by Jillian Dodd
Brooklyn says, “Go to Davey’s, tell him I sent you, and tell him to fit you for a board. It’ll be perfect for you. The guy’s a genius.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks. So good to see you both, but I have to get going.”
“I saw you doing cartwheels all the way down the beach earlier. What’s gotten into you?” Brooklyn asks me as Vincent strolls off.
I jump into his arms and kiss him. “It’s my birthday, and I’m happy, and I’m in love with this amazing guy.”
“Happy Birthday, Keats. Was I the first one to tell you?”
“You were, but I’m still kinda mad you wouldn’t come see me.”
“Tommy would probably kick my ass if he found me in your bed.”
“B, we spent the summer together. They know we sleep together.”
Not that we have lately. Does jet lag really affect a boy that much?
He runs a couple lazy kisses up my neck. “Did the munchkins run in your room this morning and tell their Kiki happy birthday at the crack of dawn?”
I laugh because they did. “Yeah, they did. Six a.m. All piled on my bed and yelled, Happy Birfday, Kiki! They threw homemade birthday cards and confetti at me. It was adorable.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t. Come on, let’s get out there.”
We grab our boards and paddle away from shore.
I love everything today. I love being out in the water. I love the way the waves feel under my board. I love how the sun feels warm on my head. I love how I feel both confident and scared to death when I ride a wave back into shore.
As I watch Brooklyn catch a wave, I think about our relationship. I didn’t care that much about labeling it before, but now that everyone keeps asking what our status is, I’m starting to want to know too.
He paddles next to me, leans over the side of his board, and kisses me.
“I can’t wait to give you your present tonight.”
“Just what do you have planned exactly?”
“It’s a surprise,” he yells as he paddles off again.
Friday, August 19th
Calm, easy, chillness.
11:20am
I’m sitting at the kitchen island eating a bowl of cereal even though it’s almost noon. I’m alternately thinking about Brooklyn and my upcoming parties.
Mom and Tommy walk in talking. “I didn’t think we’d ever get them all down for their nap.”
Mom sits down at the bar next to me and Tommy spreads a script out across the kitchen table.
Mom interrupts my thoughts—or reads my mind; I’m not sure which. “So, are you excited for your dinner tonight and for your party tomorrow?”
“I’m totally excited for the party.”
Then she gets to what she’s really dying to know.
“So . . . how was your night with Brook last night? James told me you didn’t come in until eight this morning.”
“It was good,” I say dreamily. “And yeah, we watched the sunrise.”
“So what else happened? I thought he had some special birthday night planned.”
“We just hung out, you know. Brooklyn isn’t into big productions.”
“I thought maybe he was going to ask you out or give you a ring or something.”
“A ring? Mom, I’m seventeen! I’m not really ready to be engaged.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just wondered where your relationship stands. Kym’s been watching your Facebook status like a hawk.”
I frown and wonder how she always knows what’s on my mind. “Everyone keeps asking me that, and I don’t have an answer.” I run my hand across my eyebrow. “Are you mad at me?”
“Why would I be mad at you? It’s obvious you love him.”
“I am in love with him, Mom. And he’s told me a million times this summer that he loves me. That I appreciate his love of waves, weed, and Indie rock bands. But we’re not in a relationship. He could be seeing other girls right now! And this summer was amazing when we were on the beach. We got along great, but when we were with the band, it’s like every little thing I did bothered him. I mean, can I really expect to have a long-term relationship with a guy who doesn’t understand why when you’re in Italy, you have to buy leather?”
Mom reaches out and puts her hand on top of mine. “I love the handbag you brought me back. It’s gorgeous. So classic.”
“See! You understand.” I turn and look at Tommy. “Tommy, what did you think of the shoes I brought you? Like, really?”
“They’re awesome. I love how soft the leather is, and they’ll never go out of style.”
I slide off the barstool and give Tommy a hug.
“I need a man like you, Tommy. A man who appreciates fine leather.”
Tommy pats my arm. “What does Brook have against shoes?”
“It’s not just shoes. You know how when you look nice when you travel and carry nice luggage people treat you differently than when you’re schlepping around in sweats?”
“Yeah,” Tommy says.
“Brooklyn thinks it’s stupid.”
“Well, everyone has their own opinions, baby. You’re not always going to agree on everything.”
“Do you and Mom ever fight? Does she do stuff that bothers you?”
“She drives me nuts,” he says with a grin towards Mom. “I’m teasing. We really don’t fight. We don’t always agree, but we respect one another’s opinion.”
“We fought a lot at the end of the trip.”
“Well, traveling can be stressful.”
“I know, he was stressed. But if he loved me, wouldn’t he want me to be his girlfriend? Especially since he’s leaving me.”
“Leaving you?” Mom says.
“Yeah, he loved surfing all over so much that he’s going on the pro tour. He’s going to leave me. For like a year! Wouldn’t you think he’d want me to be his girlfriend so I wouldn’t be able to date other guys while he’s gone?”
“Have you talked to him about it?” Mom asks.
“No. And I don’t know why I haven’t.”
“You don’t want to talk to him because you’re afraid that if you do then he will ask you out, and then you’ll think he only did it because you made him.”
“Yes! That’s exactly right. And I don’t think he’s coming to my party, Mom.”
“Not coming to your party? Why not?”
“When we were in London, we went to this amazing discotheque, but he wouldn’t dance with me. He left early. Said it was too loud, too crowded. He got really mad at me because some guy’s hands were all over me when we were dancing. We were just dancing. I told him if it bothered him, he should dance with me. But he wouldn’t. And now he doesn’t want to come to my party for the same reasons. And he has no idea how crucial it is for him to be there. All my friends will be there, and this is that pivotal moment—the climax of the script! Where my worlds are supposed to come together.”
“Your worlds?”
“Yeah, sometimes I feel like I live separate lives. I have my school friends, and then I have my surfing buddies. I invited them both to the after-party, so they could get to know each other. So we could all hang out and be friends. But Brooklyn says he doesn’t like my friends. I think it’s funny that he can criticize them when he doesn’t really know them. And if I’m going to introduce him to all my friends, what am I supposed to say? What am I supposed to call him?”
“It doesn’t matter what you call him, honey. What matters is how you feel about him.”
I look at Tommy, then at Mom. “Isn’t that hard on you? You have four kids with Tommy. He’s way more than your boyfriend, but yet he’s not your husband. Heck, I don’t even know what to call him.”
“Keatyn, I hope I’ve raised you better than that. You don’t have to label a relationship to have one.”
“No, but if you agree on a label at least you both know where you stand. I’m about to make a stand with my friends. And it doesn’t help that Vanessa says being with him will be social suicide.”
>
“Vanessa said that?”
“Yeah. She also thinks it was just a summer fling to him. That I’m thinking with my heart and not my head. Do I want to commit social suicide for someone who doesn’t like me enough to ask me out? Someone who is leaving me for a year? Someone who says he’s not coming to my birthday party?”
“You have to be with whoever makes you happy. They don’t have to be famous or popular. Does Brooklyn make you happy?”
I sigh. “Most of the time he makes me crazy happy.”
“And the rest of the time?”
“He’s too chill about everything. He says I like the spotlight too much. He doesn’t like Italian leather, for God’s sake. I get pressure from him to be a certain way. He likes when I’m his little laid-back surfer girl. But, then, Vanessa expects me to be the popular bitch. And sometimes I just wish I could go to a school where no one knew you were my mom. I never know who my real friends are.”
Mom hugs me. “It’s hard to know who your true friends are even when you aren’t a celebrity. I had two best friends in high school. One of them went out with my boyfriend behind my back.”
“All I wanted to do was go to high school and be popular. Last year, it was exhausting. Always worrying about what people are going to think of what you’re wearing. Who has the biggest house, the coolest car, or the hottest boyfriend. That’s probably one of the reasons I love chilling with Brooklyn. He really doesn’t care if I’m in last season’s bikini or not.”
“Honey, if you really love Brook, don’t let your friends get in your way. Don’t worry about what anyone will think. And if you want to do something, you shouldn’t listen to your friends or your boyfriend. I raised you to be a strong, independent woman. Be one.”
Tommy agrees. “You have to be your own person. Your true friends will be there for you no matter who you love or what you wear.”
“That’s the big question then, isn’t it? Who are my true friends?”
Mom nods and changes the subject. “So what did Brook do last night that was special?”
“He ordered in all my favorite foods. There was whole wheat veggie and ricotta cheese pizza, sweet and spicy chicken from Wong’s, corn dogs from the Venice beach vendor, and he even got me a seven layer chocolate birthday cake.”
I don’t tell her the rest. That we decided to start with the cake. He lit seventeen candles and told me to make a wish. I wished that someday soon I would know who my real friends were.
Then he fed me cake. In bed. Meaning we finally had sex again.
“Well that was sweet of him. Was the food your present?”
“I guess.”
A troubled look passes over Mom’s face, but she hides it quickly with a smile. “It was sweet,” she says again, but she doesn’t look that convinced.
This is chilling?
1:45pm
“Doesn’t look like you’re gonna make soccer practice.” Brooklyn grins as he runs his hand down my naked back.
All of a sudden, he’s all into me again. But now that he’s into it, I’m not sure if I am. I feel . . . um, I sorta feel like I shouldn’t be doing it with him. I never wanted it to be just a summer fling.
“It’s my birthday week. I shouldn’t have to go get all sweaty,” I say flatly.
“No, you can stay here and get all sweaty.” He laughs goofily, like he just made up a great joke. Plus, he’s high, so he thinks everything is funny.
“Do you still love me?”
“Sure I do. I’m lucky to have found a girl as cool as you to chill with.”
“This is chilling?”
“You know what I mean—we’re chill, right? We have a good time together. We’re friends.”
All of a sudden, his chillness really pisses me off. “I’d say we’re a little more than friends, B.”
He kisses me. “Calm down. I know we’re more than friends. I just think it’s really cool that we can be both. You know I love you.”
“If you loved me, you’d come to my party.”
“I don’t want to go to a club. Stop making such a big deal out of it.”
“So if I had my party at some dusty dive bar, where someone’s always puking up beer in the bathroom, you’d come?”
“You always have fun when we go to dive bars and you know it.”
“Yeah, I do, but it’s my birthday. Is it so bad to want to get dressed up and maybe feel like the star of the family for just one night?”
“Is that really what you want? The spotlight? The paparazzi? I thought you hated that.”
“I don’t know what I want. I grew up on movie sets, and I’m pretty sure I want to start acting. I think it’d be cool to act. To play a role. I sometimes dream that I’m someone else. That I go to a school where no one knows me, and no one knows who my parents are. I used to dream of going to high school, of becoming popular, and it all happened, but, like I told you last spring, it kinda felt empty. Like I’ll never know if they like me for me. Do you think I’m a good person?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“You called me a bitch when we were in London.”
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “You’ve lived a different life than most girls, Keats. You’ve been so many places, but yet you’ve been pretty sheltered. You seem to see your life like a movie: which part should I play today? Should I be the sweet girl? The butt-kicking soccer player? The polished, mature, well-traveled girl? The chill surfer girl? We all play different roles. It’s part of figuring out who we really are.”
I think back to what Grandpa told me. How I need to figure out who I want to be.
“So which one is really me?”
“Where do you feel most comfortable?”
“With you,” I say, but that’s not really true. When I’m with him, I miss dressing up. I miss wearing heels. I miss getting all dolled up.
I kiss his neck. It tastes salty. Brooklyn smells like a combination of an ocean breeze, Calvin Klein Eternity, and weed. It might be my favorite smell ever.
He rolls over to face me and looks at me very seriously. “You’re one of the sweetest girls I know. And I think you feel most comfortable playing the surfer girl because that’s who you really are. You’re cool, chill, breezy, happy, and you like being nice to people. That’s why I hate your friends. When you’re with them, you’re different. But regardless, I’ve always maybe had a little crush on you.”
“You had a crush on me? You mean I had a crush on you?”
“No. That first day we met, you weren’t what I expected. I knew who your mom was, figured you’d be a spoiled little brat, but you were cool. And those legs. Damn.”
“You never noticed my legs!”
“Yeah, I did. How could I not? They’re like a mile long. But what I really noticed was your drive. How determined you were to learn how to surf. You crashed so many times, but you kept paddling back out there and trying it again. There’s a lot of toughness in you. I watched you for two hours until I finally decided to go out in the water and teach you.”
I run my hand down the side of his cheek. “I surfed for the first time that day. My fifteenth birthday.”
“You were so excited that you hugged me. I’ve been in love with you ever since.”
“Bullshit. That was two years ago, and you didn’t kiss me until this summer.”
“You’re younger than me. I had to wait for you to grow up a little. For both of us to grow up a little.”
I snuggle back up into his arms. My heart feels a little better. “I hope you change your mind about coming to my party.”
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Hey, I just realized something. With everything that went on last night, I forgot to give you your present.”
I can’t help it. I love presents. My eyes get big and I let out a shrill, girly giggle. “Really? Can I open it now?”
“Hmmm, maybe.” He kisses me, then leans across me and grabs something out of the drawer in his nightstand. I’m assuming it’s another cond
om.
“Here.” He holds a simply wrapped present in front of my face. “But you’ll have to wait to open it, because I have another surprise for you.”
“You do? Really?” I didn’t think he bought me anything other than the food last night.
The doorbell rings through the intercom system and I hear someone being buzzed in through the gate.
“He’s here! Hurry, get dressed!”
His excitement is contagious and I can’t help but feel like Santa Claus himself is coming over.
I throw my shorts and tank top back on.
He grabs my hand, leads me down the stairs, and says, “Open the door.”
I open the front door and see a huge, burly man, who looks a bit like Santa. Like if Santa was dark haired, covered with tattoos, and carrying a medical bag.
“OH MY GOSH! Are we getting tattoos? Like we always talked about?”
Brooklyn grins big and nods his head. “Happy Birthday, Keats! So, you wanna go first?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid if I watch you, and you even flinch that I won’t go through with it. So yes, we better do mine first.”
The huge tattoo artist’s name is Tiny. Tiny sets his stuff up on the kitchen table. Brooklyn hands him a sheet of paper with the Chinese symbol for chaos that we both want tattooed on our bodies. Brooklyn wants his tattoo on the inside of his wrist.
When we were surfing in the Canary Islands, Brooklyn crashed and cut the inside of his wrist on a rock. It didn’t really bleed, so I just did what my mom always used to do to me. I looked at his wrist and then kissed it. Ever since, he’s told me that’s where he’s getting the tattoo. That exact spot. It’s so romantic.
“Where do you think I should get mine?”
“Somewhere only I can see it.”
Tiny says very professionally, “I think a single symbol like this would look best either on the inside of your wrist or on your hip, right above your bikini line.”
“That’s where I want it. On my hip. Um, I know this is gonna hurt; should we, I don’t know, do a couple shots or something first?”
Tiny puts a clean sheet across the table and says, “I’d recommend a little medicinal weed, if you’ve got it. And, if you don’t, I can help with that for an additional fee.”
