everything on Declan. Declan is not the root of the problem. You’re mad at me, but it’s easier to be mad at him.”

London blinks, taken aback, and remains silent for a few seconds before she finally says, “You know what, you’re right. I am angry with you. We’re all busting our asses, trying to make things work, and you’re over here eating freaking pot brownies and undoing all of our hard work! Everyone is pandering to you and what you need, myself included, and that’s obviously a mistake. Spark House is your baby. We’re over here trying to keep it afloat, and for what? Where’s the fucking gratitude, Avery?”

It’s my turn to be shocked. For a moment my back is up, at least until I let her words sink in. And I realize she’s right. I may be doing little things here and there, but they’re a two-woman show at Spark House. It’s hard enough when it’s the three of us. “I’m so sorry, London. You’re absolutely right. I’ve been focused on me and only me. That needs to change. Let me try to fix it. Please.”

Her shoulders come down from her ears, and I hold out my arm. She comes in for a hug, and it’s in that moment that I understand how hard all of this has been on her, and how much we all rely on one another.

* * *

London and Harley have to leave for Spark House because, like every other Saturday, there’s an event this weekend. I stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out what exactly I’m going to do about this situation.

It’s less than ideal. London is right to be upset with me. And now I’m seeing that she’s been doing all of this, not because she loves Spark House the way I do, but because she feels like she has to. And that’s not how I want it to be.