It Was Us (3 page)

FIVE

ABBY

“What's going on with you two?”

My best friend and I were at the beach, enjoying the kind of spring weather the rest of the country only dreamed about. A late snowstorm had buried half of the Northeast and tornadoes were springing up across the southern part of the country. But in San Diego, it was a balmy seventy-five degrees, perfect for a lazy day at the beach. With Tana heading back to San Luis later that afternoon, we were doing our best to play catch up before she headed up the coast.

Tana shifted on her striped beach towel so she was facing me. “What do you mean?”

I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses. “You know what I mean. What's up with you and Griffin? You seem...I dunno. Serious.”

She shrugged. “I don't really know. I mean, I like him. He's hot. He's nice. He's great in bed.”

I pretended to plug my ears with my fingers. “TMI, Tana.”

“Oh, please.” She laughed. “As if I don't know every goddamn detail about you and West.”

“You don't,” I said. I leaned back on my elbows and tilted my head up, letting the sun hit me full-on in the face. “I don't share everything.”

“You share enough,” she argued. “And what you don't share, Griffin does. I swear to God, I feel like I'm in the bedroom with you two.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Gross.”

“Exactly.” She tugged on the earbuds looped around her neck and set them down on the towel next to her phone. “So. He's fine.”

I thought about this. “And you're okay with the long-distance thing?”

It was something I couldn't imagine doing with West. Last summer, when he'd had the opportunity to play ball at the University of Arizona, I'd worried about that. Obsessed over it. And West had worked hard to make sure we wouldn't be apart, had talked to the coaches who had pulled strings to get me through admissions. And then I'd found out about my mom. About the cancer. And I knew the last thing I'd be able to do was leave her. I remembered with aching clarity how torn I'd been, how I didn't want to tell West and risk him giving up his dreams for me. But I knew I couldn't do a long-distance relationship, either. Not with knowing that I'd be spending all of my free time with my mom, taking care of her, and not with knowing that West would be slammed with school and practice and games, making trips back to San Diego all but impossible.

And now my best friend was doing the one thing I couldn't picture myself doing. Having a long-distance relationship.

“It's not like you and West,” Tana said. She pulled off the black elastic that she wore around her wrist and twisted her blond hair into a messy ponytail. “I
like
him. I'm not in love with him. It's not like I'm gonna marry him and have his babies.” She hesitated, a sly grin crossing her face. “Yet.”

“Well, neither am I,” I said stubbornly.

She burst out laughing. “Oh, please. You're an old married bag, Abby.”

I swatted her leg. “What the hell? No, I'm not!”

Tana's smile widened. “Yeah, you are. You guys have been inseparable since day one. We're all just waiting for the wedding announcements to come.”

I shook my head, disgusted. “I'm not even twenty. There's no way in hell I'm getting married right now.”

“Why not?” she asked, her eyebrows raised. “You love him, right?”

I gave a slight nod of my head.

“You wanna be with him, right? As in, forever? Settle down and buy a house and have little West babies?”

I tried not to smile and nodded again. I did. I couldn't imagine my life, my future, without West. He was exactly what I needed and he was everything I wanted. But the word marriage sent me into a tailspin. Not because I didn't want that with him but because it felt like our future, not our present.

She started humming under her breath, an old fifties song about going to the chapel. I swatted her again.

“Shut up,” I said. “I'm not having babies yet and I'm not getting married. End of story.”

SIX

WEST

I was a hot, sweaty mess.

I peeled off my practice jersey and stripped off my baseball pants, leaving them in a heap on the locker room floor. I stepped out of my compression shorts and made my way to the showers, wanting nothing more than to wash the grime and sweat off my body. Practices were running three hours and the mild Aprils we'd all grown accustomed to had suddenly morphed into a record heat wave with Santa Ana winds blowing in from the east. I was pretty sure I'd dropped five pounds that afternoon. I'd sweated like a pig standing out in center field, the sun beating down on me.

I twisted the cold faucet and water sprayed out of the shower head. I didn't bother with the hot water, stepping in and inhaling sharply as the cold droplets pelted my skin. I rinsed my hair and rubbed the bar of soap over my skin, scrubbing away the dirt and grime.

Mark Watson stepped underneath the shower head next to me and turned the faucet. “Fucking hotter than hell out there,” he muttered. He played second base and was graduating that year.

I just nodded.

“You looked good out there, man,” he said. He reached for the soap and lathered it in his hands. “Tell me again what you're doing here.”

He knew the reasons. Knew that I'd had a full scholarship at Arizona and knew that I'd walked away. Knew that I'd walked away from it for Abby.

“Team's good,” I said, avoiding a direct response.

He scrubbed his face, his eyes shut tight as he spoke. “Not as good as Arizona.”

“Good enough,” I said. I turned off the water and reached for the towel I'd thrown on the bench. I rubbed at my face and my hair, then wrapped it around my waist, tucking in the end.

“You ready for Cal?” Mark asked.

I nodded. We were leaving the next day, another set of out-of-town games, hitting UC Berkeley first. It was something I knew came with the territory but it didn't make me look forward to them any more. We had a fair amount of home games but it seemed like we spent more time on the road than in San Diego. And I hated it.

“Gonzalez is good, man.” He switched off the water and stepped out of the shower, water pooling on the floor. He found his own towel and began a thorough pat down. “Better bring your A game.”

I nodded again. “No shit.”

I got dressed in a hurry, glancing at the clock mounted in the locker room as I pulled on a pair of clean basketball shorts. It was almost six o'clock. With any luck, I could meet Abby for dinner before we both needed to hit the books. I grabbed my keys and my cell and headed out of the gymnasium. The air was warm and dry, the sun a fireball of orange hovering over the distant ocean.

I called Abby.

“Hey.”

Hearing her voice always made me smile. Always. “Hey yourself.”

“You done with practice?”

I pulled open the door to my truck and hopped into the cab. “Yep. You hungry? Want me to grab something to eat?”

“I'm just finishing up at the office,” she said. “And I have a paper due tomorrow. Anthro.”

I waited for a lull in traffic, then made a quick right out of the parking lot. “So, what are you telling me?”

She sighed. “I don't know.”

“Can you eat?”

“Yes.”

“Can you eat with me?”

She chuckled. “Yes.”

“Okay. 'Cuz that was all I was asking.” I turned left on Balboa, headed toward Pacific Beach. The road was snarled with traffic. “What sounds good?”

“Nothing.”

I felt a flicker of irritation. “Abby.”

She sighed. “I'm not trying to be difficult. Nothing sounds good.”

“Not even In-n-Out?” I was a block away from the restaurant. And nothing sounded better right then than a double double.

“No.” I could hear the disgust in her voice. “Especially not that.”

I frowned. “Uh, last time I checked, you liked their food.”

“I know, I know,” she said. “I just...I don't know. I think I'm just stressed. “ She sighed again. “I'm sorry.” She hesitated. “You get what you want. Just bring me whatever. I'm sure I'll eat once it's in front of me.”

“You sure?”

“I'm sure.”

“You want me to bring it to your house? Or you want to meet me at my place?”

“I want to meet at your place,” she said slowly. “But I think we should go to mine.”

I pulled into the parking lot of the fast food place and joined the long line of cars waiting at the drive-through. “Oh? Why's that?”

“Because I know you'll want to do more than just eat,” she said. “And my parents are home.”

I smiled. “Damn, you know me well.”

She laughed. “Duh.”

“Maybe I can work in a quickie. Tell 'em I'm helping you study or something.”

“Mmm. Don't tease me.”

“Anthropology is the study of people, right? So maybe I need to study you for a little bit...”

“Cultures, West. It's a cultural anthro class.”

It was my turn to sigh. “Hmm,” I said. “I'm not convinced.”

“Do you want me to fail? Not turn in the paper?”

“Nope,” I said. “Just feel like turning something on, not something in.”

“Soon.”

The car in front of me pulled up a little and I eased my foot off the brake, inching forward. “I leave tomorrow,” I reminded her.

“I know, I know.”

Her voice sounded flat and I felt a pang of guilt. I hated leaving her. I'd thought playing in San Diego would be better, would allow more time for us. In some ways, it had. It wasn't like I was playing my home games five hours away from her, which is what I would have been doing if I'd gone to Arizona. But the time commitment had caught even me off guard. I wasn't naive—I'd known about practices, about the game schedule, about the dedication it took to play college ball. But it didn't mean that I didn't resent it sometimes, that I didn't frown when the bus pulled up to take us to the airport, that I didn't get angry or frustrated, shacked up in some shitty hotel with one of my teammates bunking down with me.

“I'm sorry,” I told her. “I'm sorry I have to leave.”

She was quiet for a minute. “Don't be. It's what you want to do. And I'd rather you do it here than in another state.”

“You still love me, right?” I asked. “You're not gonna get sick and tired of me being gone, of waiting around for me?”

“I'll never get sick of you,” she said, her voice soft. “I love you, West. Even when you're gone. Especially when you're gone.”

SEVEN

ABBY

The television hummed in the living room but it didn't keep me from hearing the staccato knock that sounded on the front door. I grabbed the glass of ice water I'd just poured and hurried down the hall. I opened the door and West was there, a white paper bag tucked under his arm, his hands gripping two paper drink cups. His hair was damp, pushed off his forehead by a pair of sunglasses.

He grinned at me. “Hey, beautiful.”

I smiled back and stepped out of the doorway. He planted a kiss on top of my head and headed into the kitchen. “We eating in here or the living room?”

“Probably at the table,” I said. “Mom's watching something.”

He poked his head into the living room and offered my mom a quick hello. I couldn't see her but I knew where she'd be. Parked on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, her laptop on her lap, half-watching some design show on HGTV while she cruised sites online. Her illness had given her a lot of free time—a self-imposed sabbatical of sorts from the real estate market—and, although it hadn't been all sunshine and roses, she'd discovered something new about herself, something she enjoyed almost as much as selling houses. Decorating them. At first, it had simply been something to help pass the time, to give her something to focus on as she faced the day to day monotony of chemo. And I'd sat through a lot of it with her: watched the shows and typed in sites on her computer, propping the laptop on the pillow when she'd been too weak to hold it. I'd checked out books from the library and showed her pictures and, when she'd felt well enough, been her sounding board as she talked through ideas and visions.

Now that she was in remission, she still kept her hand in the real estate business. It was what she did, what she'd always done. But she'd voiced her desire to branch out, to do something different, and Dad had been willing to indulge that, to give her the opportunity to live out a little bit of a different dream. She didn't have clients and she didn't express any desire to start a business in interior design. She wasn't looking to find a new business. She was too busy finding herself.

West set the bag down and opened it up. Two wrapped burgers landed on the table along with two paper sleeves filled with thin, crispy fries. “I got you a single. That okay?”

I nodded and slid into one of the chairs at the table. But I wasn't hungry.

He grabbed a chair and positioned it closer to me. He unwrapped his burger and took a huge bite. Sauce dotted his lower lip and I offered him a napkin but he just waved it away, using his tongue instead.

“You're not gonna eat?” He reached into his bag of fries and popped a couple in his mouth.

I picked up a french fry and brought it to my lips. It wasn't that I wasn't hungry. But nothing sounded good. I nibbled at it, the salt settling on my tongue. “What time do you guys leave tomorrow?” I asked.

He took a long drink of his soda. “Bus leaves for the airport at six.”

“A.M.?”

He nodded.

“And you get back when?”

He reached for his burger again. “Monday night.”

It was Thursday. I made a mental note of the number of days, made a quick guess as to how many games he'd be playing. If they left early Friday morning, that meant they'd be playing that afternoon or evening. Another game Saturday and, since he wasn't coming back until Monday, that probably meant a Sunday game, too.

I picked up another french fry. “Okay.”

He polished off his burger and folded up the wax paper, stuffing it back into the burger's paper boat. “It's not gonna be like this forever.”

“I know.”

His leg pressed into mine just as he reached across the table for my hand. “It's April. One more month; maybe more if we make the play-offs. And then we're done.”

“With games.”

“Well, yeah.” He frowned. “I mean, there'll be practice in the summer. But it'll be here. In San Diego. With you.”

“I know.”

He picked up his cup with his free hand, shook it a little so the ice clinked. He brought the straw to his lips and took a long drink. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Bull shit.”

I shoved the container of fries away from me. “Nothing. Really. I'm just...” My voice trailed off. I took a sip of my own drink and tried again. “I'm just tired. Trying to juggle everything, you know?”

“Tell me.”

I sighed. “School. Working at the office. Seeing you. Being a good long-distant friend. It's all just...hard. And I know part of it is because I was sick. I lost an entire week, just laying around.”

“You did what you needed to do.”

“I know,” I said. I toyed with the straw in my cup, sliding my thumb over the opening. “I just feel all...I dunno. Discombobulated.”

West raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips. “Wow. That was one big fucking word.”

I smiled. “Right?”

“Yeah. You sure you don't wanna major in English? Be a teacher or something” He leaned closer, his eyes twinkling. “You could totally school me. In lots of subjects.”

My smile widened. “Yeah? Like anthropology?”

He nodded. “Definitely. Educate me in your sexual habits and culture.”

“I'm pretty sure you're already an expert in that department.”

West shrugged. “I dunno. I'm a very willing student. And I'm pretty sure one could never have too much knowledge in that department.”

“Whatever,” I said, rolling my eyes, the smile still planted on my lips.

“Anyway,” he said. He motioned to the untouched burger in front of me. “Are you not gonna eat that?”

I shook my head. A hamburger didn't sound good. I pushed it toward him.

“You feeling okay?” he asked. He squeezed my hand before pulling away to unwrap the burger.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just still a little run down.” I picked up the bag of fries and set those down closer to him, too. “From what I hear, it's normal after this flu. A few weeks recovery time.”

He made a sympathetic face.

“Julia's been out since break ended.” Julia was a girl in my economics class. “At least I got sick—and recovered—over break.”

West nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah.”

“And at least you didn't get it,” I pointed out.

“Hmm.” He chewed and swallowed a large bite of burger. “Sorta wish I would have.”

I frowned. “What? Why the hell would you want to be sick?”

“Mostly because I probably wouldn't be getting on a plane tomorrow. Leaving San Diego.”

“Well, yeah. I guess.” My heart tripped a little. “But I don't want you to be sick. Like, not ever.”

He scooted his chair even closer. His bare foot slid up and down my calf and he placed his hand on my thigh, his fingertips resting lightly on the hem of my denim shorts. “I'd take a couple days of being laid up if it meant you'd be laid up with me.”

“Oh my God. You saw how bad I was.” I shook my head. “I couldn't even open my eyes. Remember?”

He nodded. His fingers grazed my thigh. “I know. But I'm a guy, remember? I don't need to be fully conscious for you to take care of me.”

“Oh, really? So I could just pour soup down your throat while you sleep?”

He leaned close, his lips just inches from mine. “That's not how I wanna be taken care of.” He slid his fingers under the hem of my shorts and began to stroke my inner thigh.

I felt my body respond even as I was shaking my head no. “West. My mom...”

He inched his fingers higher and I squirmed in my chair. His touch felt warm on my heated skin and it took every ounce of control I had to not slide into his touch.

“Fuck, Abby,” he said, his lips brushing against mine. “I need you.”

I needed him, too. The physical ache for him, the longing, never went away, never subsided. He was the only guy I'd ever been with but I'd talked to Tana and to other friends. I knew what we had wasn't the norm. We were almost two years in and I hadn't gotten tired of him. We hadn't settled into a predictable routine. There was nothing boring about our relationship or about our sex life. I looked at him as hungrily as I had those first few weeks we'd been together. And I didn't care if it was normal. Because it was us.

And all I wanted was us.