Sweet Oblivion

by Alexa Padgett

  “Lev...” I bit the inside of my cheek. No one knew this part of the story. Not my parents. Not the police. Definitely not the press.

  She laid her hand on my chest, right over my pounding heart. “Whatever you tell me, Nash, will always be between us. Just us. I promise.”

  I inhaled. Aya promised.

  Just us.

  Lev used to say that, but in a different context. “It’s just us, brother. Porters against the world.” And we’d fist bump.

  I should have hugged Lev more. I should have told him how much he meant to me.

  “He took a bunch of my mom’s pills,” I said, the words rushing out, tumbling over each other, like the waves at the beach. “Or maybe my dad’s. I don’t know. He was really out of it.” I huffed.

  “He did it in front of them, but they didn’t notice—they just kept fighting. Mom knocked the phone from Dad’s hand. It ended up...”

  Next to Lev.

  That’s when shit really went south.

  “Lev grabbed it and made a beeline for the dock. I thought he’d throw the phone in the lake.”

  I didn’t have to tell Aya that I lived right on the water—that was the best address, the most expensive piece of real estate in an overpriced market. And the Syads and the Porters had the best of everything. Plus, she’d been there.

  “My dad ran after him, telling Lev to give him back his phone.”

  My father had been texting another woman. A woman he never met because of Lev’s death. In that, Lev got his wish.

  “Lev yelled no, that he wouldn’t give back the phone and our dad should actually listen to our mom. That he should stop banging random chicks. Dad was too slow. I was too slow.”

  I swallowed.

  “Lev jumped out into the water. We weren’t supposed to do that, not at night, but he couldn’t have been thinking straight. He was so fucking high.” I gulped. “He must have tripped. He just…”

  Aya wrapped her free arm around my biceps, tugging my whole arm against her pillowy chest. Reliving that night was the deepest hell, one I typically refused to acknowledge.

  Maybe that’s why it took me a full minute to realize I was crying. Aya dropped my arm and pulled me into her embrace. I pressed my nose against the juncture of her shoulder and neck. I sobbed and blubbered and shook as the loss of Lev rolled over me, pulling me under, not unlike the lake that later spat my brother’s limp, broken body onto the shore.

  “He was my best friend,” I gasped, my entire body shuddering.

  And that was the real reason I’d kept Hugh at arm’s length. He wasn’t Lev. Neither was Aya. No one could replace my big brother.

  Aya said nothing. She held me, rocking as my sobs grew in intensity. Once I calmed some, she said, “That’s why you were so worried about me—all those years ago. You’d been taught to be careful in the water.”

  “Always.”

  She nodded, and I liked the feel of her silk hair shifting against my skin.

  “Are you ready to finish it?”

  I licked my lips, tasting the wetness of my tears—or maybe remembering the water on my face.

  “Our neighbor heard the yelling, I guess. He came out, he called the cops, he pulled me out of the water before…before…”

  Before I drowned, too. Because I wouldn’t have stopped searching.

  “He’s the guy you talk to?”

  “Yeah. Cam. Camden Grace.”

  She hummed deep in her chest. “Tell him thank you for me—thank you for saving your life.”

  “He did, didn’t he?” I muttered. “I hadn’t realized. I should thank him myself.”

  Aya nuzzled her nose against my cheek. “I bet he doesn’t want it,” she whispered into my ear. “I bet he’s glad you’re here, and that’s enough for him. I know that’s how I’d feel in his position.”

  Eventually, I pulled back, my eyes downcast, embarrassment swirling through me.

  Part of me wanted to dive into the fancy car idling at the curb. Part of me wanted to lash out at Aya for making me talk about Lev, for making me remember and feel.

  But instead Aya cupped my cheek, lifted up on her tiptoes, and kissed me. It was a soft, simple brush of her lips across mine.

  This touch of lips seemed to say: I see your grief, and I want to make it better. You mean something to me. You are special.

  I let my mouth respond: You mean something to me, too. You see me, and you being here with me makes my life better.

  The kiss was perfect. Like Aya.

  Just what I needed.

  We stood, mouths meshed, tasting each other in small sips as our bodies inched closer. When I started to shift, planning to deepen the kiss, she cupped my cheeks. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her flush against me. We held on, eyes closed, lips touching, blending under the dubious shade of the live oaks. Finally, Aya shifted, gasping for breath. Her eyes were wide and full of emotion.

  We stared at each other until she gripped my shirt and pressed her nose into my pec. I tightened my hold, never wanting to let her go.

  10

  Aya

  My grandfather wobbled on through the sultry month of May. “Holding on tight,” he said, to have more time with me.

  I loved spending time with him, even as I worried about my mother’s health. My entire life seemed to be veering off in a direction that would alter me substantially.

  Nash understood because his parents’ relationship was more messed up each day. They seemed to be communicating by one-upping each other with parties and alcohol, always seen in the company of a beautiful person who wasn’t their spouse—and rarely in Austin.

  In fact, neither of his parents had been home in weeks. The tension between them skyrocketed when Brad once again tried to fire Steve. This time, it was Nash’s mom who refused Brad’s request.

  Neither Nash nor I knew what to make of that mess, and Carolina hadn’t wanted to talk about Steve when Nash called her. I sat with him as he tried.

  “He seems to be taking care of you,” Carolina had said in response to Nash’s question about Steve.

  “I guess. But I’d prefer you were around,” Nash told her.

  She sighed. “It’s just so hard, Nash, being there right now.”

  I wanted to ask her if she’d considered her son, but I managed to bite my tongue.

  Nash hated the media and his mother’s tearful reasons for staying away, but there wasn’t much he could do. He deflected comments at school like a pro, and I tried hard to make sure few people bothered him, just like Hugh did. While I wouldn’t call the guys close, Nash had thawed toward Hugh and included him in some of our weekend activities.

  Not tonight, though. Tonight, Nash and I were outside on the deck behind my house. The temperature was dropping, and I shivered a little, but I wasn’t going to suggest we head inside. I liked the sound of the lake lapping against the dock below and the soft strum of Nash’s fingers over the strings of his guitar. He’d grown taller again, and his light brown hair was shaggier, hanging in his eyes and down the back of his neck, much to Steve’s clear annoyance. Darkness descended slowly as the sun finished setting, the last faint hints of red dissipating over the water, leaving it a thick, opaque void. I shivered and refocused on Nash.

  He lay on his back in one of the teakwood loungers while I lay on my side in the one next to his, watching him play. The white cushions were thick and downy, and I snuggled deeper as I ran my fingertip over my malas.

  Nash stared up into the sky as he strummed idly, humming a tune. I liked watching him step more and more out of his shell. I loved that here with me, he was just Nash.

  “My mom’s upset that I’m going to tour with my dad,” he said.

  I wasn’t surprised, just as I wasn’t surprised that Carolina had chosen to stay in Europe instead of returning to visit her son. I’d read on a French gossip site that she was actually in a rehabilitation center—very discreet—and this wasn’t the first time. I’d considered telling Nash, but I didn’t wa
nt to stress him out more.

  “Are you going to miss me?” he asked, glancing over.

  More than you can imagine. “Yes.”

  “Then come with me.”

  “I can’t. I’m attending the summer program at MIT.”

  “C’mon, Ay. You have plenty of time for school shit during the school year.”

  “Actually, I don’t. And this will help me get into a top-tier college.”

  He turned toward me, his pouty face adorable. “The tour won’t be as much fun without you. I really want you there.”

  I did, too. I wanted to be with Nash more than anything. But if I didn’t get into MIT or Stanford, or even UT’s Cockrell School of Engineering, my dad would lean hard on my mother, trying to force me into a British university. I couldn’t understand why he’d taken an interest in my life. But since we’d moved back to Austin, he’d been making more and more noise about me moving to England.

  Reginald Aldringham had managed to finagle a viscount title from his current wife’s family, which made him an actual peer of the realm. Not that we discussed such things. Our typical conversations were barely more than a perfunctory greeting, an assurance that my mother was still alive, and then a litany of his “plans” for my future. He didn’t seem to get that I didn’t want to see him, let alone live with him, which made this summer program all the more important. Only a few students were accepted, and it would set me apart from the many others who would apply for the same limited college spots.

  My burgeoning mood began to sour. Ever since that time he’d kissed me, Nash had kept me at arm’s length, always reminding me we were friends. I flopped onto my back and stared up at the sky, angry tears burning the backs of my eyes.

  “Why are you mad?” he asked, setting the guitar aside.

  “Who says I’m mad?” I sounded angry.

  I gritted my teeth. No matter what I said, he would find a way to circumvent my denials. This was the problem with spending so much time together, but I couldn’t stop.

  He slid onto the cushion next to me, aligning his lanky frame to mine. He positioned himself with his cheek cradled on his palm as he stared down at me. He wore an orange T-shirt with the name of some band on it—most of Nash’s shirts were from bands he’d met on one of his dad’s tours.

  I liked that about him. I liked everything about him. I was pretty sure I loved him, actually. Gazing up into his brown eyes, so filled with past grief and hope, made me ache. I clenched my fists to keep from reaching for him, desperate to tug him down to me, to kiss him again.

  I looked away. “You don’t want a science nerd on a rock tour. I’d just be in the way.”

  He gripped my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. My chest warmed and something soft, special spread through it.

  “You are not a nerd. You are a math whiz, and you won that engineering award at school when you’d only been there for a few weeks. Most of the rest of the kids had prepped for their projects all year, Ay. That’s smart and badass. And it’s more than enough to get you into the school of your choice. You don’t need this extra program.”

  My face flushed with pleasure, making me thankful for the darkness. “I don’t know…”

  He flopped forward, pressing his forehead to my neck. “Come on. Live a little.”

  Then he began to hum again. I knew this tune. It was one he hummed often: “Something” by George Harrison, he’d told me.

  I softened against him as he began to sing the words. He had a beautiful voice—deep and rich, like dark chocolate.

  We lay out there for another hour before he began to pester me again. I turned and flicked his nose. “Ugh. Stop it.”

  “Once you say yes.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “I’ll think about it.”

  He smirked as he hugged me closer. “That basically means yes.”

  My chest was smashed to his, and my nipples definitely took note. So did my lady parts. Before I could lift my thigh over his, Nash started, seeming to realize how close we were.

  He rolled off the lounger and picked up his guitar. “Want to hear what I’ve been working on?”

  I wanted to weep but instead I nodded. “Sure.”

  He played a beautiful tune. I closed my eyes and pretended the girl the boy was in love with was me.

  Jeddi died in his sleep at the end of June, just a couple of days before Nash had planned to head out on tour with his father. Instead he postponed his trip to hang out at my house. I remained listless no matter how much he tried to cheer me up. Yes, part of the issue was my grandfather’s death, but most of my worry stemmed from the fear that Nash would find a girlfriend—or simply hook up with multiple girls throughout the tour. Of course, I couldn’t tell him that, and he didn’t push me, even when my mother bought my ticket to Boston for the program at MIT.

  The day before the funeral, Steve and my mother chatted in the kitchen while Nash and I drifted down toward the covered dock on the lake.

  “What’s wrong?” His lovely brown eyes beseeched me. “Can I help?”

  I bit my lip, unsure how to bring up my fears.

  “You’re gorgeous and talented. I’m sure you won’t lack for company,” I managed to choke out. My head ached from keeping tears at bay. But I wouldn’t cry for the end of my time with Nash—that seemed to cheapen my grief over my grandfather’s death.

  Nash stopped swinging his feet above the water. I kept my gaze outward, thankful for my sunglasses.

  “Is that why you don’t want to come on tour?”

  I squinted, trying to make out whether the bird in the distance was a pelican or an egret. The sun’s glare off the water made my eyes water, further blurring my vision. That was my story, anyway.

  “You’re the one who sent me pictures of the last tour,” I finally said. “I told you, I’m a book nerd—”

  He grabbed my hand. “You’re my best friend. You’re smart and funny and—”

  “I don’t belong on a rock tour,” I said, shaking off his hand. “I’m going inside.”

  “Aya…” Nash trailed off, but I kept walking.

  The next day, I wept at Jeddi’s funeral, and my mum held one of my hands while Nash sat on my other side, stone-faced, holding the other. Much as I’d planned to push him away, I found myself burrowing tighter against him after I said my final goodbye.

  “That sucked,” he said after the service, tugging his tie loose as he flopped back on my bed.

  We’d retreated to my bedroom, but we could hear the murmur of the crowd downstairs. Many had come to pay their respects to Irwan Didri, medical engineering pioneer and self-made billionaire. This was my last night with Nash, and I didn’t want to miss any of it.

  I kicked off my heels and set them in my closet while Nash sprawled horizontally across my bed, staring up at the high ceiling. He looked at home against the ruched comforter and pile of pillows. Perfect really.

  And he was leaving me.

  “Holding my hand was terrible for you?” I asked, attempting a joke. My tears threatened to fall, and I tried to turn away before Nash saw them.

  He sat up on his elbow and tugged me close, tumbling me against him so he was once more lying on the bed, while I lay on his chest. He brushed the wetness from my cheeks. “No. Seeing you sad. Watching you grieve. I don’t want you to do that again, Aya.”

  “This is life.”

  “I don’t remember my dad’s parents,” he said into the thickening void.

  “I’m sorry you don’t have memories.”

  Nash sighed. “I’m not. Everyone says they were selfish. They were always coming to my dad with their hands out.”

  I squeezed his hand tighter in mine. “I don’t have any grandparents left.” I tried to smile. “It’s not like I knew him all that long.”

  Nash shifted me to his side, his gaze intense as he studied my face. I lowered my eyes. Talking about feelings between us was a definite no-go for Nash. Sure, part of me was hurt by that, but I also understood. We’d both been through
so much. Changing our relationship when we’d somehow become each other’s emotional center seemed foolhardy.

  That didn’t stop me from yearning, though. And I did with everything inside me.

  “When do you go to Boston?” Nash asked.

  I tensed. “Next week.”

  “I’m going to miss you,” he said. He let out a long sigh.

  “It’ll be like it was when I was in Nepal.” It wouldn’t. Our relationship had changed when we met in person. My attraction to him strengthened, but evidently Nash didn’t return those feelings.

  That’s why I had to put distance between us. I couldn’t let him do all that work. So that’s why I had to reject his request for me to go on tour. I had my courses, my future in aeronautical engineering. I’d been fascinated by the topic for years and had taken apart many of the well pumps my mother’s nonprofit had brought to villages. Mum had sighed and asked me to put them back together. Then she’d praised me for how well the wells drew water.

  She loved me for what and who I was. Nash liked me, too, as a friend. Dread washed over me as I worried about the photos he’d soon send me—of him and his gorgeous girlfriend.

  My stomach ached as we lay there, side by side.

  “What are you worried about, really?” he asked. “I’ll fix it.”

  My stomach erupted in butterflies. “You hooking up with girls,” I blurted. I blushed so hard it felt as if my face had flash-burned.

  His gaze turned solemn as he drew my hand to his chest. “I don’t want to hook up with other girls.”

  I held my breath. Did that mean…?

  “I’ve seen what sex does to relationships, Aya. It complicates things, hurts people. My dad bangs all those women, and now my mom won’t even live in the same house.”

  His parents had legally separated the previous week, and Carolina was keeping a low profile in Europe. Nash said she was staying with Pop Syad and making noise for him to join her in Paris. Neither of us was looking forward to that further separation—and it was another reason he kept pushing me to join him on tour.