by Deb Caletti
“I’m a sinna!” Natalie said up to the sky. “You better stay straight yourself. If I hear you use the words ‘freshman fifteen,’ I’m friend-divorcing you.”
“I don’t even know what that is,” I confessed.
“Oh, my God. They were all talking about it on the campus tours. The fifteen pounds you’re supposed to gain from dorm food the first year. If we count up all the hours we talk about food and think about food and put that same energy somewhere else …”
“Let’s have a no no-fat movement.”
Natalie stopped walking. She looked over at me, her face serious. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since graduation,” Natalie said. There she was, Natalie, another loved person to miss. Natalie had this curly, curly brown hair that she hated but you wished you had. That hair alone was character. But she had relaxed smarts, too, and she was someone who always remembered what you said, who listened. She would bring you some great book because she was a book matchmaker, because she loved books the way other girls loved clothes. And when you were sick, she didn’t even worry about catching whatever-it-was herself. She was one of those friends you knew you’d have forever. Or you hoped you would.
“Yeah. I know. All I’ve been doing is thinking,” I said.
“If I don’t do something about this now, it might be too late. Promise me you won’t laugh.”
“I promise,” I said.
We were standing out there on the sidewalk, with the marina stretched out in front of us. I tried to spot Ash’s fishing boat out there, but I couldn’t tell which boat was which.
“I think I’m in love with Oscar,” Natalie said.
A sound escaped my throat—an embarrassing bodily noise that fell somewhere between a gasp and a gulping swallow. Sometimes it was harder to keep your promise than others.
“Cricket, shit. You’re laughing.”
“No, I’m not,” I said.
“Quit it.”
“Look. I’m not laughing.” I faced her, tried to look solemn. Wrong move. The corners of my mouth were creeping up like some sadistic marionette player was yanking my strings. See? Laughing inappropriately, family trait. Mom, Ben, and me—we all had it. Probably our kids and grandkids were all destined to bust up whenever someone’s stomach growled in a quiet bookstore.
“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
Okay, that hurt. I’d always tried to be a good friend to her, as she’d been to me. It was hard too, because of Janssen. When you had a serious boyfriend, you were aware of how often your friends felt second. But Natalie put up with me and Janssen. She could handle it without getting her feelings hurt. I sobered up quick.
“Of course you should have told me,” I said. We started walking again. Natalie looked pissed. She gave me a doubtful look.
“It makes sense,” I said.
And when I thought about it, it did. All those times she’d gone to Tech Time to look at laptops … She looked at laptops a lot. But it was more than that—Oscar with his shy eyes under those bangs and that dweeby scarf he never took off all junior year, and his quick mind. He had a shyness that was sweet. Maybe even attractive. Not to me, but I could see it. If I squinted a little, ha. No, okay. I really could see it. Maybe what Gavin had said was true—after graduation you could be anyone. Or, rather, you could be you.
Natalie started talking fast. “It does make sense, Cricket. You know how hard it is to find a good guy. You look at their Facebook page, and their photo screams ‘Asshole.’ They pose with some stupid beer bottle, or with their shirt off. Or you go to Starbucks, and they order a white mocha decaf with one vanilla shot, extra foamy.”
“High maintenance coffee drinker. Reject.”
“Oscar’s picture? It’s just him, standing on a rock. He gets a regular Americano. No one has to bend over backward to kiss his butt.”
“I know. And no insistence on sushi and foreign films.”
“He’s just himself.”
“You’re right. I think Oscar is a great guy.”
It hit me then. That note. That confusing note. All those calls.
“What?” Natalie said. “What’s that face about?”
“Nothing. Really, nothing. You and Oscar—”
I stopped, now. I grabbed Natalie’s arm. “Oh, shit. Wait.” I pulled her into a doorway, under an awning. Some taffy store. Ladies dressed in pink.
“You want to go in here?” Natalie said. “I’m trying to talk to you. I don’t care about taffy.”
“No, no. Just, up ahead. It’s Dan. And his daughter. They’re sitting on that bench right there!” Right on the street. Not four feet away.
“Is that the chocoholic?”
“The other one. The one I yelled at at the golf place.”
“I wouldn’t call that yelling.”
“Shh.”
We stood with our backs to the window of the taffy shop. Behind us some taffy machine was spinning slowly and pulling a gooey pink slab back and forth, a jaw-dropping spectacle any tourist would be riveted by.
“We could be here awhile,” Natalie said.
“Shh!”
“She doesn’t seem like she likes me,” we heard Amy say.
“Who?” Natalie whispered. “You?”
I put my index finger to my lips. Quiet!
“Of course she does,” Dan said. He was turning his watch in circles on his wrist. “That was the first thing she said. That you seemed like sweet girls.”
Your Mom, Natalie mouthed.
“That was before she spent four days with them,” I whispered.
“Shh,” Natalie said. She craned her neck, listening.
“I just want to go. No one likes me here.”
“Yeah, I wonder why,” Natalie whispered.
“Shh,” I said.
Dan looked up toward the sky. “Look, Amy. You’ve got to put forth some effort, here.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” she said. “I don’t even know these people.”
Dan rubbed his forehead. He blew out his breath in a loud sigh. Finally he put his arm around Amy, and she leaned into him. “I’m sorry this is so hard for you. No one can take your place with me, right? You know that.”
“I just want to go home, Daddy.” Natalie elbowed me. Mouthed Daddy and rolled her eyes. I nodded my agreement. Natalie wasn’t the daddy’s-little-princess type, and neither was I.
“Amy, it’s important to me that you’re here,” Dan said.
“It’s important to me to go home.”
Come on, Dan, I urged. Come on. I don’t know what I wanted him to do. What could he do? Nothing, really. Some thing! Something more than this. I thought about that pamphlet, the tiki hut in sunset. Blessed isolation. For once maybe I could understand my mother’s second thoughts. Maybe she had good reason.
“They’re getting up!” Natalie whispered. “They’re coming this way!”
“Oh, shit!”
The bell on the door tinkled merrily. The smell in there—like walking into an aggressive linebacker of sugar and butter.
“How can I help you ladies?” chimed the Mrs. Claus impersonator behind the counter.
“We’ll have a pound of mixed,” I said.
Ha. Wasn’t that the truth.
I liked to imagine disaster, to see it coming. Ever since I was a kid, I was on the lookout for it. I remember riding in the backseat of the car at night on long car trips, with my parents in the front. My brother slept beside me, but I always stayed awake. I’d kick the back of my dad’s seat, to make sure he wouldn’t doze off. I guess I thought our safety was up to me. If I was vigilant, if I spotted disaster before it arrived, it would have to turn and flee. Disaster likes the element of surprise, right? So I saw car crashes and heart attacks, falls, and acts of God. But this time Mr. Disaster—the biggest asshole of all—snuck around every one of my careful moves. I didn’t even see him coming.
chapter
twenty-one
“So, a quick run-through, everyone, and then the importan
t part … Par-tee!” Rebecca said. She swiveled her wide hips a bit, and her skirts swirled. Ted whistled with two fingers, and everyone who had gathered in the darkening living room laughed. Rebecca had already lit the hanging lights over the deck, and a fire was going inside. Bunches of helium balloons were tied to the corners of the deck posts. Out on the beach Oscar and Gavin’s tent glowed, and they had a small bonfire going. I hadn’t seen them all day. After Natalie and I got back, Natalie took a walk on the beach, and I went to my room and wrote to Janssen. I hadn’t seen Ash or anyone all day, either. Now we were all here except for those three—Oscar, Gavin, and Ash. John and Baby Boo were missing too. Cruiser was tucked safely away in his kennel up in the hall, and Jupiter was in my room with a super dog chew and Rabbit. The celebration was officially starting.
“The bride and groom—” Rebecca said.
“Yip! Yip! Yip!” Ben called, and everyone laughed again.
Rebecca gave it a second try. “The bride and groom, after much discussion, have decided to have the ceremony outside on the back lawn, at seven p.m. tomorrow evening, as scheduled.”
“Oh, hell, let’s just do it now!” Dan said. He lifted Mom up and spun her around. She wore her favorite long, layered orange dress she’d bought on our trip to New York all those years ago, and her cheeks were flushed with happiness. Dan looked happy right then, happier than he had in days. I scanned the room for Amy and Hailey, who stood with their Aunt Jane over by the French doors. I looked for Ash. I wanted to see him. I didn’t want to see him.
“Is there a judge in the house?” Grandpa yelled. George grinned at him. Now that this wedding was almost here, everyone was in high spirits.
“I’m quick to judge,” Gram said.
“I second that,” Aunt Bailey said, and Gram socked her arm playfully. Gram was dressed up that night in a wild-patterned dress, and Aunt Bailey was looking fancy too. She wore a blue print skirt and heels, and her sapphire stud earrings.
“Good enough. Get the job done, Ma,” Aunt Hannah said. She stood right next to Ben, and ruffled his hair like he was still seven, even though he was taller than she was now. We loved Aunt Hannah. She was Mom’s older sister, so she was like a sensible spare mom to us. You ever needed advice, a ride, a person to interview for career day, you called Aunt Hannah.
“Witnesses!” Rebecca said. Aunt Hannah and Jane raised their hands like the A students they’d both probably been. “Make sure you have your driver’s licenses—”
“So you can drive the bride the hell out of Dodge!” Ted yelled.
Not funny, I thought.
“That’s not funny,” Natalie whispered beside me. “You know your mom—”
“I know,” I whispered back. “She prefers airplanes, though.”
“She prefers airplanes!” Grandpa shouted. Everyone laughed. I watched Mom—it could have been hurtful. But my mother just shook her head and screwed up her face in an I’m going to get you look.
“Driver’s licenses for the judge, all you smart-asses. We’ve got to make sure this is official.”
“No loopholes, Daisy,” Dan said. A look passed between them that I couldn’t read. Dan leaned in and kissed her. Amy was staring intently at her ballet flats.
“We all clear? Then, let’s turn on the music and dance,” Rebecca said.
Ted flung open the French doors, and we all moved like cattle out toward the deck. I could smell chicken barbecuing. I saw him. Ash, manning the barbecue. His lean waist, and those wide shoulders.
“I can’t hear a thing,” Mr. Jax said next to me as we pushed forward with the group. One of the arms of his sweater lay limply across his cast. “What’d she say?”
“We’re all done,” I said loudly to him. “We’re going to have dinner now. Dance.”
“Ants?” he asked.
Mrs. Jax was on his other side. She wore a lavender dress with a sparkly pin at the shoulder, and small, tidy heels. “William, really. Turn it up.”
“It is up.” He seemed to hear her just fine, but he could probably read her lips after sixty years of marriage.
“Give me that,” she said. “You don’t even know how to turn it up. Or where the gravy boat goes after all these years. Or how to make a pork chop.”
“I make a fine pork chop. If you’d stop with your gabbing and interfering.”
Things were getting a little heated. Dan was glancing over. Jane, too. They looked alarmed. Like they’d never seen their parents argue before. Ted carried out a huge platter of chicken and set it on one end of the table, next to the salads and breads Rebecca had brought out.
“Food, everyone!” Rebecca called.
“Am I going to have to take care of you for the rest of my life?” Mrs. Jax snapped. She reached toward his ear, popped free his hearing aid. “Look!” She held up the small, pink offending object. “The volume is set at low!”
“Give me that,” he said. He tried to snatch it back, but she held it away. The music blasted on. It was some goofy eighties dance cha-cha. Come on, everybody, let’s do the conga … Ash must have felt my eyes. He turned away from the barbecue and stared at me, and a rush of warm-energy-thrill toppled every sort of certainty I’d managed to build.
“I’m fixing it, you old fool,” Mrs. Jax said.
“Who you calling a fool?” He heard that perfectly too, even with the music blaring now. He lunged for her arm again with his good left, and the hearing aid flew with a small pink mind of its own. It rose high and then lost the thrill of flight, descended and bounced on the edge of the table and rolled underneath.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Mrs. Jax said, proving to me forevermore that it always, always took two people to screw things up.
Dan was now conga-ing Mom happily around the crowd, and Mrs. Jax’s floral rear end was sticking out from underneath the drooping table cloth. Dan stopped Mom mid-dance, and they all started hunting around for the little hearing aid. With the situation under control, I moved away—Natalie was talking to my brother, and Ash stood alone, the kind of alone that was an invitation. And then I noticed that Hailey had her palms pressed against her eyes. Her shoulders were bent over. She was crying.
“Hailey?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
Amy stood beside her. She was still punishing me with silence and with twelve million miles of icy terrain.
“Gavin says he thinks we need to slow things down. The whole thing with my father freaked him out….”
“Well, I can understand….”
“He’s probably just got someone else. Does he have someone else? Every girl he knows is probably after him,” she cried.
I kept my mouth shut.
“You have someone else,” Amy said. “What about Brad?”
She had a point. “Right,” I said. I nodded to Amy. This second of agreement between us opened a possible door, a secret entrance to the icy land, and I opened my mouth to apologize to Amy, to make some outreach, but just as I did, her stupid phone rang again. She answered, plugged one ear, and turned her back to us so that she could hear over the pounding music.
“Do you want me to call Gavin?” I asked Hailey. “They were supposed to come to this thing tonight. He should be here soon. You guys could talk….”
Amy turned back around. She handed her phone to her sister. “Mom,” Amy said.
“For God’s sake!” Hailey shrieked into the phone. Her tears were gone. She’d gone from a sad, drippy rainfall to a raging hurricane in less than a second. “I’m not taking your calls for a reason! We’re away from you for five minutes, and you think we’re in danger of completely fucking up our lives!”
Amy gasped.
“No,” Hailey said. “I will not take Amy to the airport. I don’t care if Amy wants to go home. I want to stay! No, I am not on some kind of drugs!” Hailey held the phone over her head. I could hear a voice way up there, a shrill, panicked Mom-God voice, a tiny but all-powerful phone trill coming out of that speaker. “Blah, blah, blah,” Hailey said.
�
�Give me that,” Amy said. She grabbed for it. Here we go again, I thought. It was bound to go flying just like that hearing aid, but I was wrong.
Hailey brought the phone back down to her ear. “I’m running off and getting married, Mother,” she said. Then she flipped the phone closed and chuckled. “That’ll get her riled up.”
“Oh, Hailey,” I said. I was shaking my head, No, no, no. “I think you better call her back. You need to tell her—”
There was a crash then. A small yelp and a cry. Ted’s butt had joined Mrs. Jax’s under the table, and as he backed out, he lifted the table up ever so slightly with his weight, tipping it enough so that the chicken plate started to slide, caught by Grandpa, but not before a few pieces had dropped to the ground. The other dishes slid and banged and gathered together like a sudden food traffic jam.
“Ow, shit!” Ted rubbed his back, but he held the hearing aid up like a winning lottery ticket.
“Whew!” Rebecca said. “Near miss.” She rubbed her temples. We were stressing the poor woman out.
“You!” Hailey said suddenly. I followed the direction of her finger. Gavin and Oscar had arrived. They had both dressed up too. They were wearing their button-up shirts and good jeans. Oscar’s blond hair was combed down and shiny. They were heading our way.
“You,” Gavin said as they approached us. “Father or no father.” He took Hailey in his arms and kissed her then, right there in front of everyone, and it was a bold move, but kind of revolting, too. I’d never seen Gavin kiss anyone before, and maybe it was like watching a relative making out. I averted my eyes, and they landed on Oscar, and before I could take in what was happening, he followed Gavin’s lead as he had always followed Gavin’s lead as long as I’d known them.
“You,” he said to me, and suddenly his mouth was on mine, Oscar’s mouth, a mouth I didn’t want at all, and it was the same feeling you get when you are at some buffet and you eat some slightly unidentifiable food you think is one thing but is another. Mayonnaise, but it’s horseradish. Potatoes that are actually parsnips. There’s the shock, and then the urge to spit it out. It doesn’t necessarily taste bad, but you hadn’t expected it, and to your stunned mouth it’s just wrong.
