The Hummingbird Sanctuary, page 6
“You are literally the most ridiculous person I’ve ever met.”
“If you had to deal with that fucking piece-of-shit restaurant staff we’ve managed to hire this season, you’d be the same fucking way. I swear to Christ above, some of these fuckers have never worked in a restaurant in their entire lives.”
She spins and easily pops onto the granite counter next to the refrigerator. She pulls her legs up and crosses them, her head bobbing to the jazz I have playing in the background. She has no filter with her mouth or her body. She’s completely comfortable in her skin. It amazes me. Or maybe I’m envious. I don’t know. Probably the latter. I wish I had one-tenth of her self-confidence.
“Seriously, Ellie, the newest server doesn’t even know how to carry a tray. A tray. I shouldn’t be the one worrying about that.” She’s animated and angry, and before long, she’s finished the rest of the bottle and is sliding from the counter to get another.
“You’re drinking this with me. Ditch that fucking dumb fucking tea, and let’s go in the hot tub.”
It’s the best idea she’s had in, oh, who the hell knows? “That sounds like an amazing plan. Let me go put my suit on.”
“Fuck the suit. Let’s just go in.”
I spin around. “You’re out of your goddamn mind. Hell to the no. I will not be going anywhere near you in nothing but my skin. And you know guests can easily wander onto our property.”
“I still think we need the electric fence.”
I shake my head as I leave the kitchen and climb the stairs to the second floor, Lizzie hot on my tail. She never lets me out of her sight when I’m home. It’s one of the things I love about her.
* * *
“This is the best thing we did,” Harriet says softly after I step into the hot spring water.
“You’re so right.” I submerge to my neck and lean against the slanted side. I take the wine and take a sip without a single hesitation. “Fuck the hangover. This tastes way better than Earl Grey.”
“What’s going on with you?” She knows me well. Sometimes too well. “Is it still Olive?”
I sigh. Is it still Olive? Isn’t it always? “No, of course not.”
She lets out a puff of air. “Sure.”
“Don’t, please.” I sip my wine again. A white blend from Napa. My friend Jeremy brought bottles when he stayed at the sanctuary a couple months ago. He was the only man that weekend, and while he was devastated to know he wouldn’t find a like-minded gentleman, he was elated at the end because he was the most popular person the entire time. Every woman at the sanctuary knew him, knew his name, and passed him around like a traveling therapist. It was the first time our on-site therapist wasn’t booked solid. Jeremy is good during a breakdown. And a lot of women who stay with us are either recovering from, going to have, or are in the middle of a breakdown.
“Baby girl, you gotta find a way around those feelings for her. You know that, right?”
Once again, I sigh. “That’s not it. I’m in a rut. Like, it’s been forever since…”
“Yeah.” Harriet’s tone is drenched in understanding. I can hear Van Morrison from the outdoor sound system over the bubbles of the hot tub. Him singing “Days Like This” while I slow danced with Natalie is all I can think of.
Harriet clears her throat. “You’ve had the opportunity.”
God bless Harriet. She knew where I was going, and it’s always refreshing to not have to have the entire conversation because the entire conversation about my nonexistent sex life is embarrassing. “It’s hard when the feelings aren’t there.”
“Not for me.”
“You will catch feelings one day, and you’ll see what I mean.”
“Ugh, catch feelings. Sounds exactly like the type of disease I do not want to get anywhere near.” Her words are pointed, but I hear the slight waver, the way her voice snags the tiniest of bits.
“Can I say one thing?”
“Say away.”
“I don’t think I’m in love with Olive like I used to be. I feel like that has faded. I don’t know what else to do with the feelings other than, like, box them up and put them on a shelf or in the recycling bin or something. You know what I mean?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I’m lonely.” My volume is soft, but dammit if it doesn’t sound as if I shouted from the top of the highest peak.
Under the water, Harriet’s toes press against my right shin. It’s comforting; no other touch could be in that moment. The sliding glass door opens, and my heart falls a notch.
“Hey, you two. Room for one more?”
We both turn to Olive as she glides through the door in her bathing suit. She has a glass of red wine and, regardless of how hard I try to get past whatever I have for her, she still looks beautiful. “There’s always room for you.”
Olive slips into the warm water and slides next to me on the ledge. “What’s going on? Did I interrupt?”
“Just Ellie being all sad because she drinks way too much hot tea for a woman her age. You’re not seventy-five.”
My laughter feels forced. Probably because it is. For half a second, I thought she was going to out me to Olive. It’s not like Olive doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know. I’ve never said it, but I have no poker face, and Olive has been an expert in Eleanor-ology since the second we hung out together. “Very funny,” I say. I want to kick her, but her sly grin across the tub is enough for me to forgive her.
Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” is playing now, and Olive is humming away. “Remember when we all went to see her at the United Center? How stoned you got, Hattie?”
“Sweet Jesus. I’ve not been that high in quite some time. I don’t even remember half the concert. What was I thinking?”
“For some reason, you thought that joint from the people next to us was a good idea.” I roll my eyes. “And you had like fifteen beers. How did we even afford that?”
“I kept getting free ones from that guy Joe.” Harriet shrugs. “What are ya gonna do?”
“I wish I had pictures of that evening. I think you threw up in the bathroom, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yeah.” Harriet shakes her head. “I was sweating profusely. Even my elbows were sweating. I had sweat marks on the knees of my jeans.”
“Shut up, did you really?”
“No lie.”
“It’s almost like that time you had us take Molly,” Olive says. “I think someone tried to make out with me.”
“It wasn’t me,” I say. “Shockingly.”
Olive nudges me. “You’ve only tried two times.” Her tone is sincere and nice, and it causes my throat to tighten.
“Two times too many.”
“When did we take that? Was that at the Taylor concert?”
“Hell, no.” I lean forward and try to distance myself a little. She’s touchy-feely when she’s drinking, and I don’t think it’s on purpose, but tonight is not the night for me to stay calm, cool, and collected. I’m about two seconds away from becoming too emotional to deal. “I am alert during Taylor Swift concerts. I’m not missing a thing.”
Harriet huffs. “Fuckin’ Swiftie.”
“Whatever. You loved her Reputation tour.” I splash her. “Admit it.”
“Never.” She winks.
“I think it was Lollapalooza when we saw Florence + The Machine.” I think back to that day. It was right after I found Natalie with my brother, right before the world’s quickest divorce. I had one of the best times of my life that day and night. The Molly might have had something to do with it. “I was jumping around during ‘Dog Days Are Over’ and almost sprained my ankle on this chick next to me. I ended up making out with her. Remember that?”
Olive’s puff of air is oddly telling, and I feel it in my stomach. “Pfft, no. I don’t.”
“Oh, I do.” Harriet smacks the top of the water. “Olive, remember when you told that guy you hoped he got a yeast infection in his dick because he was peeing on that sign instead of going into the Port-a-Potty?”
“My God. Why do I do drugs? I turn into such a jerk.” Olive sighs before she continues to enjoy her wine.
“Well, to be fair, we don’t do drugs, plural. And pot is legal here. So we’re good.”
Olive’s low throaty chuckle is perfect. “So very true.”
“And it calms my anxiety.” I raise my glass. “To legal pot.”
“To legal pot,” they both say, and we all descend into laughter.
* * *
I drank entirely too much wine. And the hot tub was a bad choice. And now the room is spinning and spinning, and, oh God, I think I’m gonna be sick.
I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, trying to find my bearings. I told them both not to open another bottle. But did they listen to me? No. Did I listen to me? No.
I will for sure be hungover tomorrow. I was looking forward to not being hungover as I drank that damn Earl Grey. I was going to go running on my favorite trail. I was going to sweat and feel the earth beneath my feet and remind myself that I am a strong independent woman who doesn’t need anyone. I have an amazing vibrator and my hands. I’m fine.
I hear a small knock on my door and see the light from the hallway. “Who is that?”
“It’s me.”
Olive. Of course. She’s going to come and lie in bed with me. I don’t know if I can handle that tonight. I don’t know if I can handle her tonight. The bed dips, and I hear her sigh as she pulls the covers up over my shoulder. Fuck. “What are you doing?”
“Are you okay? You were pretty tipsy.”
I take a deep breath and push it out. “No. I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“Roll over. I’ll rub your back.”
Why is she so fucking nice to me when I really need her to be a giant jerk? I do as she says and roll onto my stomach. Her hand lands softly on my back, and within seconds, my body starts to calm. I both hate and love how she affects me. “Thanks.” It comes out as a whisper, but she smooths her hand back and forth before she continues to the small of my back.
It’s interesting, the stuff she and I have gone through. Heartache, loss, happiness, love. And I will be there for her no matter what and vice versa. But every now and then, I want us to fight and scream and tell each other to fuck off. If for no other reason than we need to. It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.
How can I be so in love with someone who, for so long, hasn’t been able to love anyone else? Maybe she loves me enough to know I need her tonight, though. She loves me as much as she can, and that’s all I’ll ever get from her.
But I’d give anything for more. For all. For every last part of her.
My tears are making the pillowcase wet. I need to get over this.
I need to get over all of it, every last part of her. Deep inside, there’s a part that thinks I can do it. I’m almost there most days, nearly to the top of a mountain, or at least I think I am, but I get to that next level and realize there’s another hundred feet to climb. So I start climbing. And then bam…there’s another fifty feet. And then a hundred. And then I realize I’m climbing the world’s only peak that never ends. It’s great. Oddly like that candle with the never-ending wick.
“You can stop,” I whisper, hoping she can’t hear the emotion in my voice.
“I will soon.”
I want to ask why she does this. Why does she never have a problem giving me the attention I need but nothing else? It’s frustrating. I hate her for it. But I also love her way too much to ever hate her. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. And she’s the only friend I have never wanted to lose. If I came clean and told her everything, I would lose her. Unless…she knows. And doesn’t care. Or maybe she knows and does care but doesn’t want anything? How can we have been friends this long, and I have no idea if she knows or not?
Oh, I know. Because I will never speak to her about it. Ever.
Her hand starts to move slower and slower, and I realize she’s falling asleep. Us sleeping in the same bed is a normal occurrence. Happens about twice a week. Sometimes three times. And each time, my anxiety keeps me from getting a good night’s sleep. Tonight, though? I will sleep. Thanks to my good friend, wine. I hope I don’t dream. I talk too much in my sleep when I’m drunk. Way too much. Ugh. There’s the anxiety. Great. Just great.
Fast Company
April 2022
“Who Says You Can’t Reinvent Yourself?”
by Jennifer Lyndy
In today’s day and age, more and more people are finding that loyalty to a company is yesterday’s news, and staying at your first job is for the birds. In the world of marketing, which seems to get smaller and smaller the longer you’re invested in it, if you want to move up, you need to be prepared to move on. That wasn’t the case for the talented Eleanor Fitzwallace, Director of Marketing and Events Coordinator at the mega-popular Hummingbird Sanctuary, Colorado’s newest, hippest, and trendiest mountain getaway.
Not your typical mountain resort, the Sanctuary, as it’s lovingly referred to by the co-owners, Olive Zyntarski, Harriet Marshall, and Eleanor Fitzwallace, you won’t see a ski lift to the top of the nearest peak. You won’t rent a cozy mountain chalet. You won’t be surrounded by families in a lobby with a massive fireplace roaring away at six hundred degrees. Instead, you’ll find a gorgeous, stress-free escape marketed entirely toward women.
“How did you all come up with this idea?” I watch the question wash over the three women as we sit comfortably on the back patio of their immaculate on-site residence. They’re running a mental relay race. Who’s going to get the hand-off?
“Well,” Olive starts as she places her mug on the wooden table. “As an older woman who, unfortunately, has suffered a lot of loss in her life, I’ve had to reinvent myself. We all have. Things popped up, happened, forced us in a direction we either wanted to go or didn’t. And as far as this place? I dreamt of a place where I could retreat with my girlfriends. Y’know, a place that was gorgeous, affordable, all-inclusive, and not on a beach. Where it wouldn’t be about anything other than us and our time together. I didn’t start off thinking it would be geared toward women, though.”
“Oh? That’s interesting.”
Eleanor raises a hand, taking the imaginary baton. “Yeah, that was my idea.”
“Makes sense, since she’s the big ol’ lesbian out of the three of us.” Harriet Marshall is next with the baton.
“Guilty.” Eleanor pushes a hand through her hair. “The reinventing yourself thing that Olive touched on? That’s true. I wanted to take this position, not only because I was ready to have more responsibility, but because I wanted to do something that mattered to more than only me. I wanted to do something that mattered to a lot of people. Something that would make a difference. I believe the sanctuary does that. We make a difference in people’s lives. In women’s lives. I have been in the hospitality world for what seems like forever, and ninety percent of the time, it feels like all we do is market everything toward the man and then the woman. I wanted to market to women. Sure, we get husband and wife couples and husband and husband couples, but for the most part, this is a place where you can get away with your girls. Where you can laugh and be loud and drink, and you’re safe and respected. I wanted it to be that way for a multitude of reasons.”
“Which are?”
Eleanor clears her throat as if she’s asking permission to just handle this interview, and Harriet and Olive give her the stage. “Listen, as women, we know what we want most of the time. I think a lot of our insecurities exist because we’re given too many choices, and in the end, we have to be the ones to make up either our own mind or the mind of some man. I say ‘some man’ with as much love as possible. The point I’m trying to make is, women make so many decisions all the time. But here? There are so few decisions for a person to have to make. What wine to drink? What meal to eat? What do you want to do to relax? Sure. Those decisions exist, but they’re going to lead to you having an amazing time. I’m all about making everything as stress-free as possible. Ladies will not experience decision fatigue here. Ever.”
“And it seems like it’s working?”
“Oh yes. We’ve been booked for as long as we’ve been open. Right now, we’re booked clear into next year. A few sporadic weekends remain, but ultimately, there’s no room at the Sanctuary.”
“You’re doing something right.”
They give each other smiles, then shrugs. Reinventing yourself comes with a lot of courage, class, and stability. If I can say one thing about these three women, it’s that they’re most definitely doing it right. And Eleanor? Keep on marketing the good life to as many women as possible. We all deserve to feel less fatigue in the decision department. *Yawn* Including myself.
Chapter Five
Olive
I never thought I’d say the words “I’m running out to the helicopter pad,” but I say that entire sentence frequently. I didn’t think we’d ever need to use the pad. I guess a part of me didn’t want to assume things were going to go as well as they’re going here. When I was younger, I was an optimist. As I aged, that faded. I tried to get it back, the spark, the desire to assume good things were going to happen instead of constantly fearing the bad. I guess it all came to a head when Paul passed. Or maybe right before that.
I stand inside the small shelter we built to get out of the blazing sun. I’m still shocked at how warm it’s been for the first week of May. The feeders are attracting more and more hummers throughout the property, and I couldn’t be happier. Everything looks great. The ground crew stepped up their game in the last week, too, which is fantastic. I need every aspect to be in order for this trio of women. I’m nervous about their arrival. If things don’t go perfectly, I fear the journalist from On the Verge won’t be writing a glowing article.
