The Color of Us

by Jessica Park

  I am nearly naked and so exposed, yet all I can do is lose myself in this boy and believe in him the way he believes in me.

  Maybe he’s right. Maybe I am not nothing.

  As he carries me to the dock, the one he redid and made me fall in love with all over again, I shiver. Maybe from the cold, maybe from something else. He sets me down and drops my legs into the water.

  “Soon, it’s going to be too cold to swim at night or even during the day, so we have to appreciate it while we can.” He hops into the water, stands between my legs, and then opens the small tub he brought with him. “Coconut oil. I’m going to wash off tonight’s paint because you’ll kill me tomorrow if I don’t.”

  “I’d only kill you if you didn’t touch me again.”

  “Oh, so someone’s smiling again.”

  “A little bit,” I admit.

  “Be happy that I only used paint and not what I use on everybody else. Black liquid eyeliner is a bitch to get off. You’d have been sore for days.”

  “You’ve already made me sore for days,” I tease.

  His laugh brings me so much joy. “Oh, you are definitely feeling better. I’m glad. I cannot stand seeing you so sad.”

  While he strokes the coconut oil over my body, I cannot stop staring at him, watching the way he caresses me so gently and with such care. When he scoops up some sand from the bottom of the lake and uses it lightly to help remove the paint, he is even more careful.

  “You okay?” He checks in with me a few times, and all I can do is nod.

  My skin is tingling by the time he’s done washing me down, and it’s not long before we are standing waist deep in the lake and he’s dousing me over and over, erasing the awful parts of this day.

  Later, when he’s inside me, making love to me like the world is going to end, I cannot help whispering to him, “I needed that. And I need you.”

  “I’ll paint your body every day,” he promises.

  “And I’ll let you.”

  twenty-nine

  It takes days for all of us to recoup from Wakefest. The intensity of it was more than I’d expected. Paul even gave Danny and the rest of his guys the next week off when it was over.

  While they all deserve it and while I like all the time with Danny and my friends, I’m itching to keep going with the house renovations, so I busy myself with other things, mostly with trying to tackle the stupidly fancy cake with flowers.

  And it hasn’t been going well.

  “God-fucking-dammit!” I scream as I unhinge the springform pan and send liquid and flowers all over the floor.

  Slowski walks into my kitchen and winces. “Ew. Well, that’s presumably not what you were hoping for.”

  “I don’t even know how to clean up this shit.”

  He grabs a dustpan and a roll of paper towels. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll try again.”

  “This is my third time. I’ve followed the recipe exactly.”

  “Obviously, it’s a shitty recipe. Make your own maybe?”

  Okay, he’s right. Most of the reviews are a million stars, but those fuckers are wrong.

  “The ricotta part sucks too,” I yell out. “I don’t want gelatin in my cake. There’s no reason for that. It makes for a super-gross texture. And the topping recipes are obviously bullshit, so I have to add more gelatin there. You’re right, Slow. I’m going to start over. Yet again.” I dump glop into a trash bag. “Thank you.”

  “Sure thing.” He stands sort of awkwardly while I finish wiping the floor, avoiding looking at me.

  “Hey, Slowski? What’s up?”

  “I …” He falters so cutely. “I mentioned something to Mary Ann about how I miss my mom’s cooking, and it’s not as though we have a lot of Japanese restaurants around here, so I was thinking about asking her to go to Boston for a few days. Getting really authentic food there, but … I don’t know if that sounds like too much.” His nervousness is totally cute.

  I stop the scraping of the gross scum off the floor for a moment. “Well, she really seems to like you, and she’s told me how happy she is, so I don’t think you’re moving too fast—”

  “No,” he stops me. “Not because of that. Because she told me.”

  Oh, I get it now.

  “She told you everything?”

  “Yes. How she and Danny met. What she’d been through. It makes me sick. I can’t undo any of that, but I don’t want her to feel pressured to do anything. Like, do I get us separate hotel rooms or not?”

  There’s no one better for my friend than this guy, and I drop the bag, rinse off my hands, and stand. “It’s simple. Ask her, and she’ll tell you the truth. What she’s comfortable with.”

  “Thanks, Callie. I really do care about her. I have for ages. I’d been wanting to ask her out for the past year, but she never gave off any kind of sign that she was interested. When she asked me out? I nearly cried,” he says with a laugh.

  I tie up the trash bag, hand it to him, and start to scrub down the counter. “Toss this on your way out?” And while I don’t want to break any confidence, I do share with him one thing. “Mary Ann feels safe with you. And she should.”

  Before he walks away, he adds, “You’re going to conquer this weird flower-cake thing.”

  Aside from the cheesecake and gelatin failures, it’s still a great week.

  Days later, Danny and I have dinner with Mary Ann and Slow at the crêperie.

  I can tell Danny is still adjusting to this new romantic shift among his friends, given his glares and bouts of pouting, but I point out to him in a whisper, “You look at Mary Ann the way Paul looks at me. You’re protective, but you know she’s got herself a good guy.”

  “Fine. And it sounds like they had a fun time in Boston.”

  After he’s had a few beers, he pats Slow on the shoulder a few times. It’s apparently a guy move to indicate they’re cool, but I’m happy to see him relax.

  The next night, Jackson and Matteo join the four of us when I make lobster and scallops at my house. The group runs through a few bottles of wine until I see that everyone, except Slow, is hesitant to dig in.

  “Guys, what’s the problem?” Even Danny looks reluctant, so I say, “It’s lobster risotto! And pan-seared bacon-wrapped scallops with a fresh herb sauce!”

  Finally, Matteo pipes up, “Seafood is not usually had in Wake. Is beautiful idea, but … have not had since I come here. In Italy, of course. But not now.”

  Oh fuck. Risotto. I have got to stop cooking Italian food for him! No wonder he’s skeptical.

  “Lobster has always scared me,” Mary Ann says as she tries not to recoil.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve never had seafood that isn’t gross,” Jackson says.

  “Where did you … get this?” Danny asks. “No place near here sells seafood.”

  “I bought it off some dude selling black-market ocean items from his trench coat. What do you think? I ordered it. Had it shipped in dry ice from Legal Sea Foods out of Boston. It’s perfectly fresh and safe to eat.” I fold my arms. “I slaved over this. Eat!”

  I wish I could walk away, but instead, I glare at them. “If you hate it, I’ll buy us pizza tonight and two rounds of shots next time we’re at the bar. Deal?”

  They all agree, and I’m vindicated as they start tasting and are all soon eating with clear enthusiasm.

  “I had no idea it could be like this,” Jackson says.

  “Give me all the seafood. Now.” It seems Mary Ann is a convert too.

  “If I’d eaten faster, maybe I could’ve eaten everyone else’s shares, but Callie had to get all forceful,” Slow says. “But, hey, Mary Ann? Maybe next time we go to Boston, you’ll try sushi?”

  “Okay, one step at a time, big guy.” But she reaches her arm over his shoulders and pulls him in. “But maybe.”

  “Is perfecto! Rice has a bite still, is not mushy. Is creamy. Is cooked with love.” Matteo basically blesses my dish.

  Danny grabs my hand. “Only you could
make me fall in love with seafood. Nicely done.”

  When my happy guests leave, Danny and I—for once—finally watch the polar bear cam for a long time while snuggled in bed.

  “Look at this guy,” he muses. “Rolling around in the ice mound. He’s so damn happy. Oh, and this bear! Diving and swimming and gnawing on … what is that they’re eating? Lettuce?”

  “I think it’s … bok choy?” I guess. “Look at the enclosure. It’s like a produce massacre.”

  “Did you know that polar bears aren’t really white?” He rolls onto his side, all lit up with excitement. “It looks like it, but their skin is black, and their fur is not like regular animal fur, like Shallots’s. The top layer is actually clear, hollow tubes that repel water. When the sun hits them, the light bounces around and makes it look like white. Or something like that.” He laughs. “I’m not really a science guy, but that’s how I understand it. It’s kind of an optical illusion. But it’s all about them being able to camouflage in the snow so that they can hunt.”

  “Okay, you’re officially more into this than I knew, but I dig it.”

  His geeky bear talk is endearing and somehow turning me on, but before I can make a move, he sits up.

  “Wait a minute.” Danny grabs me and holds me down as he realizes something. “These live cams? Someone is operating them. Changing angles, zooming in, following the bears. Like, wait! This is an actual job!”

  Holy hell, he’s right.

  “Seems so. A dream job. Spending your day tracking these bears?”

  He hands me my glass of wine from the nightstand. “It’s worth investigating.”

  “You want me to move back to California?” I joke.

  “Shit, girl, never.” He grabs his glass and clinks against mine. “Pretty sure this could be done remotely though. They’re obviously just mounted cameras that some lucky person gets to be in charge of.”

  So, we watch more. And then we make love more.

  Text alerts go off on both of our phones.

  Danny rolls over and sighs. “Paul is telling us to meet him on your front lawn at eight tomorrow morning. It’s only Friday, and I thought we were off until Monday. Guess our week off is over.”

  Before either of us can reply, there’s another text, telling us that we should all stop grouching because it’s going to be a good thing.

  I snatch my phone and type with one hand and drink wine with the other.

  Ten tomorrow. Not a minute earlier.

  It takes a minute, but he replies.

  Fine. Ten. But you’ll thank me.

  “Bought us two more hours,” I say.

  “Whatever shall we do with them?” Danny takes my wineglass and sets it aside.

  “I could thank you for all the work you’ve put into this house.” It only takes a moment before I’m straddling him.

  “You don’t have to thank me. Even if it wasn’t my job, I’d want to help you make this place as beautiful as it’s going to be.”

  “I know you would.” And it only takes another moment before I’m leaning over and kissing my way down his stomach.

  “Callie, you’re making it hard to protest.” He gasps when I slip down his boxers and touch my mouth to his skin. “Like, literally making it hard to protest.”

  For a moment, I lift my head. “Maybe thanking you is an excuse to do this. Although I don’t really need one, do I? Because I do what I want.”

  He sinks back against the pillow and gently weaves his hands into my hair.

  thirty

  After coffee the next morning, we head outside at exactly ten. Matteo and Slowski pull up soon after, but we have to wait on Paul.

  “What the fuck? After calling us in on our day off, now, he’s late—” Danny starts.

  But his grumbling is cut short when Paul speeds down my driveway, the back of his truck full of I don’t know what. He leans out of the window, almost giddy. “Let’s unload!”

  As the guys move ahead, Paul all but jaunts my way.

  “What in the hell is worth cutting into their time off?” I demand. “They’ve been busting their asses for both you and me. You couldn’t have given them what you promised?”

  “Okay, I know. I look like a heartless bastard, but see?” He gestures behind him.

  The guys are carrying an oversize farmhouse table my way, and I can see a second jutting out of the truck. And benches.

  “I didn’t order these. Wait, Paul, what did you do?” I ask, now nearly teary.

  “A friend of mine is a woodworker about a half hour from here. He made these. They’ll not only let you have a big group over for your brunches during warm months, but they’ll also withstand the winters with a heavy protective covering.”

  When the first table is set down in front of my house, I have to take a few minutes to walk around it. This is so much more than a standard picnic table. It’s a farmhouse table that looks like weathered driftwood. I’ve never seen anything like this.

  “It’s been sanded and stained,” Paul tells me. “Some other wood tones added into the original. Oak and maple. To warm up the gray.”

  Danny and Matteo bring up the benches, and I can hardly breathe. These are pieces of art.

  Danny is as in awe as I am, and he turns to Paul. “Nicely done, boss!”

  Somewhat reluctantly, Paul shakes his hand. He’s definitely still lukewarm on the idea that Danny and I are together, but he’s trying. “Just get the other table and the benches out here. And there’s one more thing in my truck.”

  Danny nods.

  The “one more thing” turns out to be a rather extravagant piece. It’s a firepit but unlike any that I’ve seen before. Instead of the modern metal and stone ones that are popular in California, it’s a replica of a section of a huge tree. A round piece with what looks like bark on the outside, rich wood on the inside that matches the stain that Danny worked hard to achieve on my deck, and a place for fire in the center. It’s exquisite.

  Right as they get to work, Paul shouts out, “Oh, and two more things! First, there’s now a reservation sign-up sheet for these brunches that’ll be posted at Finley’s Minis. Callie cannot be expected to routinely feed that same group of twenty-five people who showed up last week.” Before I can protest, he holds up a hand. “Yes, the usual crew is always in, but everyone else who lives in town has to sign up and go in rotation. Also? There’s now going to be a big, fat tip jar, and I expect you boys to spread the word on both of these things. Any money she doesn’t spend on food can be donated, but she’s paying too much out of her own pocket. You all hear me?”

  “Yeah, boss,” they all shout back.

  Everyone rushes to dig up a spot and install this cool feature because I think they know that we’ll have many nights together here. When I’m on my front porch, watching this magic happen, Paul shows up and stands next to me. Silent as ever at first.

  “This is going to be such a treasured space. Thank you. I cannot wait to serve brunch outside on these tables. That tip stuff wasn’t necessary, but I do appreciate the crowd control.”

  “It’s nothing.” Paul waves a hand, trying to downplay what he’s done, and then looks over the lake. “Consider the tables as gifts from your dad.”

  “No. These are gifts from you. And they mean everything. Everything, Paul.”

  “Then, in honor of your dad.” Even though he ignores my thanks, I can tell that he hears me. That he feels it.

  “And that firepit is going to be beautiful.”

  “It is,” he agrees. “But that gift is not from me.”

  “What?” I cannot fathom who else would have paid for this. Paul doesn’t flinch, but I finally tap his shoulder enough that he faces me. “Paul? Who made this happen?”

  And he takes so long to answer, and his expression says so much that I know. He pretty much digs his heels into the ground before he begrudgingly says anything. “It’s from your mom.”

  He might as well have pitched a softball against my chest.

&nbs
p; “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You weren’t taking her calls or texts, so I had to.” Now, he looks away again. “She told me about your last phone call. I filled her in on things.”

  “What things?”

  He shrugs. “How you’re doing incredibly well.” Paul takes a few paces before he sits down on the steps and watches his team—my friends—set up the tables and unload and assemble everything. “I know that you told her about all the brunches, and it’s clear that she blew you off. But I set her straight, Callie. She gets how much they mean now. Then, I showed her pictures of the house, ones I knew you didn’t want her to see because you were doing a ton more than she’d asked for. I also told her to finally stop being selfish and to think about you for once.”

  “Paul …”

  “To let you have something of your own,” he continues. “To let you shine. And I told her to finally grieve for Mike, which she hasn’t done. I cannot stand watching you suffer because of her own bullshit. Her husband died. It happens, and it’s brutal, and it’s awful. But she should have stepped up for her kids.” He walks the perimeter of the house under the guise of checking work. “But you should give her a break. She lost the love of her life.”

  He’s right. I feel like a complete asshole because I’ve never acknowledged what Paul must have gone through. Finding me and my dad. He was the first person on the scene, and I’ve avoided thinking about how he is probably as traumatized—if not more so—as I am. Because he found a dead friend and an evidently adored kid, and he was the one who had to get what was left of my family through it because we were all too shocked and ruined to do anything.

  Paul’s anger with my mom is something that I can relate to. But his sympathy for her is something I should learn to embrace.

  Paul rounds the house and brushes some leaves off the back deck. “Cindy gets it now. She gets you. So, take her goddamn calls and fix this shit between you two.”

  His words this morning floor me, and I nod. “Okay, I will.” And I mean it.

  When our group is gathered around the glowing fire later that night and the couples are all snuggled up, I cannot help but notice how alone Paul is.