Ties

by Campbell, Steph

  “I think Ryan may be where you’re at. Just not married or anything, obviously,” I explain. “The thing is...no judgment, right?” Whit shakes her head. “I am really attracted to Ryan. I mean, like, very, very attracted.” I blush, realizing I don’t have to explain to Whit of all people how sexy Ryan is. Ugh. Awkward. But I press on. “I thought, you know, since he was pretty experienced he might want to...you know. With me.”

  Whit looks like she’d gladly volunteer to be drawn and quartered if it meant she’d be out of this conversation.

  “If that’s what you’d like, he’s, um...experienced. Definitely,” Whit mutters.

  “No! I mean, that kind of is what I’d like. But he doesn’t want to.”

  Whit’s eyes soften with something that looks like pity, and I bristle and blink back tears. “Hattie, you are beyond gorgeous. Undeniably gorgeous, inside and out, and I’m not just saying that in a sisterly way, okay? I’m being totally straight with you. A guy would have to be blind and crazy to not want to follow you around on a leash if that’s what you asked him to do.”

  “It’s not exactly that. He definitely finds me attractive. He just won’t...” I clear my throat. “Jesus Christ. Can I have another hit of that grappa?”

  “Great idea!” Whit’s arm flashes out so quickly, it’s just a blur. She gives us each a second generous splash and we chug.

  “I’m a virgin,” I announce to my glass.

  I hear Whit’s glass smack onto the top of the table. “Oh.”

  “Ryan and I were going to...and I told him. And he said no. Like, stopped right before it got...there. We ate pie and talked. There was it.” Even this detail-stripped version feels so damn hard to just spit out.

  Whit is alternating between looking like she’s going to puke and like she wants to hug me hard.

  “I mean zero offense when I say this, Hattie. None at all. I love you like a sister. I mean, I never had a sister, but, if I did? I’d want her to be like you. But maybe I’m not--um, how can I say this? Maybe I’m not the best person to talk to about this. And about Ryan. Is there, like, a good friend of yours? Someone with less, uh, entanglements?”

  “See, I have a friend, and I plan to tell her about Ryan. Eventually. When I’m more sure how I feel about him. She’s only had two boyfriends, and her second one has been with her for four years. She would have no good advice for me.” I flick my glass. “Just, is there something I can do? Is there any advice you can give me?”

  She takes a deep breath and mutters, “Your brother is going to have my head for this.” Then she looks me in the eye and says, “Hattie. If Ryan found out you were a virgin and said no to sex, it’s because he’s a really decent guy. I mean, I always knew he was a decent guy deep down. So let me back up: he’s a really decent guy who is finally making good decisions.”

  I slump back in my seat. “Figures he’d start on his whole ‘good decision’ kick when he met me.”

  “Hattie?” Whit puts one tentative hand on mine. “Maybe he got on his whole ‘good decision kick’ because he met you.”

  I shake my head. “No. That is the absolute last thing I want. I’m not looking for anything serious. I definitely don’t want Ryan changing for me.”

  “Ah.” She bites her bottom lip and nods. “Okay. Well, maybe you should, um, wait? Until you meet someone who you’re completely comfortable with.”

  I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes at her. “Did you? Wait until you found that perfect person?”

  She shakes her head and gives me a sad smile. “I didn’t. And I don’t wallow in regrets anymore. I did that for long enough. But I do sometimes wish I’d kept that part of myself to myself. I didn’t realize what a difference it made until I met Deo. Before him it was just sex. After him there was no such thing as ‘just sex’ anymore.”

  “You realize you’re trying to explain this to a virgin,” I gripe, saddled with self-pity.

  “A super smart virgin. Way smarter than I ever was.” Whit stands up. “I’m going to check on the caramel, okay?”

  I know she tries hard to disguise the look of profound relief that slackens all her features when I nod. I decide I’ve tortured Whit enough for one day and wander into the living room where a baby seal is being viciously devoured on the screen.

  I sit next to my grandfather and open my hand for some pistachios.

  “You look glum, sweetie.” He lifts his empty glass. “You need a refill? I think my glass has a hole in the bottom.”

  I jump up and grab his glass. “Let me get it for you. I’m fine, though. I had a few thimbles full, so that’s, roughly equivalent to, what? A barrel of wine?”

  He chuckles as I go to refill his glass. Deo skids into the kitchen just as I finish pouring, bronzed and sandy from an after-work surf trip. Cohen and his brother Enzo are close behind him.

  Deo grabs Whit around the waist and kisses her neck. They fit like two slightly bent, standing spoons. Whit turns in his arms and runs her hands up and down his chest. I’d be jealous except that I’ve seen that look up close, first-hand.

  It’s the way Ryan looks at me.

  Cohen clears his throat and points to the bottle. “Tough day making candy?”

  Whit twirls her dishtowel and snaps it his way, flicking him on the hip. “It’s not as simple as it looks. I mean, it’s not three hours of surfing hard. But it’s got its complications.”

  Enzo laughs and whistles low. “Damn, Deo. Your wife’s tough, right?”

  “Tough as nails, just the way I like my women!” my brother bellows, bending her dangerously close to the oven and kissing her all over her face as she shrieks and giggles.

  Cohen takes out his phone and holds it up. “I gotta call Maren.”

  Enzo hooks a finger in Whit’s empty glass and pours himself a little too much grappa. “Drowning my sorrows,” he tells me as he throws it back and sucks his breath through his teeth. “Damn that’s some disinfecting shit. Good thing, though. I need a serious brain duller. Being around these lovebirds can drive those of us unlucky in love to drink, you know what I’m saying?”

  He holds his glass up, and I realize I’ve still got Grandpa’s drink in my hand. I clink and drink it down. Whit notices and frowns.

  “Hattie, that’s really strong,” she says, but I wave her words off and pour more.

  “This is for Grandpa, I promise,” I assure her and my now-frowning brother.

  Then I crash into a chair.

  Hard.

  Enzo jumps up and grabs me under the elbow.

  “Whoa, chica, slow down! This shit knocks your right in the kneecaps. Let me help.”

  I’m too embarrassed to tell Enzo I’m fine, so I just let him lead me to the living room and sit me on the couch. He hands Grandpa his glass, bumping fists and pulling him in for a hug as he does.

  “I haven’t seen you or that numbskull brother of yours in a few weeks,” Grandpa says. “Someone else buying your beer for you?”

  Enzo laughs. “Don’t play, old timer. You know I’m an old man myself now. I can buy that shit legal. Nah, you know, Cohen and Maren are doing all kinds of planning for the wedding and the new place. And I’m just being an unmotivated bum.”

  “Maren doesn’t have a sister she could trick into going on a date with you?” Grandpa demands, tossing some pistachios Enzo’s way.

  “I wish. Maren’s sister wouldn’t look my way if I was the last guy on earth. I’m a lonely boy, Gramps.”

  Enzo winks at me and I manage a weak smile, wishing hard I’d never tossed back that third glass of grappa.

  Especially since the only thing I’ve had to eat all day was a couple of Marigold’s cookies.

  Which kind of operate as the antithesis of a meal. Deo was right...those cookies work like a combo laxative and enema.

  “I have half a mind to set you up with my granddaughter here,” Grandpa says, shaking some pistachio shells in his fist. “But I don’t know if I want your ugly mug around that much. Plus she has the hots for
my boat guy.”

  “Your boat guy?” Enzo chuckles, looking me up and down. “Gotta be summer lovin’ then. Deo says you’re like a nuclear engineer or something.”

  I try to roll my eyes, but they’re kind of swimming in my head.

  “A nuclear engineer, huh?” I shake my head as much to clear it as to disagree. “He’s wrong. So wrong. I’m a computer science major.”

  “Is that different?” Enzo asks.

  I’m nervous that he’s only half kidding.

  A sudden roar from the TV screen has all three of us looking up and freaking out. A shark is leaping out of the water, mauling some kind of shredded bait meat hanging off the side of a boat.

  Enzo and Grandpa cheer and slap their knees.

  I feel my stomach churn.

  “Uh-oh.” I cover my mouth and run to the little pink bathroom for the second time today.

  I wretch, but there isn’t enough in my stomach to give me any relief. It’s mostly dry heaves and bile. Disgusting.

  When my body is done trying to turn my stomach inside out, I hear the knock at the door.

  “Wait!”

  I manage to get to my feet, burp a few times, wash my face and rinse my mouth, then open the door and see my grandfather’s worried face.

  “Was it the shark stuff? Too graphic?” he asks, reaching out a hand and touching my shoulder.

  “No. It was the grappa, Grandpa. I’m officially a lightweight.” I lean heavily against the doorframe wishing for--

  Before it’s even a fully formed thought in my brain, he has his solid arm around my shoulders and is walking me to a small, dim guest room. He leads me to a narrow bed with fresh sheets that smell like lavender. I lay my head down on the cool pillow and close my eyes.

  My grandfather pulls my heels off my feet and puts them down right next to the bed, then pulls the covers up to my chin.

  “Marigold will bring you her special concoction. A little hair of the dog and you’ll be good as new.” He runs a shaky hand over my hair. “You know, she developed that brew for your grandmother back when she and your father were first dating.”

  I smile through a moan. “No kidding? So I can blame Grandma Harriet for my inability to hold my liquor?”

  Grandpa pulls the chair that was tucked under an ancient desk over to my bedside, laughing the whole time. I catch tones of Deo’s laugh in his.

  “Your grandmother loved to drink, but she could never handle it. Whoa girl, let me tell you. That woman would drink anything. We vacationed in Tennessee once and she drank a whole jar of corn moonshine she bought from a roadside stand. The guy who sold it to her had no more than three teeth in his head. She had a five day hangover, poor thing.”

  We’re both laughing now, even though it’s making my head ring. Grandpa leaves for a second and returns with a cool, damp washcloth.

  Possibly the same one Whit used on my head before. I’ve never in my life fallen apart like I am now.

  Thank God I have people who love me to catch all the pieces while I do.

  “Thank you,” I say when he lays it over my forehead. “This is really nice. I didn’t get much pampering like this when I was legitimately sick as a kid, so it feels pretty shady to have you taking such good care of me just because I drank too much.”

  “Didn’t your mother nurse you through your fevers?” Grandpa asks, refolding the cloth with his sun-speckled hands so a new, cooler spot is on my skin.

  “Mmm. I went to boarding school for most of middle school. I was home on the weekends, but most of my illnesses I just weathered in the infirmary. Our nurse was German and old-school, so no comfort there. When I was really young Mom was still trying to make partner at her law firm, so she worked insane hours. Her mother stayed with me, and she was a big believer in tough love.”

  Grandpa offers a quick half smile and wink. “Well, tough love never hurt anyone. But sometimes it’s nice to have a little pampering. Your grandma Harriet could be mean as a hornet, but her heart got pretty mushy whenever her kids were sick.”

  I turn my face toward him as he presses the cool washcloth onto my skin with more pressure. “Yeah?” I want to keep hearing his ragged, smoky voice talk about the woman I never got to meet.

  “One time, your halfwit brother climbed into your grandmother’s old Lincoln--damn, she loved that car--and he proceeded to eat three blueberry pies your gram baked that day for a church bazaar. She even picked the damn berries herself. She was pissed.” He leans back and his eyes go soft and dreamy, like he can see her in his mind’s eye, fuming over Deo’s crazy pranks. “She spanked his ass until her hand ached. And then the kid cried till he puked.”

  “Another family trait, I guess.” I smile weakly through the headache that’s clamping down on my temples like a bear trap. “You Becketts are exposing me to all kinds of crazy genetic peculiarities.”

  Grandpa rocks back and forth as he laughs. “That’s for sure, sweetie. Maybe you better run back east before you start getting to the really crazy stuff.”

  I reach a hand out and grab his tight. “Nah. I like a little crazy to shake things up.” I roll onto my side and squeeze his fingers. “So Deo was getting a solid ass-whooping from our gram?”

  “Oh! Yeah.” Grandpa’s eyes sparkle. He’s definitely enjoying this more than any jolly grandfather should. “So the fool had gotten his spanking and cried until he made himself sick. At first I thought your grandmother would have no patience for his crap. But she saw that her little angel was sick, and she whisked him off to bed and showered his spoiled ass with treats. That little brat ate all her pies and puked on the bathroom rug, and he got treated like a raja for the day.”

  I snuggle down into the pillow. “I like that story.”

  “It’s always nice to picture Deo getting his comeuppance,” Grandpa says. “And then it’s nice to know how he charms his way out of it. I’ll deny it if you ever repeat this, but I love seeing how that boy always lands on his feet.”

  “I agree.” We both sit in the cool, pleasant dim of the room for a few long seconds. “Grandpa?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?” He sounds old and frail, like his present voice is only a copy of a copy of the original.

  “Do we have any clue where my father is?”

  His sigh is long and so disappointed, I wish I’d let him sink into his memories for a little longer. “He’s in the area, Hattie. At least I think he is. He called a few weeks ago, but he’s been busy with some new project. Your father has strange concepts of priority.”

  “I don’t get it,” I say, staring at the ceiling in an attempt to keep the room from spinning. “How can a guy who grew up in this family with all this love wind up so...disconnected?”

  Grandpa clears his throat.

  “You know what, sweetheart? I don’t know for sure. I have a theory, and it could hold water. I think we doted on him so much, he never had to think about anyone else. Grandma and I took care of each other, and we both took care of him. Dante’s entire world revolved around him and what he wanted and needed. We encouraged him to look out for himself, but he took it to an extreme. I’ve thought this through a million times, because Dante was the kind of boy who grew up surrounded by love and loyalty, so your grandmother and I just thought he’d follow our lead.”

  “But he didn’t?” My voice is soft, because I want to listen to Grandpa tell his version of this story without jarring him out of the moment. I don’t want him to leave anything out.

  “He didn’t.” Grandpa leans closer. “One of the reasons I think he probably didn’t mention you was because his mother and I were desperate for him to get his head out of his ass and marry Deo’s mother. She’s always been such a strong, beautiful person, and once Deo was born? Harriet and I couldn’t figure out what the hell was going through his thick skull. I think he saw Marigold had us and we all loved Deo, so he was off the hook again.”

  “My mother told me that they never meant to get too serious. That she really liked him, and that I was a happy ac
cident. He told her he’d support her no matter what she decided. And she decided she wanted his baby. So here I am.” I sound sarcastic, a little bitter, and a little slurry.

  Grandpa looks at me with watery eyes and a smile so wide, it’s got to hurt his face.

  “Here you are.” He shakes my hand back and forth. “And, I have to be honest with you: Dante may not show. Or he may show and be a real disappointment. I can’t imagine what a girl would expect of a father after all these years...” He pauses to rub a hand over his face. “Whatever he is or isn’t, we love you, Hattie. And we hope you’ll keep coming back to us. We hope you know we’re your home.”

  “Of course.” I pull his hand up to my lips and kiss the wrinkled, leathery skin. I hear the din of Marigold’s party starting and groan. “Grandpa, you go have fun. Let Marigold know I’m an idiot, and I’m so sorry.”

  “She’ll bring you her magic potion, and you’ll be kicking up your heels in no time.” Grandpa leans over and kisses my forehead before he gets up, and then stops in the doorway. “Hattie?”

  “Yes, Grandpa?”

  “The boat guy, Ryan?”

  “Yes?” I hope my voice doesn’t shake the way I think it might.

  “He’s come by a few times since that night your brother spooked him. I’ve got a good feeling about that guy. Not that a good feeling from an old man means one thing or another. But I like him.”

  I hold my breath for a long few seconds.

  “Thank you,” I say finally. “And it does mean a lot. To me it does.”

  15 RYAN

  Nothing is fucking going right.

  The boat needed a few repairs Bex deemed ‘minor.’ Problem is, when you race--when I race--it’s the minor details that make every ounce of difference. The sail shape isn’t holding up. The rig tensions are off. It’s all slight...Bex thinks slight enough to not to worry about, even when it’s all exploding in our faces.