Homesick.
For someone like me, surrounded by so much family all the time, the idea is pretty alien. It occurs to me that I’ve never really been away from “home.” Not in any significant way. I’ve gone to LA, but even then there were cousins and aunts and uncles crawling all over. I’ve lived in different sections of the same area of the same state all my life.
But I get that it would suck. I mean, it’s a stretch for me to imagine it, but I try and it seems pretty damn shitty. The shittiest part about it? It means that “home” is somewhere else for Jess.
Which is strange, because I’d been picturing “home” as right here in Silver Strand for me and Jess. I knew for a fact she’d fit in, no problem. She’d compliment my life. Add to my circle. Make me feel like the hero who gave her a chance at a real family to make up for what she lost.
Would I be willing to move wherever that homesick feeling takes her? And would the move leave me with that same unanchored feeling that tugs at her right now?
Could I trade the swell of the ocean for the unyielding rock wall of some inland mountain town? Could my life be whole and full without seeing my aggravating siblings and overbearing parents around the table on Sundays?
Jess snores softly, and I look down into a face I love, but don’t really know. Maybe I will know her better soon. Maybe, someday, she’ll be able to say, “Remember when I thought I was homesick, but I was really exactly where I’d always belonged?”
I pull the blankets tighter around the two of us and stare at the violent rush of stars in the scrubbed sky, hoping I’m right.
NINE
“I told you,” Cohen says, motioning around the semicircle booth. “I told all of you, no bachelor party.”
“Right, and I told you to stop wearing your vagina in public,” I say, sliding another shot toward him.
“I didn’t need all of this,” Cohen gripes, taking the shot.
In the grand scheme of bachelor parties, this isn’t really much. Ryan secured us a nice yacht, and we’re out floating in the ocean with some beers and mezcal I swiped from our father’s study and rad food. It’s mellow, but we figured Cohen wouldn’t want it any other way.
“I’d be just as happy sitting home with Maren, watching Breaking Bad,” Cohen continues, like he’s dead set on being an old, wizened Mexijew before his time.
“Kensley,” Deo coughs into his hand. Even I can’t hide the pure shock that makes me choke on my drink at the mention of Cohen’s ex——the girl who stomped all over his heart and then set it on fire just to be sure it was good and destroyed. And she did it all in the name of ‘Cohen wasn’t exciting enough.’ “Sorry, bro. Too soon?” Deo tries to smooth it over, wincing a little at his own dick behavior.
We all nod.
“See,” I say, raising my glass of mezcal. “This is exactly why you needed tonight, C. Because after tomorrow there will never be another Kensley in your life. It’s you and Maren from here on out. And that, my brother, is something worth celebrating.”
Cohen concedes with a grin and raises his glass. Deo, Adam, and Ryan do the same and we clink them together, grinning like a bunch of damn fools, confident in the fact that we all somehow ended up with the girls of our dreams.
“So, I gotta say. I’m surprised you didn’t plan the whole strip club thing,” Cohen says, leaning back and gesturing at the lapping waves.
“A little clichéd, bro,” Deo says, his eyebrows raised high like he’s offended Cohen wouldn’t have expected more from him.
“Agreed. But you know, Enzo probably could have arranged a frequent patron discount. Dating the staff…” My brother continues to ramble, but I tune him out.
“Funny,” I mutter. I know we all give each other a hard time: it’s our thing. But if I’m honest, I can’t wait for Jess to show up tomorrow and win my whole family over so they can stop seeing me as this total deadbeat who won’t ever take anything——or anyone——seriously. “Adam actually picked out a place.” Cohen’s head whips to our brother-in-law and his face goes blank with shock. “But they were booked solid.”
Cohen’s already slack jaw drops open even further. His eyes are full of that protective rage he’s so famous for. You can tell by the look on his face that he doesn’t dig the fact that the guy who voted for a strip club happens to be going home to his kid sister.
“Easy,” Adam says, tossing back the rest of his drink. “You know Tyler Malone? The celebrity chef, does all those extreme cook-off shows? Anyway, he just opened a steakhouse at the place on Camille Road.”
“At a strip club?” Cohen curls his lip. “Is that even up to health code?”
I smirk, thinking of how the action at Jess’s bakery likely wasn’t approved conduct, either.
“The kobe beef is supposed to be the best in all of LA,” Adam says with a shrug.
“And the eye candy ain’t too bad, either,” Deo jokes, attempting to defuse Cohen’s murderous stare. “But lucky for you, I’ve arranged something even better.”
He pushes himself off the vinyl booth and leaves the room.
“Please tell me he doesn’t have a naked woman back there,” Cohen says, eyes closed tight, forehead wrinkled like he’s praying there’s no girl. “Maren’s stressed enough as it is. I don’t want her worrying about anything else.”
“Relax, brother. This is better,” I say, rubbing my hands together and grinning just to make him extra nervous.
Deo reappears with a surfboard tucked under his arm.
“For you, my friend,” he says, presenting the glossy board to Cohen. The majority of it is white, but the bottom quarter is detailed with the same black paisley print from Cohen and Maren’s wedding invitations, which they’ve incorporated in all of the little details of the wedding.
“Dude,” Cohen says, running a hand through his hair. “Did you shape this?”
Deo nods, proud like a little kid who just pulled the best thing out of his backpack for show and tell. “Of course I did.”
“It looks incredible man. Wow. This is the same pattern as my vests and stuff…”
“Yeah, we had to figure out some way to justify giving you a new board as a wedding gift,” I say.
“This is so raw.” Cohen turns it over in his hands and shakes his head. When he looks up, he’s all gravelly with embarrassing emotion. Deo claps him on the back hard. “I love it. I wish I had more time to hit the waves lately,” Cohen admits.
“Got you covered there, too,” Deo says. He takes the board back and flips it over, revealing two bands of LED lights under the fiberglass. Deo pushes a button on a small remote and the board lights up red.
“You feeling red, we’ve got red,” he says in an infomercial announcer voice. He pushes another button and the lights change color. “Or blue, when Maren throws you out.” He pushes the button a third time. “Or green, when you get that final bill from the caterers and feel sick as hell. I’ve got you covered.”
“We know it’s been hard for you to find time to surf during the day, bro. Deo came up with this idea to make it a little easier to head out at night,” I say.
We’ve been night surfing since we were kids, and it’s rad to be out on the waves in the dark, letting your eyes adjust to the small amount of light from the pier and the moonlight. It’s about trusting your instincts and knowing the waves. This board is purely fun and damn impressive.
“Wetsuits are in the next room,” Ryan says, pointing over his shoulder.
“You gonna join us this time?” Cohen asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Nah, I’m gonna pass on this one, you guys go ahead,” Ryan says, shaking his head and holding up his hands.
“That’s right, you don’t want to get your feet wet, pretty boy.” Deo gets that gleam in his eye he had at the bocce ball pit, and I half expect him to start in with some one-armed pushups any second now.
“Exactly,” Ryan says, heavy on the sarcasm. “I raced yachts and joined the Coast Guard because I don’t like getting into the ocean. Ac
tually, it’s lying on the board, looking like a wounded seal at dusk that’s making me think ‘no.’ I’m just not interested in becoming a bioluminescent snack.”
“Most sea creatures that prey on bioluminescent animals live in the deep waters. Hence, the need to glow.” Adam explains, his voice going into lecture mode. My sister thinks it’s adorable. It reminds me of my fifth grade science teacher, which makes me feel immediately sleepy.
“Right. Well, as long as the boards are decently safe.” I joke. “If you want to surf, you need to accept the fact that you could wind up bait. Totally worth it.”
“But don’t you guys ever get tired of spending all your free time surfing?” Adam asks, his voice nonjudgmental. It’s like he’s collecting information for a survey or something.
The three of us turn toward him in slow motion, like we can’t register what he’s asking.
“Never,” Deo says, his eyes round and bugged out. “Surfing…surfing is… how do I say this?” He turns to us, sort of panicked.
How do you talk about something you love so damn much, it’s just a part of you? Everyone starts talking at once, trying to find the right words to explain what we feel when we’re out there, but I go for the simplest route.
“Surfing is like sex,” I interrupt, and decide to put my answer into terms every red-blooded man in the world can understand. I look over at Adam and grin. “You get tired of doing that?”
A red hue spreads across Adam’s already tanned face. “I don’t think it’s the same thing.”
“It is,” Cohen says, backing me up.
“You don’t get it because you surf as a hobby. For fun,” I say, not able to keep the derision out of my voice as I glance at both Adam and Ryan. “The way we surf is like…think about the best sex of your life.”
“And don’t you fucking say a word about my sister,” Cohen warns, jabbing his finger at Adam.
Adam folds his arms across his chest, looking pretty fucking pissed by Cohen’s threats.
“You know at the end of marathon sex, how you want to just suspend time? How you wouldn’t change any bit of it, even if you could?” I ask. Deo whoops, then glares at Ryan when he says, “Oh, hell yeah.” Adam keeps his mouth shut and a wary eye on my brother.
“Easy, Enzo,” Cohen says, punching my arm with just enough force to deliver a warning. He’s clearly uncomfortable with my train of thought, but I do have a point, and everyone on the boat knows it.
“It’s always new, even when it’s with the same person, right? Every time.” I keep going, thinking of Jess, the way she feels, the way she smells, the way I’m so damn addicted, it’s not funny. I’d never admit it here, but I think I might be able to give up surfing for her. That’s how bad I’ve got it. “You always look forward to it, and you sure as shit never go home saying you’ve had enough. You can be so tired and sore you can barely walk, but you aren’t going to turn it down. And when it’s finished, when you catch that perfect wave——”
“It feels like when you have to blow your load, but you’ve been gritting your teeth, waiting it out so it’ll feel that much better for everyone involved. And even if it only lasts two seconds——which sucks because your wife can come multiple times and it just keeps going for her—— dammit it feels amazing when you finally get there,” Deo interrupts, then treats us all to a lewd and hilarious pantomime of his explanation.
“Alright. I follow you now,” Ryan says, nodding with a shit-eating, antagonistic grin. All the mellow fades out of Deo’s face and is replaced with a flare of temper that makes me edgy. Maybe it’s extra weird because Deo is always so damn chill. Holy shit, Ryan knows how to get Deo worked up.
“The point is,” I say, trying to turn this conversation around before it turns to blows. “It’s better than any gym any day.”
It’s a low blow to two dudes who are clearly into their workouts, but the truth hurts sometimes. Adam and Ryan seem to accept that truth and keep their mouths shut and nod grimly.
The waves are sweet and easy tonight. Ryan and Adam stayed on the boat after we docked while me, Deo, and Cohen paddled out into the darkness. It feels like old times, even if this time, Cohen’s board is tricked out with LED’s and the water below us is illuminated in a purple hue.
There’s something incredibly humbling about the ocean. Something that can make me feel both unbound and insignificant at the same time. The power of something so much bigger than me is an incredible rush.
“You remember the stories Pop used to tell us about G-land?” Cohen asks. The three of us are sitting side by side on the middle of our boards, our feet dangling into the calm blackness of the water below. “How the wind would blow offshore and make the swells gnarly as hell?”
I nod. “Dad used to be one rad surfer, huh? Too bad we never got to see him that way.”
Cohen was the one who taught me to surf when we were kids, and my dad taught him——before he became a workaholic and spent his days locked away in his office figuring out how big of a profit he could rake in off of the holiday sale on curio cabinets. G-Land is prime surfing real estate off the coast of Bali that was discovered by some old school surfers back in the early 70s and then turned into a surf camp. The waves there are total world class. Someday, I want to ride them.
“Wait,” Deo says, finally processing our whole conversation. “Padre Rodriguez has been to G-land?”
Cohen smiles proudly and says, “Yep. He was in one of the first core groups to go exploring there.”
“No fucking shit.” Deo’s voice is low with wonder. “No way. That uptight——”
“Easy on the old man. He had his day,” Cohen warns, always protective of our father.
“And what the hell happened to him? Marriage. Kids. All the things that suck your soul,” I joke.
“And in return, you get someone for the rest of your life that will suck your——”
“Alright, Deo, I think it’s past your bedtime, let’s paddle back in,” Cohen says with a laugh.
“One more wave,” I beg, just like when I was a kid and they’d have to scream and threaten to get me out of the water. “This one will be good, I can feel it.”
It’s bullshit, really. The waves are basically nonexistent tonight.
“You know I’m in,” Deo says. “Come on, bro, it’s your last wave as a single man!”
“In,” Cohen says.
We all change direction and paddle further out into the ocean. There’s a tug on the boards as a strong rip current pulls us into a small channel, perfect to get us back into the sets. I push my weight onto the front of my board and duck dive under a set. I close my eyes and feel the wind on me, shifting the current of the particle-charged water below me. I watch the wave forming in the distance and paddle a few strokes closer in my own silent way of calling dibs.
Cohen and Deo catch on and bail out, letting me have this rogue monster for myself. I press my palms into the flat of the board and pop up. The section I’m in picks up a lot of swell and the ride is pure euphoria. I’m disconnected from every worry weighing down on my life and completely tuned into the ocean and its pull.
Even though it’s not a world class barrel, I let it bend around me, riding inside as it splits off into another section, and then another. The barrels are more intense with each split, and it feels never ending in the best way. It’s me, out here on the ocean alone, and it’s so damn perfect I don’t want it to end.
When I finally paddle back into shore, Deo and Cohen are waiting for me on the sand.
“Money Trees,” Cohen says, staring out at the waves, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.
“Huh?” I ask, plunging my board into the wet sand and peeling off my wetsuit.
“That swell you were in. Dad used to call that Money Trees. How it split off into at least three different sections. Unbelievable. I wish I could have caught that one.”
“I should have given it to you,” I say, guilt washing over me. “It’s your bachelor party.”
&
nbsp; “Nah, I’m glad you caught it. That feeling you have out there on the wave, that total fulfillment that borders addiction? I get that every damn time I look at Maren. I’m good,” Cohen says. He looks happy.
But he also looks at me with a twinge of pity.
Fuck.
“Same,” Deo pipes in, pulling his board out of the sand.
And suddenly the rush from that incredible wave is pulled under by a riptide of jealousy over the fact that these two assholes have something I want so damn badly.
Something I can’t yet call mine, because I have yet to crack the code to Jess’s heart.
TEN
I stop by to pick Jess up at the bakery. As soon as I open the glass door, I can feel something is off. The place has a low buzz, like I can feel the swirl of anger and argument before I hear it.
Or overhear it.
I recognize the other voice, the woman’s voice that isn’t Jess’s, but I can’t immediately place where I’ve heard it before. I stand still in the hall.
“…think what? You can run away? Dump an old life and start a new one fresh? Sorry, sweetie, but it just doesn’t work like that.” The other woman’s voice has the flat, nasal tang of the Midwest, and her words shoot out fast around the piece of gum she’s chewing.
“No. Not at all. Who’s running, Des? Here I am. Right here where I’ve been, sitting like a bump on a damn log, waiting. Jesus, running sounds like a nice change.” Jess’s voice drags, like she’s bone-tired.
Her business has rocketed in a huge way. I’m proud of her, even if it’s irritating to have to share her with all these new clients latching onto her for her crazy skills. I want to let her know that I’m here, but Jess has been jumpy about me showing up at her work. If this wasn’t for Maren, I wouldn’t have bothered. But I have to drop something off for the wedding. Also, obviously, I want to know what’s going on with her, even if it’s none of my damn business.
Riptides (Lengths) Page 8
