The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

38 - A Very Hartley Plan

Sully and I are sitting with Bastian onstage at Lady Bijou's for the second morning in a row, my sneakered feet dangling over the edge toward the floor.

My eyes drift to Sully who's staring off into space. "How could I have not said anything?" I ask.

My family left for Ohio two days ago and it's Bastian's day off at the shelter. Sunlight slivers in through the blinds on the front door, a sight I've never witnessed before yesterday. Everything's so serene.

"What do you mean?" Sully asks. He runs a hand through his golden hair, still tousled from sleep.

I fold one leg under me and swivel to face him. "At her funeral. When everyone was telling stories. How could I not say anything? Not even goodbye?"

"It's okay," Bastian says from the side of the stage. He's fiddling with the curtain, his voice soft. "Hartley knew how you felt."

My heart crawls into my throat. "But that's not the point. I missed my chance to tell everyone else."

"All that matters is Hartley. And she knows what's in your heart."

"Still." I shake my head. "I should have said something. That's what people do when someone they love dies. They tell the world how they feel. How that person affected their lives."

"Why don't you say something now?" Bastian suggests.

I wrinkle my nose. "Here?"

He shrugs. "Why not?"

"Because—I don't know. It's weird."

"You might feel better if you do."

Sully nods. "Give it a try. You deserve a proper goodbye."

Just as I'm about to pour out my heart, the front door swishes open and a middle-aged man steps inside, his gray, short-sleeved uniform stretching over a round belly. "Ah have a delivery. Where do y'all want it?" His southern accent reminds me of the kind you hear in movies.

Bastian hops off the stage. "Why don't you pull up around back and I'll meet you outside."

"Okie-dokie." He walks out the same way he came in, readjusting the company sun visor atop his balding head.

"Don't lose that thought." Bastian points a finger my way. "I'll be right back."

After he leaves, Sully and I sit there, neither one of us speaking. "How's Penny?" he finally asks.

"Quiet. She stares off into space a lot. But Jolie told me they're going to be attending a support group for bereaved parents."

"That's a good idea. My mom and dad do that. It helps, I think. Being able to talk about what happened with people who've been through something similar."

"That makes sense. I think she'll be okay, though. Eventually. Jolie's good for her."

He doesn't respond.

"Her funeral was so depressing," I continue. "She would have hated it, don't you think? She would have wanted a celebration." It's something that's been weighing on me, something I could never say to Penny or Jolie. But it felt unauthentic. Not Hartley-like at all. If she were still here, she would insist on a do-over.

He laughs. "She would have wanted everyone to get shit-faced and smoke all the cigarettes!"

A giggle bubbles in my belly and explodes out my mouth. "That's what we should have done. You know?"

"What?" He looks at me like I'm crazy. "Get shit-faced and smoke?"

"No!" I give his arm a playful shove. "We should have celebrated her, not mourned her. We should have made it a time for laughter instead of tears. To honor her life and what she meant to us, not her death. It was just too sad."

Sully bumps his leg into mine. "That's hard to do when it feels like our hearts have been ripped out of our chests."

"Maybe." I give a half shrug. "I just wish we could do it all over again and make it better. Make it fun. Something she would have liked. And this time, I would definitely say something."

Sully thinks for a minute, tapping his fingers on the stage. "Maybe we still can?"

"What do you mean?"

Sully's face turns serious. "Maybe we can throw a party in her honor? And then we'll make sure you get to say everything you need to."

I'm quiet for a long time as I mull over the idea. I've never heard of anyone throwing a party several days after someone's burial before. It's nontraditional. But Hartley was an unusual type of girl.

"Do you think we can pull it off?" I ask.

"I think it's worth a try."

"Will anyone come? Or will they think it's in poor taste?"

"Are you kidding?" He chuckles. "Anyone who knew Hartley will think it's perfect. And no one's going to turn down an invite to a party. No one I know, anyway."

That's true. Teenagers like to party—I've seen it first-hand all summer long. Especially in N'awlins. "Where do you think we should have it?"

He shrugs. "Maybe at Melanie's? It's always been one of her favorite places. Even though that's where she ..." He stops, the words he doesn't say hanging between us.

I chew the inside of my cheek and contemplate his suggestion. If we're going to celebrate my best friend, I want it to be memorable. I want it to be larger than life, just like her. And I tell him so.

"What do you have in mind?" he asks.

"I don't know, I'm thinking." I pause. "Hartley's already been to hundreds of parties at Melanie's house. I want to do something huge. Something she would have loved to have done herself but never got to." My eyes scan the room as I rack my brain. And then it hits me. "What about having it here?"

Sully's brows crinkle. "At Lady Bijou's?"

Excitement swells in my chest as I begin to plot and plan. "She begged Bastian to let her go onstage again, but then she never got the chance. She would love to be the guest-of-honor, so to speak, at a drag queen lip sync party!"

He doesn't look convinced. "I don't know ..."

But there's no stopping my enthusiasm, and the more I think about it, the more I fall in love with the idea. "This is perfect!"

"What about the age restriction and cover charge?" Sully asks. "It seems shitty asking people to pay."

"Not if the money goes somewhere special. A place that would mean something to Hartley."

"Like where?"

Good question. Assuming I can even get Bastian to agree, where could we donate the proceeds in Hartley's name? "The Promise House," I say to myself.

Sully shifts his bottom on the stage. "What?"

My gaze reconnects with his. "The Promise House..." I stand up and pace, my thoughts racing. "When we were there with Bastian, Hartley couldn't get all of those homeless kids out of her head. That night at dinner, she told us she wanted to do something to help them. She said they were lost—just like her. I didn't know what she meant at the time, but I do now."

"She wanted to do something to help them?" he repeats.

"Yes." I plop back down next to him. "We could do that for her! We can leave her mark, just like Bastian said. Remember? About finding our cause?"

"I don't know." Sully drags in a breath. "I think we're going to have to convince Bastian first."

"She already has."

We turn toward the voice. Bastian is behind us on stage, just outside the curtain. He's watching us with bright eyes. "I think it's an incredible idea. A party in Hartley's name with all of the proceeds going to The Promise House," he says, walking toward us. "She would love it."

"I think she would, too." I stand up again to face him. "So, is that a yes?"

He smiles. "That's a resounding yes. I don't think Hartley could have come up with a better plan herself."