Whit nods, just a slight movement of her head. “Mostly,” she whispers.
I feel shaky.
“Ah.” Grandpa rubs a hand behind his neck. “Maybe it would be better if we talked another day,” he says with diplomatic ease to Ryan.
Ryan turns to me, tries to get me to come away from the tight knot of scowling, horrified, awkward family members who just want him gone.
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea you...”
He trails off because what is there to know or now know? This is just one of the really strange coincidences. The kind I will shake my head about in another week or two. Right now--I can’t lie--it stings worse than I would have guessed. Maybe it’s bare bones jealousy, maybe it’s just knowing this whole thing has been ripped up by the roots before it ever had a fair shot, but unexpected disappoint burns through me.
“Wait. What the hell are you saying? My sister?” Deo lunges in front of me, and I almost don’t recognize this fierce version of my laid-back brother. “You’ve got to be kidding, you fucking douchebag. Stay the hell away from me and the people I love. I know the kind of guy you are. You’ll never be good enough for her.”
“Deo!” I cry, shocked at his reaction.
I think he would have continued to berate Ryan if it wasn’t for Whit, who gives a strangled little cry and races down the hall, slamming the bathroom door shut behind her.
“Whit! Whit, babe, wait! Whit!” Deo takes off after her, and Grandpa sighs.
“Why don’t you walk your friend to the door and then come back. We’ll all feel better after we get some food in us.” He pats my shoulder and leaves me facing Ryan.
Alone.
9 RYAN
“Do you want to come outside?” I ask. I can almost see the thought tangle through Hattie’s over-analytical brain, weighing out options and consequences like it’s some complex problem, rather than just an invite to step outside her door and away from the drama inside, so we can say goodnight on our own terms. “Just for a minute?”
“I’m not sure,” she says. She takes a quick glance over her shoulder and I raise my hands up in surrender, about to turn around and walk away from this girl who obviously doesn’t want anything more to do with me, when she shocks the shit out of me by saying, “Okay.”
She steps out the door and closes it quietly behind her.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Hattie says, leaning in so damn close that I can smell her perfume. It’s something I don’t recognize. Classic and subtle.
I take a step back, away from her because I can’t trust myself to keep my hands off of her. “It’s not a problem. I had no idea this was your place.”
“My grandfather’s,” she qualifies, smiling shyly as we walk to the driveway with cautious steps. She’s kind of babbling, I guess because she’s nervous. “I actually just met him. And my brother, too, this summer. Grandpa is a riot. I think that’s where Deo gets--”
“His charm? Yeah, that was a great display of it back there.”
Hattie stops alongside my truck and pulls her brows together. “That’s my family, Ryan. I know... I get that Deo was rude, but you can’t--”
I nod, shaking off the testosterone that’s clouding my brain. I hated being told off in front of her by her older brother, but it’s not like I can blame the guy.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I completely understand why he’s pissed. I would be too if you were my sister.” I reach over to clasp her hand. I feel like I’ve won a fucking prize because she actually lets me. “But right now I’m really glad you’re not.”
A little laugh slips out of Hattie’s mouth, but her face is still creased with nerves.
“It’s a little weird,” she admits, raising her eyebrows high. “Were you and Whit--”
“It wasn’t serious,” I say quickly, before this gets more awkward than it already has. “I met her right around the time she was about to date Deo. Your brother. Trust me, once he was in the picture, I was out of her life completely.” I shake my head and try to smile. “Small world, right?”
“You can say that again.” Hattie pulls her hand away from mine and crosses her arms tight over her chest and looks up at the little house, lit up and waiting for her.
“You just met your family?” I ask, a little shocked because--other than the whole ex-boyfriend elephant in the room--they had seemed so comfortable together.
“Yeah.” Hattie looks up at the panel of windows spilling soft yellow light. “My father and I were never close. I came here to find him, and wound up finding my grandfather. And my brother. It’s been great. Completely unexpected, but really great.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, because if I need to use the most cliché reason in the world to touch her, I will. “That’s awesome. They obviously love you. I’m glad you found them. I’m glad you came here this summer.”
She gives me a smile so slow and sweet, it makes my mouth go dry and takes my hand again. “I’m glad, too.”
“You should get back inside.” I let my hand slip out of hers and up her arm, holding her elbow.
“Are you sure?” she asks, and when she looks up from under her lashes at me, I want to tell her every damn thing that’s running through my mind.
Fuck no. I want you to get in my truck with me so we can leave Whit and your brother far behind. I want to take you out on the boat where we can be alone. I want to make you laugh some more.
But I can’t say any of that, so instead, I just say, “Yeah, I’m sure. Your family is waiting on you.”
She gives a small nod. “Okay. Listen, I do feel really badly about what happened in there.”
“No sweat,” I say. “Besides, I’ll let you make it up to me.”
Her mouth quirks up. “Right. Okay. I’ll see you around, Ryan.”
I watch her walk away, her gorgeous ass twitching with each step, and I hope to God I do get to see her again. Maybe--by some miracle--I’ll be able to undo some of the damage her brother just did to my chances with her.
***
Here’s the thing about Hattie: she’s smart as hell. That kind of smart that’s so intense it’s intimidating. And she’s willing to say whatever the hell pops into her head without stopping to consider that she might be wrong.
I’m sitting on the pier, my cell next to me. I want to call her, but I don’t.
Why not? Why not grab on to the one girl who’s already blown away every other girl I’ve been with...and she was right, at the restaurant over all those crab shells: I have been jumping from one thrill to the next, from one adventure to another. Maybe I haven’t stopped to savor the elemental stuff.
Maybe she’s the speed bump I need, the one thing that will slow me down before I race to the next empty victory.
I pick up my phone, because now I’m done over-thinking things and ready to talk to her. My phone vibrates before I can scroll to her contact.
But it isn’t her.
The message is from my brother, Tommy.
where u at
I try not to be a dick, but Tommy drives me up the fucking wall, and I never know if he’s texting because he wants to have a beer or because he’s just crashed another car into a tree, run from the scene, and is hiding out while cops swarm the wreckage. Tommy makes me never want to have kids, because I’d be afraid of them inheriting his crazy and driving me to an early grave. I answer because I’ve been conditioned by years of my mother’s obsessive harping to keep an eye on him, like I did when he was a kid.
Even if he’s definitely not a kid anymore.
pier. WHY?
I watch the phone, waiting on the three little dots that show he’s typing some kind of massive, incoherent text. Which comes through a second later, but makes so little sense, I’m back to square one, just praying he wants me to fork over money for a plate of hot wings at the bar and doesn’t need me to bail him out of jail. Again.
He gives me a location. O’Shea’s, the place we always meet for beers. Also a place where he brawled
with a couple guys who said he was hitting on their girlfriends. Management swore he’d never be allowed to step foot inside again, but Tommy’s got a way of making people forget how irritated they are with him. It’s a charm I find myself getting pulled into, even when I want to punch him in the face.
Family. Gotta love ‘em.
I pull up at O’Shea’s and the place looks pretty civil. Or as civil as a bar can look when it’s packed to the hilt and blaring some kind of Irish-inspired punk. I muscle my way in and scan the crowds til I see him.
It’s never hard to find my brother, who’s six five and a ginger. He used to shave it all off when we were kids, but it’s the kind of bright orange that always made it look like his head was glowing, even when it was barely there. Now he just lets it go wild.
“Ryan!” he bellows when he sees me.
He’s holding a Guinness in each hand, and a dark splash sloshes over the glass and falls on the head of the irritated girl standing next to him. She looks ready to murder him when he leans down and whispers something that makes her face bloom with a sexy smile.
How does he do it? I’ve never had a problem getting girls in bed with me, but my brother? He’s a magician. A charmer.
“Ryan! Those anal lesions are healing up, right? Cause I think you could get lucky tonight!”
An asshole.
Tommy’s doubled over with laughter by the time I make it to him, and he’s taking generous sips from both glasses.
“To keep them from overflowing on that gorgeous specimen again,” he explains when I look pointedly at the beers.
The girl rewards his stupidity with another lusty smile, bats her lashes, and bites her bottom lip. He winks at me and hands me one glass, three-quarters full.
“Thanks.” I’m about to drink, but Tommy throws a wide-spread hand over the top of my glass before I manage to get it to my lips.
“No!” he roars. “Toast first!”
Toast? That’s good news.
“What to, brother? You get a job? Find an apartment that isn’t under Uncle Pat’s house? Going back to school?” I finally smile when a dark scowl stomps out his loopy grin.
“Don’t start, dickhole. The way you live is a step up from being a fucking carny. Or a gypsy or some shit. We’re toasting to love.” Strangely, the scowl deepens.
“Okay.” I pull the word out. “You knock someone up?”
“You’re serious? I may be a moron, but I don’t jump without a parachute.” He holds his glass up higher, blinks a few times, and announces, “To Jen.”
“You and Jen?” I’m shocked, even though I shouldn’t be. He and Jen grew up best friends. She always kind of pined after his stupid ass, but I thought they’d given it a try back in high school and it was a disaster. “That’s great, man. I thought that shit was ancient history.”
“It is. It was. And is. And isn’t. Not me.” My brother pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jen is marrying Troy McCarthy.”
Huh. I’m not a huge believer in the whole ‘til death do us part’ everlasting monogamy thing, but if I had to bet on any two people doing a decent job of taking their vows seriously, it would be those two.
“Good for Jen. And Troy McCarthy.” I hold my glass up to his, but stop short before I clink them. “So, why aren’t you toasting with Jen? She’s been your best friend since you were five.”
He ignores me and sways a little. “To the idiots who let the best girls slip through their fingers.” He taps his glass against mine. “May the girls run far, far away from the idiots. Especially when the idiots show up drunk, screaming about how they fucked up, and then punch the girls’ new fiancés in their mouths. Maybe. Cheers.”
My brother chugs his beer, eyeing me warily over the rim.
“What the hell did you do?” I demand. “Back up. Did you punch Troy McCarthy because he was smart enough to ask Jen to marry him?”
Tommy slams his glass on the bar table next to him. “That is, sadly, an accurate version of tonight’s events.”
I put my beer, untouched, on the table, and feel a swell of disappointment at how my little brother looks at it like he’s not too proud to beg.
“Tommy, what the fuck are you thinking? Did they call the police?”
He shrugs, suddenly looking so much like the lanky kid who--I could swear--was just skitching behind some irritated yuppie’s BMW, while Mom screamed that he’d kill himself on his skateboard. Wasn’t that just a year or two ago?
The way Tommy acts, it’s hard to be nostalgic for the times when he was a kid...because it’s like he’s barely changed.
“I was pretty trashed. I didn’t punch him all that hard. Didn’t even break the skin. He just tossed me out.”
Tommy slides his hand toward my beer, but I snatch it out of his way and take a long, cold drink. I need it.
“I swear to God, what goes through your head?” I drink again without stopping, trying to drown the reality of my brother’s chronic stupidity in the bitter dregs of this brew.
“I don’t know, man. I think I love her.” He rocks on his feet.
“I think you could have used the punch in the mouth,” I tell him, slamming the glass down. “Jen’s been right in front of your face for twenty years, you fucking half-wit. You had your shot in high school. And I’m willing to bet, knowing how much Jenny idolized you, that wasn’t your only shot.”
“We were...sorta hooking up a few months back,” Tommy admits, running a hand through his messy red hair. “And it was cool. It was really good. But she wanted to get more serious, I wasn’t sure. The booty calls got cut off, you know how that goes. And then I didn’t hear a word from her for months. And now this.”
“Well, yeah, ‘this,’ Tommy. ‘This’ isn’t some tragedy. It’s what fucking adults do when they’re done ‘hooking up.’ You should be happy Jen got her shit together and stopped wasting time waiting for you to grow up.”
He snorts. “I love that you’re the one giving me this speech. This is, like, the biggest irony of my life. You’re a fucking hound, and you know it! After you broke it off with Megan, can you even count how many girls you screwed? Like, is there a number big enough to calculate what a manwhore you were?”
“I made my mistakes,” I grit out, tired of defending what I did. It’s been a full year, and I’ve changed my ways completely, but no one seems to notice. “But here’s where you and I are different: if Megan had let me, I would have done everything for her. Anything. Sure, I slept around, I never committed. But it was because none of them were Megan. I was trying to get over the girl I loved. You? You had your shot with Jen, and you blew it.”
“I’m gonna remember how much better you make me feel next time I’m spiraling into a drunk depression.” Tommy tries to catch the bartender’s attention, but it’s not that easy, now that the place is getting packed.
“Do that. You know, I have better shit to do with my nights than listen to you feel sorry for yourself because you screwed up.” I stand up to go, and Tommy grabs my arm.
“How did you know? With Megan? How did you know she was the one?”
His grip on my arm is tight, and, even though his words slur a little, his eyes are intense.
“I didn’t know shit, Tommy. Megan broke my heart.” I clap him on the back and feel a shift from irritation to pity. Love fucking hurts. I know that firsthand. “Forget what I said. Next time you need to drink with an asshole who knows nothing about being in love, give me a call. Maybe it’s a family curse.”
Tommy nods slowly. “The Byrne men struggle with soft hearts and enormous wangs. It’s our cross to bear.”
Several girls swivel around to see who could have said something so crass, but Tommy’s goofy smile has most of them laughing and shaking their heads and a few edging closer. I have a feeling my little brother won’t be nursing his broken heart alone tonight.
“Take a cab home,” I say. “And remember your parachute.” I notice a girl with a tiny little animal print dress and way too much makeup saunt
ering over to Tommy’s side.
He gives me an off-kilter salute and burps. It doesn’t deter the girl stalking his way, so I leave them to it and wonder about my own night.
I decide to hit the water and see if I can work a few sail trim tactics in different waters, even if it is on the old boat Darryl had me start on. I’m itching to get out there and let myself get lost in the churn of the waves, the intricacies of coordinating the boat and the ocean and wind. I’m up for something to take my mind off today.
Anyway, it’s probably too late to call Hattie, and my instinct is to avoid embarrassment, try again tomorrow, when the day is fresh, and call today a wash.
I don’t call her. But I keep thinking about poor Tommy, drowning his regrets in tall beers and warm tits. I’ve been there. Lived there. Hell, I was town mayor a year ago. But I’m ready to move on, and sometimes that means doing things I don’t want to do.
10 HATTIE
“Shavuot?” I try to pronounce the word the way my brother does, but he’s had many more years to get his Hebrew down.
“It’s like this harvest celebration. And, trust me, when Cohen’s family has a celebration that’s actually upbeat, you gotta go. I’ve been to a lot of pretty bummer holidays at the ‘gogue.” Deo shudders and blows a long breath out as he drives into the city. “Yom Kippur? I was seriously considering throwing myself into the ocean after I atoned for every evil humans every committed. Like collectively. It gets deep, trust me. But Shavuot is all flowers and milk and honey, and Mrs. Rodriguez makes this intense atayef, which is like a pancake full of cheese. I’d be the worst brother on the earth if I didn’t hook you up with one of those bad boys. Also, Cece is doing some crazy feminist interpretive play about Ruth with her Gender and Religion class, so we’re trying to show our support.”
“Okay. Sounds solid.” I try to be easygoing about how exciting this all is for me. I always had my group to hang with in Connecticut, but it was never this immediate extended family that just enveloped me in every activity and event like...like I unquestionably belong. When Deo says “our support,” he’s counting me automatically.
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