“Thanks, Nan.” I feel so grateful to be here on this day, when her own light is so bright.
I point to the box. “What have you got there?”
“Oh, I just wanted you to have a few things.” She props open the lid and pulls out a handful of yellowing photographs. They’re pictures of my grandmother and grandfather on the beach at Coney Island. I flip them over for the date: July 1964.
My grandfather’s stretched out on his stomach in the sand, a pair of aviators resting on his curly dark hair and a sleepy grin on his face. My grandmother—who looks so young and so much like Audrey Hepburn here, it’s crazy—lies with her head on his back, a thick hardcover book resting against her chest, smiling up at the camera. It’s amazing how modern they look, though my grandmother’s white two-piece bathing suit has a high waist and is cinched with a thick gold belt.
It occurs to me to get my camera, to capture more of my grandmother’s life on a day when she’s happy and lucid. I run into the kitchen, fish it from my bag, and run back into the studio. I switch it on and focus on her.
“Do you remember what you were reading?” She can remember so much more of her past than she can of the present. I want to keep her talking, keep her happy and sounding like her old self for as long as I can.
She takes back the photograph and studies it. “Oh, it had to be The Group,” she tells me. “My girlfriends and I were all reading it. I’m surprised your grandfather looks so happy here. That book made me so mad at him. Well, at all men.” Winking at my mother, she adds, “It’s a miracle you were born the next year.”
My mother laughs. “Judging by how often you two locked me out of your room, it’s more of a miracle that I only have two brothers.”
“What was it like back then?” I ask. “Dating, I mean. Or relationships. Did you have a lot of single friends?” I want to ask if it’s always been like this—confusing. Exhilarating.
She shakes her head. “We all married young. Your age or younger. But maybe that was a little like dating.”
“What do you mean?”
“It took me a long time to get to know your grandfather,” she says. “We were practically strangers when we got married, but that’s what you did. You wanted someone, and then you married him. If you were lucky, you fell in love.”
“I don’t know if that’s everyone’s experience,” says my mother.
“Maybe not.” She takes back the photographs, closes the box, and hands it to me. “There’s a movie reel in there, too,” she says. “It’s from the march.”
“Jesus, Nana.” I practically start to drool. “You have film from the march on Selma in here?”
She nods. “I think it’s the day I fell in love with your grandfather. I mean really in love.”
“You were already pregnant with me!” my mother exclaims.
“What happened that day?” I think about Ethan because I can’t stop thinking about Ethan, because I have to leave in—I check my phone—seven minutes to get him and because I suddenly see myself in the future, sitting with my own children. Will I be telling stories about him? Am I in love with him?
I don’t know. I only know I want to see him, just to sit with him, breathe the same air. Okay, maybe attack him like an expensive buffet.
“So you were pregnant when you and Grandpa marched in Selma?”
“Yes. About six months along.”
“What made you fall in love with Grandpa that day?”
She runs her hand along the edge of the box, her expression dreamy. “A policeman knocked me down by accident, and your grandfather went crazy and attacked him. Grabbed a baton right out of the officer’s hand and beat the man with it.”
“He did?” I can’t put the sweet lazy smile in the photograph together with a man who’d attack a police officer.
“He did and got fifteen stitches for his trouble,” she says. “But you know him. He can be hot-headed.”
Anxiety flares at her use of the present tense, but I don’t correct her. “I guess we all can.”
“Stan was so mad at me that day, too. He wanted me to stay home because he knew it would be dangerous. But we’d been working side by side with all the other people in the law office to organize, to help do something about the terrible situation in the South. And I was naïve. Even though I saw the news reports myself, I didn’t believe they’d do anything. I guess I didn’t believe they’d hurt a cute Jewish girl from New York.”
I imagine the crowds and the chaos, picture my grandfather as a young man so filled with protectiveness and rage that he’d go up against an officer in riot gear, with a shield and baton.
“He picked me up and carried me, six months pregnant and no feather in those days, away from the crowd.” She touches her temple. “He had blood gushing from his face where they’d split it open. And he was like . . . like he’d mow down anyone in his path, police or no police. I think he could have walked through a wall if it meant getting me to safety.”
“I can see why you fell in love with him.” Again I think about Ethan, about him lifting me, no feather myself, and carrying me into his living room. And I think about how fair he is, and how loyal. He’d do what my grandfather did. I know that much.
Suddenly, I can’t wait another minute to get to see him.
I switch off my camera. “I have to get to the airport,” I tell Nana and my mom.
“Do you want to bring Ethan back for dinner?” my mom asks, but her smile quirks, and I can see she’s teasing me, that she knows—like she always knows—what’s on my mind.
“Um, maybe another night,” I tell her and give her a kiss on the forehead. Then I kiss and hug Nana. “I’m glad you fell in love,” I tell her.
Then I run for the door.
Chapter 46
Ethan
Q: How do you like to be kissed: hard, soft or any which way?
I spot Mia’s Prius just as she swings the door open and bolts out of it. She jumps into my arms, and my duffel slips off my shoulder as I catch her. I kiss her and feel the world fade back.
We’re officially the cheesy airport reunion couple, and I don’t care.
I’m consumed by her. By feeling her body against me, smelling the clean floral scent of her hair, tasting her soft, hungry mouth under mine. Everything becomes her, and only a tsunami could bring me back to myself.
Or an LAX parking enforcement attendant.
“Take it somewhere else, you two! I am three seconds away from giving you a ticket and having that Prius towed!”
After talking with Alison this morning and telling her as gently as I could about Mia, I decided to fly back on my own. Now Alison’s hurt, which defeats the purpose of us trying to move forward, but I can’t put her first anymore. That place is taken.
“Hi,” Mia says, smiling up at me. “Where to?”
I feel like I can finally look at her without trying to hide anything. I can finally look at her like she’s mine. She looks incredible in tight faded blue jeans and a purple sweater. It’s a change from the work clothes I’m used to seeing her in. Sexy in a way that makes me think of long afternoons in bed. Which is going to happen soon and often.
My life just got so fuckin’ great.
“Mind if we stop at the office?” I toss my duffel into the backseat. “I need to grab something.”
With Vegas only days away, my preparations for the trade show are almost finished. I need to pick up the check for Zeke—the final payment for the virtual boomerang game.
Mia’s smile falters.
“What is it, Curls? Work’s not what you had in mind?”
She shakes her head. “No, that sounds awesome.”
I grab her hand, stopping her from slipping into the driver’s seat. “Mind if I drive?”
“Sure. But . . . why?”
“Safety consideration. It’s the only way I’ll be able to keep my hands off you for the next half hour.” I bend down and kiss her before she can reply, taking the keys out of her hand.
“H
ow was home?” she asks, hopping in the passenger seat.
“Inebriated in part, but also enlightening.” I pull away from the airport, and we fall into easy conversation. I tell her about my disastrous Friday night, and about how Chris has changed. Then I ask about her weekend and she tells me about Nana, and we go back and forth, catching up. When I tell her about Matt’s visit, Mia drops her face into her hands.
“Oh, God. So your family and your former coach know you rocked my world?” she says, her voice muffled.
“Yes, but it was an accident, you see.”
She looks up. “I don’t think I’ve ever embarrassed myself to complete strangers on this scale before. Not even for art’s sake.”
“Well, they’re not really complete strangers.” I’ve told her plenty about my parents and Chris. Despite the bumps we’ve had over the past weeks, Mia knows more about what’s going on in my life than Alison, or even Jason. “And they know a lot about you now. Dinner Saturday night was pretty much a press conference about Mia Galliano.”
Mia smiles. She starts to say something, then seems to change her mind. “I’m glad you got to see your coach,” she says instead, her voice soft with sincerity.
“Thanks.” We’re quiet for a few moments. The silence is comfortable, filled with only the quiet sounds of the road. Then I realize I want to tell her more.
“I never realized how much he influenced me until this weekend. Matt’s always trying to bring out the best in others—it was really apparent to me—and it got me thinking that maybe I got that from him, you know? Maybe I picked that up from him, or maybe that was already part of me and he just sharpened it, as a coach. As someone I had to listen to.”
“That’s the enlightening part of your weekend,” she says, more a statement than a question.
I nod.
Mia rests her head against the car seat and watches me for a few seconds. Then she smiles. “That’s amazing, Ethan.” Her gaze moves out the front window and she grows pensive.
“Nana’s the same for me, I think,” she says after a little while. “She kind of keeps our family history. But it’s more than that. She was part of such a big movement, something so pivotal to where we are today. I think that’s why I want to make this documentary so much. She inspires me, and I always want to be shaped by her. I don’t want her influence on me to ever go away.”
She gives her head a small shake, like she’s said too much, but I could hear her talk this way all day long. She’s smart and funny, and hotter than should be legal, but there’s an old soul inside of her. I want to protect that part of her. I want to stand guard in front of it so it’s always safe.
“You want to hear the best part of my weekend?” I ask.
She smiles. “What’s the best part of your weekend?”
“There are actually a few: thinking about you. Getting your text messages. Getting picked up at the airport. Right now . . .” I smile at her. “See anything in common?”
Putting this kind of stuff out there so bluntly is a new thing for me but it feels natural with her. And it’s more than worth the reward.
Mia takes up some slack in her seat belt and scoots up to her knees. She leans over the center console and kisses my cheek. Then she hovers by my ear, and when she speaks, I feel her warm breath.
“If you’re that easy to please, then your weekend’s going to get much better. We still have a few hours left.”
I turn and kiss her, managing to steal a taste of her before I have to look back to the freeway.
“You were right,” she says. I see a glint of desire and surprise in her eyes before she settles back into her seat. “We really are a road hazard.”
“I had it covered, Curls.” I reach over for her hand. It feels soft and so small compared to mine. “I’d never put you in harm’s way.”
“Still,” she says. “Making out while we’re going seventy miles an hour is a bad call.”
“Disagree. Dangerous make-out sessions with you give my life meaning.”
“Fair enough, but should we at least try not to?”
“Do or do not. There is no try.”
“Is that one of Matt’s sayings?” she asks, smiling.
I look at her like I’m shocked. “Curls, you know that’s Yoda!” Which is true, she does. “And you call yourself a film student.”
“I know. I’m a disgrace,” she says. “So are we doing or not doing?”
“Are you kidding me?” I tip my head, motioning her my way. “Get back over here.”
Mia laughs. Then she scoots back onto her knees, and we kiss again.
Half an hour later, we step into the Boomerang offices. On a Sunday night, with only half the recessed lights on and the expansive glass windows full of night, it’s eerily quiet and dark.
“I asked Rhett to open up for me. He’ll come back later to lock up,” I explain to Mia as we make our way to his office. I don’t bother to flip the lights on; there’s enough light filtering through the glass walls, and we’re only staying for a minute.
The check for Zeke rests on Rhett’s keyboard, just like he promised.
“What’s so urgent that it can’t wait for tomorrow?” she asks, perching on the edge of the desk.
“It’s not the urgency. We just couldn’t risk cutting the check during regular hours. Rhett came in late Friday night to do it.” I’ve told her about the situation with the virtual game and Cookie, so she knows why we had to do it this way. “Zeke and I are driving out to Temecula tomorrow to check out the game before it’s shipped to Winning Displays. From there, it’ll get trucked to Vegas with the rest of the booth.” I hold up the check. “But I need to pay him.”
“Ah,” Mia says, “got it.” But her expression clouds with worry, and I know why.
I drop the check back on the desk and step in front of her, taking her face into my hands.
“This thing with Boomerang,” I say, staring into her eyes, “the competition for the job . . . we’ll figure it out.”
After this stunt I’m pulling with Cookie, I know I’m going to lose the job anyway, and I don’t care. I know how much Mia wants to do the film of Nana, and I don’t see anymore how her winning could feel like my loss.
“But, Ethan, I—”
“It’s going to be all right, Curls. I promise.” Leaning down, I brush my lips against hers. I meant it to be a light kiss, but Mia’s mouth is firm, insistent. Her tongue slips between my lips. I pull her against me, and like the strike of a match, I’m hard for her.
“Ethan,” she breathes, and presses her hips into me.
I pick her up, and her legs wrap around me, linking behind my back. My tongue plunges into her mouth and her arms tighten around me. I’m suddenly seeing images of her laid out on this desk, naked, her legs wrapped around me just like they are now. Me, buried inside of her.
“You can’t tempt me like this, Mia.”
“Why not?”
The office lights flip on, and the brightness is blinding. Raw instinct fires through me, and I get Mia behind me in a quick move.
Cookie stands at the door, tapping her foot.
“Actually,” she says, “I can think of a few reasons.”
Chapter 47
Mia
Q: Are you easily embarrassed?
The light in the office feels bright enough to sear the flesh from my bones but not half as intense as the look of total disgust Cookie directs my way. It takes forever for my mind to process the fact that we’ve been caught. By the worst possible person.
On earth.
She steps into the office and closes the door behind her. Immediately, it feels like she’s sealed off all the oxygen in the place. My throat tightens, and every part of me goes clammy.
“Cookie,” I start to say, but she’s riveted on Ethan.
Smiling, she says, “Well, first of all, you’re fired.”
Oh, God. “No!” I exclaim. “That’s not—”
“Oh, it is,” she says, that satisfied smile glued to h
er face. “Fair, I mean. That’s what you were going to say, right?”
“If you want to know what she has to say, then let her talk,” Ethan says. He stands there, cool and upright. But I can feel the anger coiled in his body. And I know I’m the cause of it.
Cookie leans back against the door, folding her arms. Her expression challenges him to dig a bigger hole. I can’t let him do it.
“Listen,” I try again.
“I don’t need any explanations, Mia,” says Cookie, though her gaze barely flicks in my direction. For once, she’s not barking her anger, but the chill in her words is much, much worse. “I just need the two of you to leave. And I need not to see Mr. Vance ever again. Seems simple enough.”
“Why only Ethan? Why not—?”
“Fine,” he interrupts. “But answer something for me first.”
“You’re not really in a position to make requests.”
“How did you find out about Alison?”
My whole body heats, and my mouth goes Sahara dry. I reach out to touch his arm, but he moves it just as I make contact, thrusting his hands into the pocket of his jeans.
“You sound like a paranoid lunatic,” Cookie says. “You know that, right?”
“Right. I’m the lunatic. I’m not the one who pried into someone else’s life to try to sabotage his career.”
Cookie snorts. “What career? You’re an intern. You were never going to be anything else.”
A flush creeps up his neck, and he steps forward. Cookie shrinks into herself, like she’s scared he’ll get physical with her.
This is awful. I need to put a stop to it. “Please, listen—”
“And you made sure of that, didn’t you?” Ethan says. “You really get off on playing God, right? Once you got tired of threatening Paolo and Sadie, why not move on to me?”
“You have an exaggerated view of your own importance,” Cookie says. “And you’re lucky I’m just firing you. I should have you arrested.”
“Arrested? For what?”
She stalks over to the desk and snatches up the envelope with Rhett’s check inside. “How does embezzling seventeen thousand dollars sound to you?”
Boomerang Page 22
