Riptides (Lengths)

by Campbell, Steph

  Then I’ll cut in and, even though I don’t have Grandpa’s ballroom moves, I’ve got some Latin sexiness that can’t be denied. I’ll dance her off her feet. I wonder if she knows how to tango. I wonder if she’ll come to our big, insane Sunday dinner.

  This is for real. Finally, when I wasn’t even looking for it, the girl of my dreams fell into my lap. And I can’t wait to show her off.

  I jog outside, whistling to myself, crack open an ice cold Dos Equis, and stand shoulder to shoulder with my nervous brother. “Cohen, relax, man. The ladies have it all tied up. This wedding is going to be fine.”

  “They let you in the kitchen?” he demands, his eyes slitted like he’s about to jump me. “They told me I wasn’t allowed.”

  I take a long pull of my beer before I answer. “Probably because they know what an anal-retentive douche you are. Mom’s already got Hattie with her little clipboard making sure it’s all ship-shape.”

  “A wedding needs to be planned,” Cohen says through gritted teeth. “And Maren’s been so cool about everything. I watched those bride shows with Genie and Cece, and Maren isn’t like any of those crazy girls demanding shit and throwing fits. I’m glad, you know? Of course, I’m glad she has her priorities straight. But Maren is really good at putting herself last.”

  I clap his shoulder and nod. “Yeah, I hear that. Maren’s so good to everybody else, it’s like she forgets to be good to herself. But, trust me, if anyone has this in the bag, it’s Hattie. She’s like——”

  My thought gets interrupted by a red ball hefted my way. Deo has his arms in the air and is screaming, “You’re high! You’re freaking high, and if you think you’re closer to the pallino, you need your goddamn eyes adjusted!”

  Ryan, Hattie’s boyfriend, stands with his arms crossed over his massive chest, a calm smile on his face. I know for sure it’s that smile that drives Deo off the fucking deep end.

  “You gonna smirk at me? Let’s settle this on the ground like men. You think you got this?” Deo drops to the ground and starts doing pushups.

  “This is crazy, Deo,” Ryan says. “C’mon, man. You win, okay?”

  “Don’t…give me…your pity…bullshit…asshole,” Deo huffs as he presses his arms up and down. “You…can’t…handle…this.”

  Ryan rolls his eyes, but drops to the ground, and Cohen and I stare. “Hattie is like the complete opposite of Deo. Are we sure they’re related?” I ask.

  Cohen grabs another cold beer and laughs. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe. But genetics are weird as hell. Look at me and you. I got my shit together, have a stable job, I’m marrying a great girl. You’re a freeloading asshole.”

  I cock an eyebrow his way. “Yeah? You wait, man. I got shit up my sleeve. Prepare for a total Enzo one-eighty.”

  “What the hell are these two assholes doing now?” Grandpa asks as he comes out of the house with a plate full of appetizers.

  I smile at the old man. “Bocce ball argument. Deo proposed they settle it by doing pushups.”

  “What the hell?” Cohen cries, throwing his hands up and gesturing to Grandpa’s full plate of delicious-smelling food. “I thought we weren’t allowed in the kitchen.”

  Grandpa stuffs an empanada de calabasa into his mouth and throws us a wicked grin. “You may not be. But my gorgeous granddaughter snuck me a plate.” He plops in a lawn chair and fishes a beer out of the ice. “You two are going to die of heatstroke!” he yells at Deo and Ryan, both red-faced and dripping with sweat. “This is like watching the Darwin Awards in progress.” He lifts his plate and sighs. “At least I have sustenance. It’s not easy watching your only grandson prove what a half-wit he is on an empty stomach.”

  A car door slams in the driveway, and Adam comes out of the house a few minutes later. By now, we’re all staring at Deo and Ryan. It’s clear they both want to quit. It’s also clear neither one is willing to be the first.

  “What’s going on?” Adam asks, chewing on a piece of jalapeno cornbread.

  “Are you shitting me?” Cohen fumes. “How the hell did you get that?”

  Adam shrugs. “Gen said she wasn’t sure if she used enough scallions. She needed a second opinion.” He chews thoughtfully and moans a little around the food in his mouth. “Yeah. This is delicious. Definitely enough scallions.”

  “Bullshit,” Cohen mutters.

  “Those two had a bocce ball disagreement, and they’ve resorted to a push-up contest to figure out who’s the winner,” I explain to Adam over Cohen’s long, pissed, very creative rampage of swears.

  “We could just measure. I have a really precise measuring tape in the car,” Adam offers like the logical thinker he always is.

  “Let it go.” Grandpa snickers. “Once they’re done with their little pissing contest, they won’t have the strength to bicker through dinner tonight, and we can all relax for once. Let an old man enjoy the small pleasures in life. Like two knuckleheads trying to out-asshole each other.”

  We all watch as the guys push up, slower each time, their fingers digging hard in the dirt, their shirts stuck to their backs. Sweat drips off their faces and plasters the hair flat to their heads. Deo looks a solid shade of beet red, and Ryan has his lips curled back and his teeth smashed together like he’s trying not to puke.

  “What if it goes to blows?” I ask. “Remember the last time they had a little friendly competition? Deo and Ryan both walked away scuffed up. Not to mention the girls flipped out——”

  Grandpa holds his hand up to silence me. “Let it go.”

  I clamp my mouth shut and am fully prepared to witness some serious heat stroke and vomit when Maren pads down across the back lawn. “Cohen, babe, do you remember what passage the rabbi wanted to use in the——what the hell is going on here?”

  Cohen spins around and Maren’s soft blue eyes, wide and full of fury, are trained on him. She rushes to Deo and Ryan, plants her hands on her hips, and yells, “Stop it! You two are not doing this again! I swear I’ll have Hattie and Whit out here so fast your heads will spin!”

  Deo drops chest-down onto the dirt and Ryan follows, letting out a long groan of relief. They lie side by side, dripping with sweat and panting hard. Maren gives them a disgusted look and turns to Cohen.

  “Are you kidding me? You’re standing here watching this?” she demands, pointing at the guys, now writhing on the ground whimpering.

  “They’re big boys, honey,” Cohen says, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist. “They can take care of themselves.”

  She bats his arm away and shakes her head. “Days before the wedding, Cohen. Days. What if they both had black eyes in our wedding photos? What if they got heat stroke——”

  “I tried to point that out,” Grandpa says like he’s some old angel in the corner instead of the devil prodding them to keep at it.

  Maren isn’t fooled for a second.

  “Grandpa, really? These idiots I can understand. But you? You should have stopped this. You should have——” Maren’s voice cuts off and she throws her hands up over her face. There are a few seconds of eerie silence before her sob stutters out, bouncing her shoulders up and down, and every single one of us jumps into panicked action.

  Deo and Ryan heave themselves up, clearly using every spare ounce of strength.

  “Maren, doll, please don’t cry,” Deo begs, clutching his stomach and breathing deep through his nose. “You’re right. You’re totally right. It was bullshit. We’re idiots.”

  “…just one day…so stressful…and I can’t…I can’t…what if it doesn’t…” Maren is crying hard, and her words are just a jumble. We look around like the band of half-wit idiots we are, not one of us able to make eye contact. Every sob, every word from Maren further solidifies what selfish dicks we’ve been.

  “Maren! Mare!” Whit bursts out of the house and Deo’s eyes go wide, like he knows damn well he’s in for it. She walks toward our little group and when she sees Maren’s face, picks up her stride. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” sh
e asks, running her hand over Maren’s dark curls.

  I couldn’t catch more than a word or two here and there, but Whit bends her head to Maren’s face and listens hard, her forehead wrinkled. She nods, hugs Maren tighter, and then, when Maren goes quiet, leads her back into the house.

  “Oh shit,” Deo says, the burn of Whit’s flaming eyes still smoldering on his skin, I’m sure.

  We all wait in choked silence until Whit comes flying back out a few minutes later, looking twice as pissed as she did before, Hattie and Genevieve hot on her heels. Rage radiates in waves off the three of them. I back away as Deo, Ryan, and Adam get scolded and shamed. The girls are like furies, fingers pointed, voices raised to a primal screech, fisted hands on hips, feet spread wide. I back away, one step at a time, but Cece and Lydia corner me before I can make my escape.

  “What the hell, Enzo?” Cece asks. “Maren is in there having a nervous breakdown. What did our asshole brother do now?” She looks at the girls, practically glowing from their rage, and turns her head to one side. “Damn. I wish I was a photographer. It’s like watching a volcano explode.”

  “Ryan and Deo got into it over bocce ball. One thing led to another, and they were in a push-up competition.” Damn, it sounds so freaking stupid, but stupid or not, this wedding is driving this group of women to crazy places I can’t even hope or want to understand. “They wouldn’t stop, and they were in pretty bad shape by the time Maren got out here.”

  Lydia snorts and rolls her eyes. “This is exactly why I can’t date guys my age. A woman needs to be with a man at least ten years older than she is just to have a chance at leveling the playing field when it comes to maturity.”

  “So says the woman who’s forty-something boyfriend threw a hissy fit and smashed his douchey Ray Bans because his BMW got a scratch on the bumper,” Cece murmurs to me.

  I try to cover up my laugh by taking a sip of my beer. “Look, it’s none of my business, but I think Maren freaked out. I get it. It’s her big day. But, c’mon. They were just messing around.” I can tell by the way Cece and Lydia stare over my shoulder that I’m in deep shit.

  I turn and see Cohen, his face purple, his fists clenched. “You don’t fucking get it, man!” He gets in my face, and I know this is about way more than what I just said, but I let him have it out. “Maren’s happiness means everything to me! Everything. And I would take a knife in the gut before I’d see her upset for a second. I should have stopped them. I should have been thinking about her.”

  “You are, man. You always are,” I assure him. My brother’s scowl falls, and he’s instantly left looking tired and beat-down. “I’ve never seen two people take care of each other the way you and Maren do. She knows that. It’s just that it’s real stressful right now.”

  Cohen seems to calm down. He rubs the back of his neck.

  “Listen to Enzo,” Lydia says in that matter-of-fact big sister voice that sets us all on edge. Especially because she’s usually right. “Maren needs you to go inside and calm her down. Do what it takes.” She raises an eyebrow when he stares on her. “Well? Go. Now. Don’t let this spiral out of control even more.” She shoos him to the house and Cece and I grin at her. “What?”

  “Sometimes you being the bossiest person alive is actually a really good thing. That’s all,” I say and wink at Cece.

  “Agreed.” Cece glances down at her watch. “Shit. I left taco shells in the oven. I have to go check on them.”

  She runs back to the house and Lydia and I watch the scene below. Adam, Deo, Grandpa, and Ryan all hang their heads, but the girls look like they’re done with their tirade.

  “Times like these must make you happy you’re single,” Lydia observes.

  “Who says I am?” I take another pull of the warmed dredges of my beer and watch Lydia grab two fresh cold ones. She hands one to me.

  “Spill?” She cracks hers open and gulps it down. It makes me laugh, since she’s usually sipping all dainty on some snooty glass of wine that costs what I make in a month.

  “You guys will meet her soon,” I promise, liking that I have a little bit of a mystery tucked away for all of them.

  “Ugh. Sunday dinner? Enzo, remember what happened when Cohen brought Maren to Sunday dinner for introductions? Nana kept pinching her and telling her what nice birthing hips she had.”

  We both chuckle at the memory. “Nah. Not Sunday dinner. The wedding.”

  Lydia’s eyebrows crash down over her eyes. “The wedding? You’re going to introduce us all to your new girl at the wedding? You realize that this craziness is only going to get more intense the closer we get to the big day. You sure your girl can handle it?”

  “Oh, I’m sure.” I can’t help the stupid grin that spreads over my whole face. “This girl——she isn’t like anyone I’ve ever been with before. There’s something about her that…you’ll see. You’ll like her.”

  Lydia’s purposefully bland face lets me know that she doubts it. “Really? You thought I’d like the exotic dancer too.”

  “Hey. You and Cece are always going on and on about women’s lib and all that, and here you are, judging my ex based on her profession.” I tsk my tongue and drink long and hard enough to get a nice cool buzz going.

  “Wrong. I’m just identifying her based on her profession because, frankly, that was the most interesting thing about her. She was barely literate and had zero opinions that made any sense. Talking to her was painful. And, trust me, I’m not blaming her profession for that. A good chunk of my graduating class put themselves through law school stripping, and they weren’t idiots.” Lydia glanced down into her beer with this contemplative look. “I’m glad you want us all to meet her. I’m excited for you.”

  “You pulling my leg?” I ask, but Lydia shakes her head.

  “No. I’m serious. You deserve someone you’re proud of. Someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. Don’t ever stick around with anyone who puts you on the backburner, okay?” It’s weird as hell hearing my fearless sister get all soft and gooey, and I don’t like it. For many reasons.

  But the reason that sticks out most is balding with the beginning of a potbelly and a way of snapping at Lydia that never sat well with me. I guess I always just assumed she could handle herself——handle anything. That’s who she is. Now I wonder how much is a put-on for all of us.

  “You need me to go toe-to-toe with your old-ass boyfriend? Don’t think I won’t fight him because he’s elderly. I have no morals when it comes to defending my family’s honor.”

  I half-expect her to snap at me and march back into the house, but she just gives me a sad smile. “Trust me. Richard isn’t worth your time or energy. And I’m just fine. I have my eyes wide open, Enzo. Some people get true love with all the bells and whistles. Some people get security and companionship. That’s enough for me.” She drowns the rest of her beer in a few desperate gulps and glances back at the house. “I’d better go help mom.”

  She squeezes my arm, and I’m shocked to realize how small and frail my big, bad sister’s hand is. When did she stop being the annoying older sister who could trap me in a headlock and drag me around the house while she found Mom so she could tattle?

  I think about what she said, about true love versus security, and I say a low prayer of thanks that I got a chance at both. I say a follow-up prayer that I don’t somehow fuck it all up.

  SIX

  Jess is snuggled in my arms, my freshly washed sheets tangled around our legs. I guess I’ll need to wash them again, but I know I’m not gonna want to lose the scent of her.

  “Mmm,” she sighs, inching closer. “That was——”

  “Amazing? Mind-blowing? Out of control?” I supply.

  She tilts her delicate face up and a smile spreads across those plush lips. The same ones that were doing some very naughty things to me mere minutes ago. “Pretty good,” she says as she stretches.

  “Pretty good? Pretty good, huh?” I run my fingers over her exposed ribs, and she buckles
over, laughing hard.

  “Stop!” she squeals, then glances at the gold watch that’s always secured around her wrist.

  “A watch?” I frown, tugging at her arm. “Don’t you have a phone? What do you need this for?”

  “Are you hating on my watch?” she asks, a giggle erupting from her lips. I duck my head down and catch her mouth, pressing my lips to hers until that giggle turns into a moan.

  Just when I’m sure she’s going to let me do everything my perverted mind has been imagining, she pulls back and checks the watch again. This time her moan turns to a frustrated groan.

  At least she sounds honestly frustrated. That makes me feel good. And gives me incentive to try harder to keep her in bed. My hand slides under the crumpled folds of the sheet, and my fingers brush over her warm skin.

  “Enzo, I really have to go. I do. I’m late already, and I have a delivery——”

  “Who even wears a watch anymore?” I ask, grabbing her hands and holding her arms locked over her head. “All it’s doing is causing us trouble. I need to remember to hide it next time you come by.”

  Her eyes startle wide. “No.” The word cuts out sharp and fast. “I mean, it’s special.”

  I let her arms go and we both look at the watch, which is pretty ordinary looking to me. She runs her fingers over the bubbled glass face lovingly. “It was my grandmother’s. She left it to my mother when she passed. And my mother gave it to me before she…” She swallows hard and tears shimmer at the corners of her eyes. “Damn, I’m sorry. It makes me emotional. Stupid. It’s been years.”

  “Your mother passed?” I ask, curling her into my arms. My heart breaks watching her face shadow with a sadness that I thank God I haven’t had to experience yet. I wish I could pull the pain out of Jess’s body and hold it myself. It kills me to think of her hurting.

  She nods and brushes her dark hair, damp with the tears she couldn’t hold in, back from her cheeks. “I was in eleventh grade. My father had been out of the picture for years.” She shrugs, and I run my hands up and down the delicate bumps of her spine. “It was just…it was a really lost time in my life. Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly found my way after.”