Day 29: Wholesale
In 1997, Armistice Todd had a plan.
The plan started with a flight out of Indiana, the only state she’d ever lived, instead of college. It involved touching down blind in Europe, learning how to carry her life in a backpack, and never quite facing herself too long. Missy thought it was a very fine plan.
But, alas, it only worked until 1998. One day, hitchhiking her way through Cumbria to folk tunes and a jalopy death rattle, Missy saw something reflected in the dirty window she’d always been afraid was there. Something about why life never fit her quite right.
Just to be sure, she tried one experiment. It yielded conclusive results—Missy now was certain why she’d been put off every man she ever tried to be more than friends with, and certain why she always would be.
But it yielded something else, too—Missy dropped her bags in Abbeytown because that was where the pregnancy test came up positive.
She found a fixer-upper the local housing committee had shelved every meeting for the last four years, put the door back on its hinges, learned wood-carving out of an old library book, and tore the monstrous backyard into an orderly herb garden. Missy fell in love with the smell of fresh rosemary, and with her new self. She began to see a future with her child and, possibly, with another woman. She gave birth to a baby girl.
She named her Rosemary.
It started with expectations and ended full circle, with bittersweet optimism. It was a life story.
But it was wholesale coincidence that Rosemary would be born in the same town, at the same hospital, in the same week as Tyrone Christle. And, more uniquely, Khilly Peterson.
Happy Pride Month, everybody! Only one more of these left to to post from my April Nano draft of this story–I’m finally almost done combing through all the work I did. After that I can get to bridging gaps and wringing the garbage out of it.