by Alia Rose
“Is Will around?”
He nodded. “Yeah, Will’s around. I’ll get him for you. You can take a seat at the bar.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Will appeared a few minutes later. “Hey! So you decided!”
I shrugged. “I figured if I’m going to be here for the rest of summer, I might as well take you up on the offer. I could use the extra cash.”
So far I had stayed at the motel, paying weekly. Although it was cheaper than staying anywhere else, it was still money I hadn’t anticipated spending.
Will nodded. “Well, that definitely makes me want to hire you.”
I smiled.
“So why are you here?”
His question echoed in my mind for a second, and I realized I was beginning to lose sight of the answer myself.
“I’m trying to fix things with John. He hasn’t talked to me since I left for college.” I paused. “I didn’t even know he remarried.” I swallowed hard, containing my emotions. I knew Will would understand, but I didn’t want to get into it fully.
“I’m sorry, Seth,” Will said quietly. “I wondered if you knew. There were times when I wanted to reach out to you, but I just…didn’t know what to say.”
I nodded. “It’s okay.”
“You do know whose mom he married, right?”
“Yeah.” I scoffed. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Does she know?” Will asked quietly. He glanced sideways, and I followed his gaze. Paul was nearby sweeping. The thought of what a small town this was crossed my mind again.
“No, she doesn’t.”
Will let out a heavy sigh and then laughed. “Man, this is pretty messed up.”
I gave him a look. “Thanks, Will.”
“I own the place now. My dad retired last year.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised and glad for the change of subject. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” he said, a little surprised himself. “We added a restaurant, and it’s been pretty successful so far. Paul helps out sometimes, but he’s a lifeguard, so it’s mainly just me and a few workers that have been around since the beginning.” He paused. “If you’re up for a job, you found one. I could use another waiter. This has been a busy summer.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he said, smiling. “Come in tomorrow around this time, and I’ll train you.”
“Okay, sounds good.” I got up and he clapped me on the shoulder.
“Listen, keep trying with your dad. He kept tabs on you.” He smiled and then turned away from me, grabbing some remaining glasses off the bar and taking them into the back.
I was on my way out when a flyer caught my eye. In big, bold letters it said, “OPEN MIC NIGHT—THURSDAYS!” I looked at the details and continued walking out.
Now, as I walked away from the beach onto the boardwalk, I looked at Amy’s book, The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway. It was funny to me that in just a few weeks I had come to know more about Amy than I ever had about any other girl I’d dated. Not that we were dating. With Amy it didn’t matter. Spending every day with her made me realize that. Doing things the normal way didn’t work with her, and I didn’t mind. I was realizing that the normal way had never really worked well for me.
When I went back to the beach, I found Amy packing up her stuff. She saw me coming and gave me a dirty look.
“Here,” I said, handing her book back. “Stop pouting.”
“I was not pouting,” she said, putting it back in her bag. “I’m so hungry. Do you want to grab something to eat?”
We walked back onto the boardwalk and she went up to a hot dog stand. “Hot dogs okay?” she asked, already getting one.
I nodded, getting a chili dog. We found an empty bench and ate.
“So, does this count as a date?” I teased, winking at her.
She laughed. “I was just hungry, but sure.”
When we finished eating, we walked on the main road instead of the boardwalk.
It was getting darker now, but we continued walking, turning back when we reached downtown.
“So I guess that means you’ll be here for the rest of the summer,” she said somewhat randomly, I thought. I looked at her but couldn’t read her face.
“Yeah, I will be,” I answered. I could see her nod out the corner of my eye.
I thought about the night when she told me she thought I had left town. It was the first time she had shown any emotional attachment to me. Since then, I could feel it steadily growing between us, even if it was still unsaid. Sometimes the space between us was so unbearable, and I wanted to reach out to her and never let her go, but there were too many reasons that kept me holding back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Amy
I heard a knock on my window and opened my eyes, squinting into the sun’s rays. I turned my head to find Sarah standing outside with an expectant look on her face. She raised her eyebrows and knocked again. I opened the window.
“You know, most people use the front door.”
“Well, first of all,” she said as she climbed in, “I’m not most people. And second, I figured you’d ignore me if I didn’t make a grand entrance.”
I rolled my eyes at her and pulled my hair back. “So what’s up?”
She looked at me. “Well, I saw you yesterday.”
At first, I didn’t know what she was talking about. Then I thought, what did I do yesterday? Seth.
Great.
“So who is he?”
I shrugged. “Just some guy I met at the beach.” I wondered what time it was: definitely not the hour when I felt like explaining Seth. I wasn’t even really sure how to explain him.
“Well?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“Really,” I sighed. “It is not a big deal.”
“Does Kelly know?”
I shook my head. I lay back against my pillows and closed my eyes, wanting to go back to sleep.
“Yeah, I’m at Amy’s,” I heard Sarah say. “Come over. She met someone.”
I popped open my eyes and looked at Sarah. I could hear Kelly in the background squeaking and talking really fast. Sarah nodded and muttered. “I know. It’s about time.”
I tuned it out, closing my eyes again.
“Was that necessary?” I mumbled, giving Sarah a dirty look.
She shrugged, smiling.
I groaned.
An hour later, I sat in a booth at the family diner. It was Pancake Day. Every first Friday of the month, the diner’s pancakes were fifty percent off. We were monthly regulars and had eventually earned free-pancake status for being such loyal customers. Kelly and Sarah were pancake people. I was more of an omelet person.
“So what’s his name?” Kelly asked.
“He didn’t look familiar—does he live here?” Sarah asked.
I just blinked at them, tempted to walk out, but I hadn’t gotten my food yet. I liked keeping Seth a secret because I didn’t have to admit out loud how much I actually liked him.
I took a swig of coffee. “His name is Seth.”
“Oh, nice!” Kelly exclaimed.
Sarah looked at me, expectantly. “Okay?”
The waitress brought the food over, and I took a bite of my corned beef hash omelet as Kelly continued rambling on. It was going to be a long breakfast. Sarah began arguing with Kelly, telling her to stop asking so many questions. I tuned them out, and thought about the day before when I’d found out Seth was staying for the rest of the summer.
“What was that?” Sarah asked, an edge in her voice. I blinked and turned my attention back to them. Kelly just looked at me, a small smile forming.
“What?” I asked, confused. Sarah continued to stare at me like I had a wart growing on my face.
“You were smiling.” Kelly said.
I raised my eyebrows. “So?”
“You weren’t just smiling,” Sarah said. “You got this faraway look on your face and then smiled.”
> I just stared at them. Are they serious right now?
“Okay, listen. I think you two are looking way too deeply into this. So let’s just get this over with so I can enjoy my omelet.” I was starting to get annoyed with this whole situation. “He’s a junior in college, studying music. He plays guitar and piano. He’s here for the summer visiting his dad. I met him at the beach, and he likes to swim.” I paused. “Does that make everyone happy?”
Sarah rolled her eyes and Kelly inhaled sharply. “Oh! That reminds me, Amy. You missed out last night at Conner’s. The live music didn’t suck for once!”
“Really?” I said, glad for the change of subject. I glanced at Sarah for her opinion. “He wasn’t bad,” she said, continuing to eat.
Kelly nudged her. “Oh, please. You were swaying to his music too.” She turned back to me. “He was playing guitar and he sang about the beach. It was so pretty.” She closed her eyes and started humming, “the waves crashing down on me, oh, her curly hair and knobby knees.”
I stopped my fork in midair. “Wait, what are you singing?”
She shrugged. “That guy—he sang the cutest song. He played a little piano at the beginning and then the rest was guitar. It was about a girl he had met at the beach. He described her curly hair and knobby knees. I think that was the title, right?” she looked over at Sarah, who just shrugged.
Kelly rolled her eyes. “Oh, and he was kind of cute too.” I took a sip of water.
“I think he works there,” Sarah added.
“Really?” I said, trying not to choke.
“Yeah, I saw him talking to Will afterward.”
I coughed, the water going down the wrong pipe. This could not be happening.
“The crowd loved him, so maybe they’ll bring him back next week. We should go, and you’re coming,” Kelly said to me.
“Sure,” I said, picking at my food.
But all I could think about was how I did not have knobby knees.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Seth
I had only been to the graveyard once since my mom died, and that was for her funeral. My mom had never talked about death; she was always the one who lived life as though we lived forever and had all the time in the world to grow up. She was carefree on good days and always loved to be spontaneous.
Even when she got sick, I always believed she’d come out of it. Bounce back, fight it. Even now, I still didn’t understand why she let it win. It didn’t make sense that she had given up fighting for the life she loved. It killed me that I didn’t know, that I would never truly know. I took out the key from my pocket and ran my finger across it, knowing I had to face this, whether my father gave me more answers or not. I thought of him and how much we had changed since her death. I wondered what she would say to me now.
I remembered the day she died so clearly that I had no trouble finding her grave. The stone was simple. Just her name carved on it with the date. I knelt down beside it and set down the yellow roses, barely touching the stone. I let out a big sigh and sat on the ground.
“Hey, Mom,” I began, “sorry it’s been awhile...”
It was a nice night to lounge at the beach. The sky was getting black and the waves blended with it. Amy hadn’t shown up yet, which was unusual. I lay back onto the sand and closed my eyes. I started humming the song I had played at Conner’s, the new one I had been working on. The crowd had seemed to love it. Will was impressed and asked me if I wanted to play again next week.
“I do not have knobby knees,” a voice behind me said.
My eyes popped open. I didn’t respond, waiting to see if she would say anything else.
Amy continued, sitting down. “Seriously? Knobby knees? I give you advice on your music, and that’s what you come up with?”
I cleared my throat, stifling a laugh. The fact that all she thought about was the knobby knees and not that I’d had written a song about her was amusing.
“Hey, give me a break. It was my first shot at something different.” I looked at her. “The crowd really liked it.”
“I’m sure they did,” she said, snorting. “My friend wouldn’t stop talking about it. She was actually humming it.”
I continued to look at her, wondering when it was going to hit her. She saw me staring at her and looked back at the ocean.
“What?”
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
She looked back at me and lay on the sand, putting her arms under her head. We both just stared up at the sky.
“You wrote a song about me,” she said, her voice quiet.
I stayed silent, not sure of what to say. She didn’t say anything else, so I shook my head. She turned her head toward me.
“Not really,” I said. “Just about your curly hair and knobby knees.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Are you playing next week?”
“I might,” I said. “Are you coming?”
“I might.”
I could hear the waves crashing and the breeze on my face. I could just barely feel Amy’s warmth next to me and got the sudden urge to move closer to her and grab her hand. Instead, I put my hands under my head and nudged her. She nudged back. Even though it was really dark, I could make out a faint smile on her face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Amy
It was the third week of July and summer was going by fast. Back around the time of graduation, it would have delighted me to be inching closer to packing up and leaving for Chicago. But now, as I realized I only had a little over a month left, this was not how I felt. There was a tugging feeling that I couldn’t quite explain. My fear was that it had something to do with Seth. The unexpected things in life always seemed the most complicated. And Seth was definitely one of them.
So was my mom, who was now in a happier mood and warming up to me.
When I walked downstairs, I found her in the dining room instead of her usual spot in the kitchen. She was hunched over the table with puzzle pieces inches away from her face. I grabbed a cup of coffee before coming up behind her.
“Is this a new one?”
“No, just one I haven’t done in a while,” she said, not turning around and holding a piece in her hand. I joined her at the table, sipping my coffee. She looked up at me and gave me a small smile before picking up a different piece.
My mom used to love doing puzzles. When I was a kid that’s what my summers mainly consisted of. My mom always came home at the start of the summer with a stack of various puzzles that we would do over and over until summer ended. When my dad left, the puzzles were shut away, left to collect dust in a closet. I hadn’t thought about puzzles in so long. And now, seeing my mom placing a piece in a spot that didn’t quite fit, moving it and turning it until she had tried all the options, made it feel like things might finally be going back to normal. I felt a pang, knowing that wasn’t true. I watched as my mom set aside the piece, leaving it for later when she would find its rightful place. I wondered how long she would sit there, how long this image of her would last before the boxes went back in the closet.
It was then that I realized I hadn’t spent much time with her this summer. Even though there were moving boxes in my room, and she had left me to walk miles after our fight at the store, she had been there. College would be the most time we had ever spent apart, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
I picked up the piece my mom was looking for. “I think it’s this one.”
My mom looked up and took it from me.
“Yes! Thank you,” she said, putting it in place. “You always did have the better eye.”
“Just not enough patience.”
She laughed. “Well, that was a while ago. You may have more now.”
I smiled. “Maybe.
My mom returned the smile and touched my face. When she dropped her hand, her face became more serious. “Listen, Amy, I know you may not want to talk about this, but I want to give you some advice.”
I nodded, clutching my coffee cup tig
hter.
“You want to go to Chicago because you got into a competitive private university and because your father lives there. You may be closer in location to him, but just understand that he has spent the past five years building a life there without you or me. I just don’t want to see you get hurt or disappointed. So if it is more about your father than the school, you have other options and it’s not too late to change your mind.”
She lifted the puzzle boxes and slid an envelope toward me. I looked at the address logo. It was my UNC–Charlotte acceptance packet.
“Mom,” I began.
She held up her hand. “I’m not saying you need to, and I’m not saying that it is what I want. I just want to make sure that Chicago is what you want.”
She gave me a small smile. “I know you love him very much and miss him, but don’t let this be about your father.”
I sat there, stunned. I looked down at the envelope and then back at my mom. She had gone back to her puzzle, choosing the next piece. Her words echoed in my mind and I realized that although we didn’t see eye to eye all the time, she knew me and I hadn’t given her enough credit for it. Even so, I also didn’t think she was giving my dad enough credit.
“I’ll think about it,” I said. She nodded, not looking up.
I went to my room and shut the door. I walked over to my drafting table and opened the UNC envelope. Charlotte was only three hours away, and it was a state school. It had been my plan B if I didn’t get into to the Art Institute. I sighed, thinking about the conversations with my dad the past few months. He seemed excited for me to come to Chicago, and to spend more time with him. I knew my mom had a point—he was busy, I knew that. I was his daughter, though, and I was confident that he would make time for me.
And even if he didn’t, this wasn’t about him. This was about me.
I got up and walked over to my CD player, hearing the beginning of Seth’s CD. A soft piano began, followed by guitar. I closed my eyes, enjoying the music, and thought about Seth writing a song about me. I desperately wanted to know what it sounded like.
I heard a quiet tapping on the door and opened my eyes. I gazed out my window, which pointed in the direction of the front door. I could see a shadow but not the person. The shadow moved back and forth, pacing. I heard a chair scrape against the floor as my mom went to answer it. I turned, facing my doorway, wondering if it was Kelly or Sarah. I heard muttering and my mom answering, “No, he’s not here. He’s out of town for the week.”
