Authors: Anna Cruise
I watched him but soon my thoughts drifted. To my conversation with Case and the incident at my dad's. With a little time and perspective, I
did
feel bad about it. Not about being mean to Cheri, but about how I'd hurt my dad. He had been angry with me—so angry that he'd told me he was done with me. That I was done there.
And he hadn't come looking for me.
I tried not to let this fact stab at me and slice me apart, but I fixated on it. I couldn't help it. He'd stayed with
her
. He hadn't come looking for me and he hadn't called. What if something had happened to me? What if I'd been hit by a car or abducted or raped? No one would know. Not my drunk and depressed mother and certainly not my indifferent dad.
I thought about the GameShow Network and the reruns I'd seen of The Price Is Right. The Showcase Showdowns and all of the cheesy prizes. I imagined my dad as the contestant, choosing between his two Showcase Showdowns. Except his weren't a trip to Hawaii or a new Jeep. No, I was on one platform, and Cheri was on the other and he had to choose. I swallowed hard. He'd chosen, alright. He'd chosen her.
I shook my head. If it had been me, standing up there, I would have chosen him. Not just because there was no other parent waiting for me. That part didn't matter. Even if there had been, if my mom had been sober and involved in my life, I still would have chosen him. I wanted
him
.
I fingered the phone in my pocket and debated. I knew Case was right, that I needed to call and apologize. But I couldn't do it now, not with the way I was feeling. Hurt and resentment would dictate what I would say, not the little amount of remorse I felt. I bit my lip and searched the water for Aidan, the only person in my life right now who did seem to care about me.
He surfed for an hour. I watched him as though I were watching a movie. He paddled out and straddled his board, gripping the sides as he glanced behind him, scoping the waves. He'd see one—I couldn't tell which were good or not—and lay down and start to paddle. The wave would crest underneath his board and he would get to his knees and then stand, hunched down, arms slightly extended as he rode the length of it, weaving back and forth in the barrel. I could almost see the smile on his face. Sometimes he'd ride all the way in, stepping off into the shallows before heading back out; other times, he'd lay down before the wave crashed into shore and work his way back out.
After a few more waves, he stepped on to the sand and I saw him wave to a few guys out in the water before turning toward me. He didn't paddle back out; instead, he walked up the hill, his board under one arm. Back to me.
He leaned down to kiss me, a sweet, salty kiss. “Hey you.” His tousled hair was already drying. “Have fun?”
I hopped off the hood, ignoring his question. Thinking about my dad had not been fun. At all. “You're good.”
He grinned. “I know.”
He strapped the board to the roof and, using the towel again as his make-shift changing room, stripped off his wetsuit. I stared at his smooth, tanned chest and his hard, muscled stomach and my knees buckled just a bit. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? He caught me looking and leered at me, his grin widening.
“You want some right now?” he asked, hitching his towel a little lower.
I reached out my hand to pull it up and he intercepted, pressing my palm against the rough fabric. “Well?”
“Stop it,” I said, my face warming. I glanced around to see if anyone was watching.
He laughed and dropped my hand. “OK, good girl. We'll wait 'til later.”
We drove the short distance to his mom's house. I'd asked him once why he didn't spend time at his dad's. He had a house in Mission Beach, right on the boardwalk, just a few blocks from the restaurant he owned. Aidan had just shrugged and said he liked his freedom. He certainly had that at his mom's.
She was on her way out as we walked through the door, clutching keys and her purse. She wore a fitted blue dress that matched her eyes and her blond hair was pulled off her face, secured with a wide, black headband.
“Hi, sweetie,” she said to him. She smiled at me. “Oh, hi.”
I was pretty sure she didn't know my name.
“
Where're you going?” Aidan asked her.
“
Brunch with the Brennan's. At George's.”
He nodded. “Have fun.”
“You, too,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. I thought about what our afternoon would probably have in store and smiled. She really was completely clueless.
Once in his room, I kicked my shoes off and lay down on his bed. The covers were thrown back, the pillows bunched up together. I turned into them, breathing in the musky, slightly smoky scent of him that lingered there. I never thought I would like the smell of tobacco but on him, I did. I liked everything about him.
He flopped down next to me, face-down, and draped his arm across my stomach. I moved closer and his arm curved more fully around me.
“
I'm beat,” he said.
“
Me, too.”
He reached for the comforter and pulled it up over us. “Wanna sleep first?”
I'd done a lot of other things with him but falling asleep together wasn't one of them. Sharing a bed and sleeping somehow seemed much more intimate than having sex. I realized I wanted to. More than anything. I snuggled next to him and, with the sound of his heart as my lullaby, closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.
I don't know what roused me. Maybe it was the seagulls outside, their squawks sounding through the opened window, or maybe it was the sound of a car alarm beeping a few blocks away. My eyes fluttered open and it took me a minute to register where I was. In Aidan's arms, my chin nestled against his chest. His breathing was slow, even. I shifted so I could look at him, at his eyelashes resting on his cheek, at the way his mouth curved into the smallest of smiles, even while he slept. At his pinkened, sunburned nose and the slightest hint of blond stubble on his chin. I sighed.
His eyes opened then, startling me just a bit, and he smiled at me. He looked boyish, sweet, innocent. All of the things he wasn't.
“
You hungry?” he asked, yawning.
I realized I was. “Yeah.”
He kissed me. “Let's find something to eat.”
He threw back the covers and hauled me out of bed. Just like that, he was refreshed, energized, ready to go.
We padded into the kitchen together. Aidan pushed me into a chair while he cooked. I watched him as he moved through the kitchen. He didn't look out of place there, rummaging in the fridge, cracking eggs into a stainless steel bowl, digging through painted pine cupboards and drawers as he searched for a pan and spatula. He looked at home, at ease, as if cooking was something he did frequently, something he did well. He hovered over the stove, pouring eggs into a small frying pan and sprinkling them with shredded cheese. After a minute or so, he picked up the pan and swirled it, loosening the edges before using the spatula to fold the omelet in half.
My lunch was set in front of me, a golden omelet and a tall glass of orange juice. Aidan grabbed his own and joined me.
I took a bite. “This is really good. I didn't know you could cook.”
“
Damn straight,” he said. “Gotta keep some things secret, you know?”
I smiled. I didn't think I'd kept any secrets from him. I was an open book, as far as he was concerned.
He asked, just like I knew he would. “Tell me something about you that I don't know.”
I thought for a minute, trying to come up with something. He was the only person who knew everything about me, who knew me inside and out. He knew all the details about my dad and Cheri and how I really felt about them; about my poor excuse for a mother and how I worried about her; about my lost friendship with Jada; about my newest hobbies that had replaced anything I might have liked to do before meeting him.
“Um...” I thought for a minute. “I play guitar a little. Used to write songs in junior high and stuff.” I tried to remember the last time I'd picked it up, but I couldn't. It sat in the corner of my room, propped against the wall, gathering dust.
“
Really? Well, there you go. I had no clue.” He speared a piece of egg and chewed. “You want to be in a band or something?”
I shook my head before he could even finish asking. “No, no, no. No performances. I hate being on stage. No.”
“Would you play for me?” he asked, his voice soft.
“
Maybe. I said I played, not that I was any good. I just like to pretend, I guess.”
“
I bet you're good,” he told me. “You're good at everything. Everything.”
No, I wasn't. I wasn't good at change; I wasn't good at being accepting or forgiving. I wasn't good at being understanding, or of thinking of anyone, really, but myself.
I finished my lunch and began stacking the plates and glasses. I carried them over to the dishwasher.
“
You don't have to clean up,” he said.
“
I want to. You cooked, I can clean.”
I began rinsing the plates in the sink before placing them between the slats in the half-full dishwasher. I didn't want to tell him that I was playing house, imagining this was our kitchen, the white painted cupboards and round pine table with its centerpiece of cut white and yellow Gerber daisies. I didn't want him to know that I was fantasizing that we were married and that our lives were perfect, that I would never end up like my own parents, the victim of a broken, loveless marriage.
I felt him move behind me. His hands wrapped around my stomach and moved slowly up my shirt, just as his mouth nuzzled my neck, right next to my ear. I dropped the dish into the sink. It didn't break.
“
Here's another thing you might not know about me,” he whispered, turning me around so I was facing him. “You drive me wild. Insane. All I can think about is you.” He kissed me, his mouth open, hungry. “Did you know that?”
I knew it but I didn't answer. I couldn't. I felt the same way, this overwhelming need to be with him. I didn't know what it was supposed to be like, first relationships, but I knew how I felt, what he did to me. He was all-consuming, in every way. He was my life support. I lived and breathed him.
“Come on.” He pulled me away from the dishes and down the hallway but we didn't go into his bedroom. He led me to the bathroom and turned on the shower.
He stripped off his own shirt before reaching for mine.
“
What are you doing?”
“
What does it look like I'm doing?” He lifted my shirt. “Undressing you.”
“
But—“
“
No buts,” he said, his fingers trailing along my skin. “You wanna play house?”
I felt my cheeks flush just a bit. I hated that I was so easy to read.
He grinned. “So, let's play. This part is called taking a shower together.”
He adjusted the faucet and, before I could protest, hauled me toward the tub.
And I played along.
Just like he knew I would.
SIXTEEN
We spent the rest of the afternoon at the beach. Not on the sa
nd with towels spread, soaking up the sun, like I used to do with Jada. We drove down to Belmont Park and hung out on the boardwalk. Scotty and Ben were there, and Jake Martin and Nick Shelby. Steve, Scotty's brother, was there, too along with Trevor, my English TA. We sat on the low, cement wall and people-watched and talked. Aidan handed me a Big Gulp filled with Coke and I nearly spit it out when I took my first sip.
“
What the hell is this?”
“
Coke.” Aidan's expression was innocent. “And a little rum. Well, a lot of rum. You can thank Scotty.”
Scotty grinned and lifted his own styrofoam cup in a mock toast.
Steve laughed and Trevor just smiled and shook his head as he watched the exchange. He was a common enough fixture at most parties that it didn't really phase me anymore when he saw me drink. I figured we were both in the same boat—me as an underage drinker and him as a pseudo-adult figure who should know better—and we treated each other with mutual respect.
I drank my spiked soda as skaters and cyclists whizzed past on their boards and bikes. Girls in tiny bikinis rollerbladed by, swinging their hips, and I tried not to stare. That was something I was sure I would never do. Families strolled the boardwalk, too, Zonies loaded down with insane amounts of beach gear, their skin lobster-red from too much sun. I took a long drink and tried not to notice their smiling faces, the linked hands as moms and dads strolled together. The rum worked its magic, relaxing me, erasing all thoughts of my dad. Steve and Trevor eventually left and the rest of us got drunk and chatted and poked fun, giggling hysterically at stupid things.
Thick gray clouds billowed in as afternoon turned to evening, blanketing the sky and snuffing out the sun that hovered just above the horizon. My mood clouded, too, as my buzz wore off and those nagging thoughts surged back in. People left in droves, those same families lugging their bags and boogie boards back to their cars and rented condos.