He sucks his teeth, and my mom doesn’t look amused.
“Don’t encourage her,” my mom says.
Pepe isn’t a typical uncle. Most of my uncles are middle-aged with mustaches and bellies that show how many beers they’ve had over the years. Pepe is fit from his days as a celebrity trainer. He’s middle-aged but doesn’t act like it. He’s more like a brother than anything else. Hence, I’m his maid of honor.
“And don’t talk like that, Sky,” my mom says, followed by an exasperated sigh. “It’ll happen for you. I got married late—twenty-three.”
It’s hard to think that at my age my mother already had a husband and a child on the way. That life is so far away from my plans, yet here it is being shoved in my face while I plan someone else’s happily-ever-after.
Pepe’s hip starts to flash. His phone is programmed to do that when it rings, which is seizure-inducing. “It’s Paris,” he says excitedly, then puts his hand over the phone and adds, “The country.”
He’s not usually so boastful, but the family deserves it after the way they treated him growing up.
My mom shakes her head, and I can see her clutch her purse tightly, the way she does when she wants to make the sign of the cross over her body and say a prayer. But she doesn’t. Instead, she takes all of that pent-up family guilt and turns it over to me. I’m such a winner.
“We’ve been trying to pick wedding flowers for hours. It’s not your wedding, and they both said they like the sunflowers,” I say.
“Sunflowers don’t say wedding by the beach. It says wedding on a farm.”
“Ma, no it doesn’t. And also, the ceremony is at their house, not on the beach. Just trust me, okay?”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
I have a flashback of my mother standing in my way at the door to our old apartment, back when she had two jobs and always looked tired. Back before Pepe told her he’d take care of her the way she did for him when he was little. I’d be going to the library and she’d pitch a fit. River never had that issue. Then again, maybe if her parents had paid more attention, River wouldn’t have gotten into so much trouble over the years.
My mom didn’t need to tell me to stay away from boys. I got that all on my own from watching the tears my mom shed every day over my father’s infidelities. Still, she didn’t let a day pass without insinuating that I was doing everything except studying. Back then, the worst thing that could have happened to me was getting pregnant. Why has that changed only ten years later? Why is the absence of a man and the promise of that same baby also bad, only in a different way?
“I’m not in a hurry. We’ve just been here for hours. These sandals are giving me blisters. It’s hot as balls, even in the AC, and you’re driving me crazy.”
“No me hables así, Sky Magdalena Lopez. I gave birth to you.”
That “I gave birth to you” argument is going to follow me around forever. Why do Latin mothers, or maybe all mothers, like to hold that over our heads?
I gave birth to you, wash the dishes.
I gave birth to you, get a 4.0 GPA.
I gave birth to you, I’m not going to die without being a grandma.
“That’s not my fault,” I say, and receive an old-fashioned smack on the back of the head. Fine, I deserve that. But being around her makes me revert back to a teenager, and those were the worst years of my life.
“Are you seeing someone we don’t know about?”
“What? No.” Hayden’s face, his impossibly beautiful face, flashes in my mind’s eye, and I’m sure a blush spreads across my body.
“Sky, I’m worried about you.” She pinches the bridge of her nose.
The tension goes out of my body because I hate when she’s upset. I put a hand on her shoulder. “I know, Ma.”
“Are you sure you can’t work things out with Bradley?”
I snatch back my hand from her shoulder like she’s made of acid.
“Don’t be dramatic, Sky. You know what I mean. Men are weak. You can’t always blame them. Sometimes, they can’t get everything they need from you, so they have to—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence, Ma.”
“I want you to have financial stability. If you won’t give Bradley another chance, then I know a nice young doctor. You might remember him—”
“Can you stop?” I want to tear my hair from my skull. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need someone else’s checkbook.”
“Sky.” She tries to reach for me but I take a step back, sending a delicate vase full of soft pink flowers shattering to the ground. “Listen to me.”
“No. I don’t care how much Bradley is worth on paper. I’d rather not have a dime to my name than let him touch me ever again. I’m not like you.”
I turn away from her, pushing away the tears that swell in my eyes and put on a smile that I don’t feel. The front door jingles.
A sales lady comes running from some storage room with a crease on her forehead.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, choking on the sorry. “I’m here for the Vargas-Antonucci wedding. We’ll take a mix of the white and blush tea roses for the aisle. Sunflowers for the centerpieces. White and sunflower mixes for the four bouquets. And I’ll pay for that vase separately.”
The sales lady’s frown quickly disappears when I hand her my credit card.
No amount of money will fix my broken heart, but at least it’ll pay for this broken vase.
• • •
After we get home from the florist, I sit on my balcony sipping a bottle of water, and my heart does a little flip when I see Hayden standing in the center of the lawn, towards the line of trees, hammering a platform together. I suddenly realize that almost every guy I’ve ever dated has been blond.
My dad was short, but muscular. He never shaved his mustache, and it was always a glossy black. His skin was darker than mine and he never smiled. He wasn’t the kind of man who chased after skirts. He was that angry, silent man who made women want to know why he was so serious. It made them come to him.
I’ve made sure that every guy I’ve dated is nothing like my father physically, and somehow I still ended up in the same situation as my mom. Maybe it has nothing to do with race or culture. Maybe my mom’s right, men are weak. That doesn’t mean I have to be weak as well.
The only couple I’ve ever looked up to is Pepe and Tony.
I watch Hayden stand up and stretch. He works out the shoulder that was injured. The afternoon sun does wonderful things to highlight his biceps.
My aunt Cecy is making her way across the pool, towards the lawn where Hayden works. She’s got a tall glass of lemonade in her hand. Aunt Cecy recently got a new facelift, boob job, and tummy tuck. Who knew that a few snaps here and there would give her the sex drive of a twenty year-old sorority girl?
She wags her new ass over to Hayden and offers him the lemonade. I kind of want to shout across the way and tell him there might be a rufie in it, but no one but me (and maybe my girls) would think it’s funny.
Hayden is all smiles and thank you’s. He drinks it and says something that makes Aunt Cecy giggle loudly. I’ve never met someone as good-natured as him. It’s like a beacon of light.
Bradley also pulled me in when he smiled at me.
My heart tells me to pull back. But I stay at my balcony and watch Aunt Cecy put her hand on Hayden’s shoulder and Hayden wiggle his way out of her cougar claws by taking one step away.
When she doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere, she saunters back past the pool where her husband, Peter, is passed out on a chair with a towel over his hairy belly and a beer in his hand.
I can almost hear the way she snarls at him on her way back into the house.
Who needs reality TV? I’ve got more than enough drama right in my own backyard.
When I look back to where Hayden was working I realize he’s gone.
“Hey, Rapunzel,” a voice comes from below me.
My heart seizes and my skin gets hot. I
feel like I’ve been caught, even though I haven’t done anything. Well, snooping isn’t nothing.
“Building me a castle?” I ask Hayden. I lean over the balcony to get a better look at him.
His tan is deeper, which makes his eyes that much bluer, even from up here. And yep, he’s still shirtless. God bless Hamptons summers.
“You’re already in the castle,” he says. “Actually, I’m building your uncles a wedding gazebo.”
“What? That’s news to me.”
“Yeah it’s part of my labor to pay back the dress and the hole I put through the roof.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
He shrugs, and for the first time since I met him, he doesn’t smile. Okay, he does, but it’s the fake polite kind that really shouldn’t count.
“My old man doesn’t seem to think so. Either way, I’m not just a roofer.”
“You surf, too?”
From the corner of my eye I can see someone watching us from the kitchen window. The blinds open partway, and when they see me looking they snap shut.
“That too,” he says. “But I’m also really great with a hammer.”
I cough my water down the wrong hole. “You should let other people tell you that.”
“Why do you think your uncles hired me?” he chuckles. “I’ve got layers.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“But really,” he says, “I like building things in my spare time. Makes me feel good, you know, having something tangible to look at.”
“Roofs aren’t tangible?”
“They are,” he says thoughtfully, “but they aren’t solely me. It’s half a dozen dudes tramping around a house. When I build small projects like this, it makes me feel good. Useful.”
“I think I get it. It’s like your own kind of art, only with hammers and saws and nails.”
He looks over his shoulder to where Uncle Peter is starting to snore. He scratches the back of his head. “So, do I call you Rapunzel now, or should I stick with Nurse?”
My heart skips a few beats. It’s either because of Hayden or an uncommon case of AFib.
It’s not like he’s asking me if I want to get married. But I can feel him edging towards something else. Maybe to getting a coffee sometime, though he doesn’t seem like the coffee drinking type. Bradley drank a gallon almost every day.
“Rapunzel is less accurate,” I say. “My hair isn’t nearly long enough.”
“Juliet?” he suggests.
I shake my head. “My cousin’s already named that. You wouldn’t want to get us confused.”
“That couldn’t happen,” he says.
Over at the kitchen window the blinds open again. Don’t they have a telenovela to watch?
“We have an audience,” Hayden says.
“Welcome to my life.”
“I feel like I should dance for them or something.”
“Don’t get Aunt Cecy riled up.”
He laughs, and I could listen to his laugh over and over. I press a hand against my stomach to stop this feeling from spreading.
“I’ve got to get to work,” he tells me.
I want to tell him to stay. That his eyes and his smile and him…just him…are my favorite things to look at.
“Okay.” I wave, starting to retreat back into my room. “Sorry you got stuck with this.”
He shrugs. “It’s not so bad. There’s one upside.”
“The lemonade?”
He walks backward, keeping his eyes on me. “I was going to say that at least I get to see you from far away. But the lemonade’s good, too.”
Chapter 5
Leti, River, and I skip family dinner and head out to the end of Dune Road for a free concert. Everyone pretty much goes to bed after dinner, and considering breakfast, there’s no way I’m sticking around for another round of Point-out-Sky’s-Life-Choices.
“Ignore it,” River says, regarding Maria and my mother. She drives with her knee while she lights a cigarette. “Maria just tries to get under everyone’s skin to make it seem like her life is more perfect. I’m pretty sure her fiancé is gay.”
Leti barks a laugh. “Not the way he was looking at these girls over Christmas.” She shimmies her breasts, which are pushed up with the help of a fuchsia bikini top. In the setting sun, the light catches the bit of gold on her tooth, and I wish I could remember the last time I laughed like that.
It almost feels like I spent more time trying to fix things with Bradley, and such a short time doing the beginning stuff. The happy stuff. The wooing and courting and dancing stuff. I don’t remember when it changed. All I know is that no one should be unhappy for that long. If it had been River or Leti, I would have advised them to get out quickly. It’s easier to see the flaw in other people’s relationships because you don’t believe that could actually happen to you.
I don’t want to be that girl again.
When we get to the parking lot, we flash our resident pass and the bored girl on her phone waves us in from her booth. We park and polish off champagne splits that are technically supposed to be for the wedding toast. I swiped half a dozen that won’t really be missed.
The rush of the waves and the tuning of strings fill the late summer air. They’re my favorite sounds.
“Okay,” River says, throwing her cigarette on the ground and crushing it with her flip-flop. “It’s been a pretty shit year. What with my little trouble with the law, Leti’s accidental deportation back from Sweden, and Sky’s love life, we’ve had enough bad luck to last us a damn fucking good while.”
She raises her champagne split and Leti and I follow.
“This is a toast to not letting life get us down. We are young and we are going to grab life by the hairy balls and refuse to be anything short of fantastic.”
“Amen, sister,” Leti clinks her glass.
“And to getting laid!” River hollers, catching the attention of some surfer-looking types around our age. She throws her golden curls over her shoulder in that wild, carefree way of hers, and they take notice.
I down my champagne and enjoy the fizz that goes down my throat. I know better than to contradict a toast. And I get it, I know it’s time to move on. As we polish off our champagne and walk up the ramp to the beach, I take a freeing breath and promise to reclaim my happy.
• • •
Happy comes with a side of fries and a super cold Long Ireland, a local beer. We were lucky to snatch up a table before the crowds came in.
“Are you going to talk to her or am I?” Leti says quietly. She dips five fries at a time in mayo, then ketchup before eating them. She’s talking about River.
“Look, I don’t care if she smokes,” I say. “Smoking means she’s not doing other things. Let her have that for now. When the summer’s up, I’m getting her on the patch.”
Leti doesn’t agree, but we leave River smoking her loosies in the corner of shame. All I can think is that this gorgeous girl doesn’t belong in that group of weathered old men and women who look ten years older than they actually are.
When River rejoins us, she hooks her thin but strong arms around our necks and tells us how much she loves us.
I shush them. “It’s starting.”
The summer concerts are pretty chill. Mostly old indie bands that play small beach shows and even smaller towns, but they’re pretty kickass. Growing up, the three of us gravitated more to old rock and folk music. I could listen to Joni Mitchell and Stevie Nicks all day and night.
I’m so lost in the music, in the cool night sea breeze, in the sway of a melody that makes me sing along even though I don’t know the words, that I almost don’t notice Hayden staring at me.
A jolt, like electricity, hits me and makes me sit up straight. River gives me an inquisitive look and I grin and point at my beer. I hide my face behind the plastic rim and glance around the place.
Couples dance and sway to the easy strum of a guitar. Kids play with the sand that piles up between the floorboards. Leti gazes dre
amily at the bassist who could be a Clooney clone if Clooney was cloned as a hippie.
When I look at him again, he’s still staring at me. He’s shirtless. Why, in the name of sweet, sweet, Mary, does he have to be shirtless? Right, we’re at the beach. Minimal clothes are okay in this social environment. His smile is brilliant even in the night. His blond hair is thick from salt water. His board shorts are black, covered with pink and blue Hawaiian flowers.
His legs are straddled around a bar stool, and for the first time I notice how thick and powerful his calves are, like a runner or a soccer player.
My face is still buried in my cup, the beer slowly but surely making its way down my throat, metabolizing into a pleasant buzz across my skin.
Then I remember he’s shirtless, and my eyes trace him from his extremely happy trail up his abs. His abs. They’re something carved out of gold. Can you even carve gold? No. Diamond. Rock-hard crystal formed from coal and pressure and oh my god my beer is spilling down my chin.
He waves at me, still smiling in that goofy way of his.
I wipe my chin and dab at my chest with a napkin. Leti looks at what has me so flustered and nearly jumps out of her seat.
She tries to whisper. “That guy is staring at you.”
River turns around, a hundred times less subtle than me. “He looks familiar.”
Where was I? The abs. Right. Then there’s his chest. It’s not over-inflated like those guys who spend hours downing protein shakes and bench pressing. It’s like every pec and ab and bicep was carefully built from physical work. They’re muscles I’ve never seen on any guy I’ve ever dated. Bradley wouldn’t know manual labor if it hit him over the head with a hammer.
Stop thinking of Bradley.
Then the music stops and everyone applauds. While the first band unplugs and the next band sets up, Hayden hops off his bar stool and starts walking towards us.
Leti jumps up and flails her hands towards me. “Ohmigod he’s coming to talk to us. To you!”
River squints at him. “Doesn’t he look familiar? Is he an actor? Wait…was he in Magic Mike?”
“The last time you saw him he was falling through a roof.”
Love on the Ledge Page 3
