5 Fresh Out of Fucks

Lily

The scents hit her first.

Fresh air, wildflowers, cut grass, good food, woodsmoke, all carried by a warm breeze that tickled over her skin and tugged at her hair.

Paradise.

She’d made it to Paradise.

Lily opened her eyes and squinted, adjusting to the bright, cheerful sunshine. A bird twittered as it swooped past, its mate dancing along on the breeze behind it, the pair of them flying away over lush, rolling green hills dotted with trees, the roofs of cottages, and smoking chimneys, some set right into the ground. A wide, clear stream burbled happily in the distance, cutting right through the center of an idyllic little village full of trees and what looked like canals. A rugged line of small mountains stretched up towards the sky in variegated shades of blue, purple, gray, and green, dropping down to a sparkling fjord, reminding her of home.

Focus shifting to her immediate surroundings, Lily looked down. She stood in a vibrant patch of grass, surrounded by a garden of thriving plants: vegetables, fruit trees, pots and beds of flowers. Bees buzzed as they went from bloom to bloom. A wooden fence stood proudly between her and a well-worn cobbled road, the gate a delicate swirl of wrought iron.

A familiar purring chirp that she hadn’t heard in more than a decade had her whipping around in disbelief.

Her childhood cat, Max, trotted out of a patch of strawberries, his black-on-white fur gleaming in the sun, fluffy tail straight up in greeting. He mashed his little head against her shin before she could react, rubbing his whole body against her leg and purring with all his might. Eyes stinging, Lily scooped him up and buried her face in his sun-warmed fur, laughing and crying all at once.

“I knew you’d be here,” she told him, grinning as he shoved his head against her cheek affectionately. She’d been six when they’d brought him home as a kitten, and twenty-three when she’d had to put him down to ease his pain.

“Sweet boy,” she told him, scratching under his chin the way he’d always liked. “You were my best boy.”

Hours of homework and agonizing over writing various essays had been spent and eased with Max’s weight on her lap or curled behind her on the seat. She’d missed him every day, and often considered getting another cat, but she’d been unwilling to put them through her frequent moves.

A tear rolled down her cheek, dripping to gleam on Max’s fur as she loosed a sigh of relief.

It’s okay. I’m okay.

Lily turned in search of the house that would go with the garden and burst out laughing. Painted her favorite shade of deep purple and decorated with elegant swirls of wrought iron, an iconically round door beckoned her to explore the house half set into a hill. Wisteria tumbled around a span of large windows to her left, the reflection of the distant mountains keeping her from seeing inside. Her feet skimmed over the stone path that led to the door, and she half expected the whole scene to fade away into nothing at any moment. The sun-warmed metal of the doorknob was solid under her touch. A faint hum of something pleasant went up her arm, followed by a wash of peace. Like she was finally home after a long journey.

The door swung open soundlessly, revealing an entryway with smooth, wide-planked wood floors, and parchment-colored walls stretching up to high barrel-vaulted ceilings. Ahead of her and to the left, a wide, arched doorway led into what looked like a living room, and straight ahead lay a pair of double doors with a hallway to the left of them. A closet door was tucked into the wall on her right, the wood polished but lightly worn, and directly on her left a cushioned bench offered a convenient place to put on and take off shoes. Hanging above the bench was a picture that stole her breath and nearly made her drop Max.

It was a moment there had been no real picture of, but she remembered every detail of it all the same.

She and her brothers had hiked out to some cliffs overlooking the sea and ended up scrambling down to a lower level to feel the spray on their faces as the waves crashed against the rocks. It had been ridiculous and reckless, and they’d all sworn never to tell their parents, despite the fact that they’d all been in their twenties. After some playful roasting of each other, and one or two or six threats to shove each other over the edge of the cliff, they’d ended up standing next to each other, laughing at a seagull trying and failing to eat a starfish.

The picture hanging on the wall had captured that moment: the three of them laughing next to each other, their hair gleaming in the sun, each a different shade of red, faces wet with sea spray, eyes bright with adventure and the joy of being alive . She stared at her brothers’ frozen, laughing faces, wondering for the millionth time if she had done more harm than good.

“Don’t you know those things will kill you?” Ryan said, dropping down next to her on the roof of their parents’ house. He held his hand out for the cigar Lily had swiped from their dad’s secret stash. Stealing it was a petty retaliation after a conversation turned fight, and she was smoking out of spite. Just like they all had as teenagers. She held it out of his reach.

“I knew there was something I was forgetting,” Lily drawled, taking a long inhale of smoke. She didn’t even like it really, but what the hell, she was already dying. She blew out a stream of smoke, rolling the fat cigar between her fingers and wondering if Ryan would be more receptive than their dad.

“Do shots at my funeral. That’s what I want,” she said, tipping her head back to look at the stars. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be shots, but don’t let the stupid thing turn into this boring recital of reverent bullshit where everyone lies about how wonderful of a person I was. Tell all the stories I told you never to tell Mom. Put the ‘fun’ in funeral. Get good cake. I will haunt your asses if you have bad cake at my funeral.”

“So, the opposite of Grandma’s funeral, got it,” Ryan said, stealing the cigar from her before she could react.

They sat in silence, passing the cigar back and forth until she snubbed it out, tendrils of smoke wafting up towards the stars.

Ryan’s tight hug came out of nowhere and took her aback. Her youngest brother wasn’t really affectionate.

“You don’t have to haunt me full-time, but haunt me sometimes, okay?” he murmured, wiry arms squeezing her a little tighter.

She hugged him back, throat tight and mind spinning. “I will. Tell you what, just to keep you on your toes, I’ll—”

A tear burned its way down her cheek, jerking her out of the past. She swiped at it, turning away to deposit Max on the floor, where he insisted on rubbing against her legs like a menace.

A happy day. This was a happy day, and she would face that particular guilt when she was ready. If she was ever ready. She took a deep breath, laden with the scents of flowers and freshly baked bread, held it, savored it, and released it slowly, along with the torrent of less savory emotions.

A happy fucking day, Lily.

Emotions under control, she turned her focus to exploring. Her suspicions about the room to the left had been correct. The arched doorway led into a bright, comfortable living room with plush, cozy-looking furniture and an abundance of blankets. The large windows she’d noticed outside allowed sunlight to spill in, and the sweeping views they offered were stunning enough to make her breath catch. Opposite the windows, a large fireplace with a merrily crackling fire drew her attention. The flames seemed to dance on top of the wood rather than consume it, almost like a gas fireplace, but it smelled and behaved like wood fire. Max had abandoned his plea for attention and taken up residence on the stone hearth, stretched out and absorbing the heat, blinking lazily at her. To her delight, a trio of already full bookshelves were nestled against the walls, and she recognized a few of the spines at a glance.

Beyond the living room, through another arched doorway, lay the kind of kitchen she’d only ever dreamed about: open and airy, but still cozy, with wood beams on the ceiling, gray stone countertops, and deep teal cabinets. She touched the handle of the double oven reverently before breaking into a laugh. Her favorite dish towel, one that her mother had despised because of the language, hung from the handle of the lower oven. It had been the fastest $12.99 she’d ever spent. Nestled among the beautiful spray of purple and teal and gold flowers, incongruously elegant script declared “fresh out of fucks”.

Still chuckling, Lily continued. A little dining table was tucked into the sunny back corner of the kitchen, with windows looking out over the hills behind the house, and to the right of the table lay the other end of the hallway she’d glimpsed from the door. Two doors studded the left side, one opening into a decent-sized guest bedroom, perfectly made up and waiting. Eager to see what had to be her room, Lily pushed the next door open.

“Oh,” she breathed, swaying a little.

She registered the purple-gray walls and crisp white trim first, shortly followed by the massive rustic mirror in the corner, stretching nearly to the ceiling. The bed, perched on a luxe faux fur rug, drew her attention next: a king-sized frame with a beautifully upholstered headboard, black comforter and sheets, contrasted by a chunky cream-colored knit throw tossed over the bottom. Every inch of it was a decadent invitation.

Lily took a running leap onto the bed, bouncing once with a laugh before nestling into the puff of blankets.

Divine.

She rolled onto her side and paused, looking at the mirror. Looking into the mirror. She arched an eyebrow, pushing herself up to kneel in the middle of the glorious bed, watching her reflection as she did so. What a perfect angle.

“Damn, I hope there’s sex in the Afterlife,” she murmured, pushing her hair back.

As if the house had heard her, something appeared on the sheets before her. A vibrator.

Lily stared at it, then glanced up at the ceiling, feeling only a little insane. “Okay, then. Thanks, I guess?”

A slight rumble shuddered through the house, reminding her of when a truck had driven by her old apartment. Instinct told her that both the rumbling house and the magically appearing vibrator were part and parcel of Paradise, but a mortal lifetime of avoiding anything resembling the beginning of a horror movie had her freezing in place. When nothing else happened and no internal alarm bells went off, she relaxed, scooting off the bed to peer into the adjoining bathroom that, although lacking a toilet, was somehow both luxurious and cozy.

She wandered back out into the hall, towards the one door left unopened. The house was perfectly sized, spacious without being cavernous, cozy but not cramped. Every detail felt right, her familiar favorites and fantasies blended together to create a space that spoke of safety and security and peace. She would have called the house perfect, she mused, pushing open the double doors, if not for the lack of a…

She gasped, pressing one hand to her throat as she stepped slowly into the space, turning to look around and verify that she was actually seeing what she thought she was seeing.

The library was twice the size of her living room and soared two stories high, up to a ceiling that swirled with patterns of blue and green and white, like an abstraction of the coast that she’d called home. Two wrought-iron, spiral staircases led up to the second balcony level, and each full bookcase had a sliding ladder just waiting to fulfill her childhood fantasy. The far wall was dominated by a massive floor-to-ceiling mullioned window, with a bed-sized window seat piled with pillows, and a small selection of loungers and cushy chairs were carefully arranged in the central open area. A trio of equally tall, but far narrower windows broke up the right wall, allowing more soft light to filter in.

A library. She had a library .

She drifted towards the nearest bookcase, running her fingers along the spines, most of them familiar and beloved, old friends who had entertained and amused and hurt and comforted and aroused and inspired. She paused, staring at her extended hand. Her left hand. Her bare left arm.

I want…

The thought had only just fully formed when shadows and lines appeared on her skin, as crisp and vibrant as if they had been freshly tattooed, but without the accompanying redness.

“That’s better,” she murmured, running her opposite hand over the newly inked skin. The sigh of relief seemed to come from her toes.

She tugged a particularly filthy romance novel, one of her old favorites, off the shelf and headed for a chair to celebrate.