Page 71 of Scars Like Wings
QUEENIE ♥?
Your only hint is that it’s for your birthday. It’s in a couple of weeks, right?
ME
It is indeed! How do you know I don’t have anything planned already?
Every year, Simone and Maisie planned a huge surprise birthday trip for me. Growing up, Mom and Pops had turned birthdays into holidays for me. Each month revolved around whoever’s birthday it was: July twenty-fourth for my mom, August eleventh for Everett, September third for Pops, September twenty-fourth for me, and November twenty-seventh for Aunt Max. We would go all out, planning trips, parties, whatever the birthday king or queen wanted to do. They had to take off from work or school that day, and they had to be spoiled. Mom always said birthdays are the one day of the year where you are supposed to be selfish while celebrating everything you.That’s why people say happy birthday, to wish you happiness, she used to say. When Mom, Pops, and Aunt Max died, Everett tried to keep the traditions going by organizing camping trips and shopping sprees, but it was still missing something. When Simone and Maisie volunteered to start doing it, things started small at first, like a game where I had three minutes to get one-hundred-sixty dollars worth of books or throw a dart at a city within eighteen-hundred miles for us to explore. But they soon grew into so much more as we got jobs and grander ideas. Since, we have done everything from seeing a Broadway show in New York City to touring Hollywood, California to going on a steak and barbecue tour in Texas. The duo strived to improve yearafter year to make my birthday even better than the last. I’m sure for my twenty-eighth they had no intentions of stopping.
QUEENIE ♥?
I have my ways. ??
QUEENIE ♥?
I hope you love it though and it’s not too much.
ME
I have big Main Character Energy and a flair for the extra. Nothing you surprise me with could ever be too much, babe. So, don’t hold back. ♥?
QUEENIE ♥?
Careful what you wish for, baby girl. ??
I knew I was smiling down at my phone like a total goofball when I heard the Archive’s doors open. I looked up to see Maisie and Simone enter.
Simone immediately squealed when she saw my outfit. “Look at you, you fashion icon! You look so educated! Definitely the cutest librarian I’ve ever seen!”
“Oh, thank you! You two look absolutely gorgeous, too,” I returned, admiring my outfit and theirs. I had honestly dressed more for function over fashion today—a first for me—wanting to bundle and dress warmly for the day. I hadn’t been able to shake being cold all weekend, and I doubted that being at work would resolve that. So, even though I was usually never cold at work, I put on my thickest navy turtleneck sweater—which was not that thick given my winter wardrobe was built around Georgia winters—and a pair of yellow and brown wool plaid pants and brown cowgirl ankle boots. To bring the look together, I “borrowed” one of Everett’s turquoise Texas bolos and put it under the turtleneck part along with my obsidian pendant. Iplanned to keep it until he mentioned it was missing. I knew he never would.
Fashion was always one of the many things that brought me and the girls together. I had grown up with a mom who had an outfit for every occasion and never wore the same thing twice. Our bonding had been shopping on the weekends and visiting malls during vacations. My mom had instilled in me how powerful a good outfit could be. Naturally, it would be what made me friends. Complimenting each other’s outfits were the first words we said to each other when we met, and it was a habit that stuck to this day. For us, our unique fashion senses were more than clothes. They showed our personalities and made us fall in love with each other, knowing we were going to be besties for ages.
Today, Simone’s green curls were pulled back by a colorful bandana with a few stray curls framing each side of her face. She wore a creamy sweater with teal corduroy overall shorts, black tights, and dark brown ankle boots. Maisie wore a black crop sweater with ripped jeans and white sneakers. Her layered silver ombre hair was clipped in a half up and half down style. Her makeup was dark and heavy around her almond eyes and full lips. Her piercings glittered in the sunny light of the library.
Suddenly, I heard rustling from the Archive’s tree above us. Two branches swooped over toward Journee’s counter and grabbed a drink carrier with two iced drinks in it and a to-go bag. They brought them over and dropped them into Maisie’s and Simone’s waiting hands.
Simone plucked one of the cups out of the carrier. It was an iced matcha tea latte made with macadamia milk and a few pumps of salted caramel. She squealed with delight. “Oh my goodness! Did Journee make us coffee and breakfast?”
Maisie grabbed her iced pumpkin spice latte and sipped it immediately. Her eyes rolled back. “I’m a real basic witch because I’m awhorefor a PSL.”
Simone picked up the bag from Maisie’s hand and set it down on the table to open it and take a peek. The smell of fresh bagels hit me, and my mouth started to water instantly. I knew without looking in the bag that Journee had made our favorite variety of bagels including everything, seven cheese, maple pepper bacon, and onion and herb. I was sure they had tossed in their own homemade herb butter and fruity honey cream cheese blend.
“Journee, I freaking love you so much I could kiss you,” I called.
“I have that effect on people. Love you, too, though!” They called out.
“Do y’all mind making me a bagel while I get the book?” I said as I headed back to the circulation desk.
“You don’t even have to ask, shugs,” Maisie said, already using her purple magic to split three bagels and smear spreads on each.
“You know I will, anyway!”
When I returned to the circulation desk, I bent down to get my backpack purse under the desk. I pulled the book out of it. The book was still light in my hands, just awkward to grip with one hand because of its thickness. I clung to it as I stood and made my way back over to the girls. My necklace heated again with the proximity of the book. I still felt such a pull from this book. I wanted to hold it the whole commute to the Archive, to feel its cover, to caress its splayed edges, to admire my mom’s handwriting still present on the page asking me that question that was written onto my soul at this point.
Do you want to know the truth, my baby Byrd?
The thought made me grip it even tighter and closer against me.