Beautiful Graves, page 24
She rolls her eyes. “Do I look like I have all the time in the world?”
I sit down. I wolf an unholy amount of food, washing it down with orange juice. I don’t talk much. Donna, Renn, and Dad converse between themselves. Every once in a while, they ask me what I think about what they’re saying, but I don’t feel under any kind of pressure to jump into the conversation. They don’t bombard me with questions. More than anything, I’m blindsided by how much these three look and feel like a family unit. It is so painfully obvious I’m the odd one out. Donna calls Renn “Ruin,” and Renn calls her “Danny.” She and Dad volunteer at the local community center together. It is clear to me that by coming here, I’ve stepped into something that’s already whole and functioning. So despite not being completely okay with it, and still feeling weirded out by the fact that there is a whole-ass stranger living in my childhood house full-time now, I tell Donna that she doesn’t have to stay at Dylan’s house on my account and can move back in.
“Don’t stay away on my account. As you can tell, I’m mostly in my room.” I shrug, playing it off.
Donna smiles. “We’re all kind of counting on seeing more of you out of the room.”
“Ah, she is trying to fix me already.” I send Dad a venomous smile. “What a catch.”
“Bitter much?” Renn kicks me under the table. “Seriously, what’s wrong with you? She’s being nice.”
“Ever, this is uncalled for,” Dad says flatly. I wait for Donna to do the whole fairy godmother thing and be Oh, please, no, I understand. Instead, she arches an eyebrow in my direction and says, “You know, only one person is going to lose if you quit on your life and stay in your room for eternity. And that person sure ain’t gonna be me.”
You just got verbally bitch-slapped, Pippa laughs in my head. And it was epic. Kodak moment, dude.
I rub at my face, feeling exhausted all of a sudden.
“Sorry. Sorry for being . . .” Unbearable. Rude. Disgusting. Shall I go on? “Difficult.”
“You just lost your fiancé,” Donna says mildly. “And believe it or not, as someone who has been there, you are not doing as bad as you think you are.”
“I have no point of reference. I bailed fast when Dad lost Mom, so I couldn’t see his full destruction,” I mumble, pushing the leftovers on my plate around.
“I was a wreck. Losing the love of your life is the hardest thing you have to go through,” Dad says. “But the good news is . . . you go through it.”
He called Mom the love of his life. In front of Donna. And she still hasn’t stuck a fork in his arm. This makes me feel like a huge rock has rolled off my heart.
“Such a fun topic.” Renn claps with a smile. “But I vote we should change it. How are you feeling, Ev?”
I give it some genuine thought.
“Better . . . I think.”
I mean it. It still hurts. I still think about Dom all the time, but I no longer feel like I have no control over my emotions. Like I have no idea what condition I am going to wake up in tomorrow. The anger I had toward him is almost all gone. It’s now been replaced with quiet acceptance that Dom was far from the perfect guy I thought he was, and that is okay. That I will never get my closure with him, will never be able to ask him what went through his head when he did what he did—and that’s okay too.
“Better or good?” Renn asks.
“Better.” I drag a piece of bread in butter before popping it into my mouth. “And maybe a little good, now that simple carbs are involved.”
“Good enough to come surfing with us? The guys and I are gonna catch some waves in about half an hour. The ocean will be flat, perfect for bad surfers like you.”
I flip him the finger. He laughs.
“They’ve been wanting to say hi.” Renn shrugs.
“You know I’m going to be a buzzkill.”
“Not sure how to tell you this . . .” Renn pretends to take a deep breath. “But you’ve always been a buzzkill. Now you just have a valid reason to be.”
I throw a piece of bread at him. He catches it in his mouth and chews.
“See what I have to deal with?” I ask Donna, jerking my thumb in Renn’s direction.
She grins. “He tried to engage me in a fart war the other day. I think this is his version of showing affection.”
And that’s when I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. That is such a Renn thing to do.
“You’re disgusting!” I push Renn’s shoulder.
“And you’re stalling. So? You coming, or do you have a hot date with a Marilyn Manson album and your pillow?”
I love Renn’s friends. Growing up, they used to tail Pippa and me pathetically, vying for crumbs of our attention. We were older, wiser, and we did not smell like goats and socks. Which, naturally, gave us the shine of rock stars.
“I’m sure Ever could use a little time to relax,” Dad says sternly. “Not that there is anything wrong with your pot-smoking, wave-catching, job-avoiding friends.”
Actually, hearing him list all the reasons why Renn is friends with screwups reminds me of how much I used to enjoy hanging out with them. Renn’s crew are the least judgmental people I’ve ever met. They’d probably be chill if I decided to perform a satanic ceremony midsurf. And, yes, there is a chance I will burst out crying spontaneously—I’ve been doing that a lot lately—but I don’t think it would freak them out. Besides, I could use the opportunity to stretch my limbs. See if I really am bad at surfing after years of not doing it.
“I’ll go surfing.” I surprise both Renn and myself by saying this.
Renn hides his smile with a can of soda he pops open. “Damn, Dad. Nice work.”
“Can I borrow one of your surfboards?” I ask.
“No need. I kept your old one in pristine condition.” Renn winks.
My heart races in my chest. “You did?”
He nods. “That’s what good siblings do. Of course, you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
“This is going to work out perfectly. While you are out, I can move some of my things back here,” Donna says. “Your dad and I can grill a few things for dinner. How does that sound?”
It sounds perfect.
No, not perfect, I remind myself. Perfect doesn’t exist.
It sounds just right.
We go to Ocean Beach, Renn’s favorite spot. The waves can get up to fifteen feet high in the winter, and the winds are moody. It’s not SoCal flawless. The water moving in and out from under the Golden Gate Bridge shifts the sandbars, and sometimes it’s foggy as shit. But Renn says that there is something boring and obvious about surfing the perfect Malibu waves, and I tend to agree.
Renn drives his red Wrangler, both of our surfboards secured on the roof rack. The windows are rolled down. His red-blond curls dance across his forehead. The brine and salt and the mouthwatering scents of morning pastries anchor me back to our childhood. I think about Joe. What’s he doing right now? Who is he with? Sometimes I’m tempted to text him. But then I remember how much I’ve hurt him and think better of it.
“Are you seeing anyone right now?” I ask Renn. It is high time I take interest in my baby brother’s love life. Especially since he is not a baby anymore. Last time we spoke on the phone, he was in bed with someone who sounded way older.
“I’m seeing lots of people,” he says, evading the question.
“So you don’t have a girlfriend?”
He scratches his jaw. “A girlfriend? No.”
“But there must be someone,” I insist. “You’re being a smart-ass right now. If the answer was simple, you would’ve just said no.”
Renn rolls his eyes. “There is someone. But it’s not serious.”
“Why isn’t it serious?”
“That’s a question you should ask her husband.”
“Oh, Renn.” I gasp. I’m no prude, but this is pretty shocking. Renn sleeping with a married woman. Before he is even of drinking age. He is a good kid, with a good head on his shoulders. Why would he put himself in such a toxic situation?
“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.” He takes a turn into the parking lot by the beach. “I knew you would jump to conclusions with Olympic leaps. It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“Explain it to me, then.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“She doesn’t nag or demand things from me. She’s not needy and doesn’t want me to go on double dates with her boring friends. She’s . . . more mature.”
“What’s more mature?” I ask. “Chronologically speaking. Give me an age.”
“Thirty—”
“Thirty!”
“. . . two.”
“Renn!” I slap his arm.
He laughs. “Don’t Renn me, sis. Her husband’s cheating on her. He started it first! He is some financial-analyst big shot whatever. Always away. Screws his assistant on the reg.”
“How’d you meet her?”
“She came in for surfing lessons last summer. Her therapist had told her that picking up a hobby in nature would do her good, since she is not ready to confront her husband about it. The way I see it, if he is not faithful—why should she be?”
“No. The way you should see it is—why should you put yourself in the middle of this explosive cluster?”
“I’m not in any cluster.” He kicks the Jeep into park, then shoves his door open. “It’s just harmless fun.”
“Harmful,” I counter. “For everyone involved. You included.”
Renn tsks. “We’re here.”
He hands me my surfboard and takes his, then turns his back on me. I gather the conversation is over for now. I pin it and make a note to get back to it when he least expects it. We proceed with our wetsuits to shore, where we meet Renn’s friends—Ryland, Tim, and Clayton. They’re all holding their surfboards, ready to tackle the waves. They all look huge in comparison to the last time I saw them.
“Holy shit, dude, you got hot!” Clayton exclaims as he shoulder-bumps me.
“Hey! Shut your trap. I’m right here.” Renn pushes him with a scowl.
“Yeah, Ever. You look great. Tragedy really agrees with you.” Tim snickers.
Renn punches his arm. Hard. “Cut it out, dipshit.”
Ryland sighs. “Excuse them. They don’t know how to human properly.”
I wave him off. “I don’t take offense.”
“No, but seriously, sorry about your fiancé.” Clayton makes a face.
I wonder how these guys would react if they knew what Dom had done. If they knew the whole story.
I smile. “Actually, I’m starting to feel better.”
“Good, it’ll help when you get your ass wiped by us,” Clayton says helpfully. “I’m sure you’re a little rusty.”
“I’ll wipe the floor with y’all,” I say cheerfully. “But if shit talk makes you feel better, have at it.”
Clayton elbows Renn. “Why’d you say she was depressed? She seems like her usual smart-ass self to me.”
They’re not treating me with kid gloves, and I like it.
A minute later, we all charge into the waves. Our feet slap the wet sand as we gain momentum. We’re cutting through the air. I’m a newly hatched baby turtle, rushing to the ocean to increase my chance of surviving a predator. My lungs open. My limbs loosen. Muscle memory reminds me who I was, who I am, who I’m meant to be. My body hits the cold water, and suddenly, I am sobered up. I’m clearheaded.
I’m alive.
A roar escapes from my mouth. Euphoria rushes over me. The simple, intense joy of being alive, and healthy and well, in this endless ocean, in one of the best cities in the world, robs me of my breath.
You’re home now, Mom whispers somewhere inside me. Relax. Smile. Enjoy this.
I slide my body across the surfboard. I snap my eyes shut. The boys are shouting back and forth next to me.
“Don’t steal my wave, asshole.”
“Your ass is so out of shape.”
“Hey, man, is your sister okay?”
In this moment in time, I am more than okay. I actually believe that it will be okay. That I will overcome the loss of Mom, and the loss of Dom.
But that maybe I don’t have to lose other people who are still here on this earth. Maybe I’m not so horrible and cursed.
That’s how I make the decision that it is time to apologize to Joe.
On our drive back home, Renn pops open two cans of LaCroix and hands me one. We’re both damp and shivering, even though we are not cold. Adrenaline zings through my veins. My body needed this reminder that it is still functioning. Capable.
Renn doesn’t say anything. I know he doesn’t want to reopen the subject of his not-girlfriend, but I can’t stop myself. I clear my throat before I tell him what I haven’t told anyone other than Joe. Not even Nora.
“Dom . . . he had a girlfriend.”
“What?” Renn snorts out. “Like, you stole him from someone else?”
I shake my head. “He was two-timing us. I didn’t know about her. They were together for three years.”
“The bastard,” Renn spits out, thunderous. “How’d you find out?”
“At the hospital, when I rushed to see how he was doing. She was there too.”
“That’s some bullshit!” he says. I’m glad he is mad. Because I’m about to turn the situation around on him in half a second.
“What would you have done if he’d made it? Would you have stuck with him?” Renn asks.
I’ve asked myself that question a million times in the past few weeks. The answer was always different. “No, I don’t think I would have. I mean, I’d have stuck around to take care of him, to nurse him back to health. But not as his girlfriend.”
“Well, you’re more charitable than I am, that’s for sure. How could you mourn him after this bullshit?” Renn raises his voice. “That’s fucked.”
“Just because he turned out to be a questionable person doesn’t mean I should be one.” I twist the engagement ring on my finger. Yes, I’m still wearing it. No, I have no idea why. “But now, see why I don’t want that for you?”
Renn groans, then closes his eyes once we reach a red traffic light. “It’s not the same.”
“I don’t want you in this situation. I don’t want this on your conscience, or on your karma. This could come back to bite you when you least expect it.”
“It’s really casual. We’re all about the fun.”
“Have fun with single women. I’ll be your first cheerleader. I promise.”
“Single women want more.”
“Not all of them,” I point out. “You know, you are resistible to some people. Not many, but some.”
Finally, Renn throws his arms in the air. “Fine. Fine. I’ll break it off. God, you suck. Go back to Salem.”
“I think I’m going to stick around for a while.”
Renn turns to me and grins. “Actually, I’m really glad to hear that. You know who else is going to be happy to know that?”
I turn to look at him.
“Pippa.”
Later that night, after Dad and Donna have served us an actual feast and cracked open a bottle of wine, I’m in my room again.
Loki is in my lap. He is starting to get used to it here. He certainly enjoys having a safe backyard, where he can work on his tan and collect gifts for us in the form of dead mice and hummingbirds.
I decide there is no point in postponing the inevitable. I owe Joe an apology. But calling seems so . . . inconsiderate. Almost penetrating. What if he doesn’t want to hear my voice after everything that happened?
I decide to write him a chain of text messages. That’ll give him time to digest, collect himself, and decide what to write back. If anything at all.
Ever: I just wanted to send you a sign of life, since I’ve been notoriously bad about doing that throughout our history. I’m okay. I’m in San Francisco. I’m with Dad and Renn, and Dad’s girlfriend, Donna, who owns a hot dog onesie, which should tell you everything you need to know about her as a person.
Ever: How are you doing? Are you still working at the dock? How are Gemma and Brad? Are you holding up?
Ever: Okay. I lied. I didn’t want to tell you how I was doing. It is selfish of me to assume that you still care. What I wanted to say is that I’m sorry. So terribly sorry. I know having sex wasn’t in your plans. I know you regret it. I know you will have to live with what we did for the rest of your life. And I apologize for putting you in that position. It’s all on me. I seduced you (if you can call it that). I asked to drink. I made sure we were both sufficiently drunk.
Ever: I’m just really sorry. Miss you.
I let out a breath and wait.
I stare at the screen for a minute. Then ten more. Then twenty. And then an hour. At some point, I fall asleep, dropping the phone on my face. I’m so exhausted I don’t even have it in me to pick it up.
Sunday morning, I have one measly message waiting. Three words, and yet each of them weighs a ton.
Joe: I forgive you.
TWENTY-FOUR
On Monday, I open up the text messages from Pippa. I’m about to text her, then think better of it and call her. Unlike with Joe, I know Pippa has been waiting for me to pick up the phone and call. She deserves groveling and a good dose of squirming from yours truly. She’s waited long enough.
She answers on the fourth ring, yawning into my ear. “Lawson. It was so obvious that whenever you decided to call, it’d be when I have a day off and can sleep in.”
“Sorry.” I glance at my watch—it’s nine forty-five—as I’m pacing my tiny childhood room. “I can call again later. Or wait until you call me. Whatever works.”
“Christ on a crutch,” she snorts out. “So high strung. At least that didn’t change. What’s up?”
I’m stumbling all over myself trying to find the right words. I also suspect I’m crying again. I can’t help it. She is not giving me crap. She is not asking me where I’ve been the last six years. She is not making it difficult or awkward or awful.
I take a deep breath and try to sound as casual as she does.
“I’m in San Francisco.”
“Well, duh,” she yawns.
