The Throwback List

by Lily Anderson

  “And I heard you,” Autumn said gently. “So, what I am asking you to imagine with me is that maybe—even though the way she showed it sucked—maybe Jo actually is sad about leaving. Enough to leave in sort of a shitty way. With no notice. Where we can’t talk her out of going. Or she can’t talk herself out of going.”

  “You only want to assume the best of her because of the childhood best-friend thing,” Bianca said tightly. “Your special bond. It’s based on a sunk-cost fallacy, you get that, right? Just because you’ve put in the hours doesn’t mean that your friendship is infallible.”

  “It’s definitely one hundred percent fallible,” Autumn said. “We all are. But, yeah, because I have known Jo for a long time, I’m going to acknowledge that she fucked up and try to move forward. That means believing her when she says she’s going to try harder next time. Because I want to make space in my life for more people. The world has to be bigger than five people.”

  Bianca sat down on the other side of the bed, mostly so that she could buy time as she mentally counted the people in her life. “There are at least a dozen people I have to deal with.”

  “Don’t count your employees.”

  Shit, Bee thought. Another verbal trap.

  “Bee, if you say no pets, no babies, no new friends—that’s so much denying yourself. And it’s denying other people an amazing person to know. I want to be able to make new friends and introduce them to my super-awesome bestie because she’s one of my favorite people ever born. But that means you have to be willing to give people a shot.”

  “It’s easier when it’s brand-new people,” Bee said, letting her gaze wander to the photo taken at last year’s Birdy Bash at Knott’s Berry Farm. The Birdy family was so wide and ever expanding; Bee had found her first two Bashes to be wholly overwhelming, drowning in a sea of noise and endless Code Red Mountain Dew. Having Autumn with her was like bringing a piece of home, even though she hadn’t yet moved back to Sandy Point. “You and Jo already know everything about each other. I’m always having to catch up.”

  “If you want brand-new people, friend, you are in the wrong place. As far as new friends, I can give you Jo or Jen G. Or Wren, but I don’t think you’d like that.”

  “She’s—” Bee inhaled. “Not my favorite. I definitely would rather keep Jo than Wren. Has Wren helped you out at all with Mrs. Markey’s animal show? Does a vice principal have the authority to cancel a play?”

  “You can’t cancel a play for being a bad idea. The baby-bullying show will go on whether I want it to or not. The money’s been spent.” Autumn dropped her face in her hands. “This would never have happened to Mr. Hearn.”

  “Mr. Hearn probably wouldn’t have snuck five dances into the Senior Showcase without consulting his co-director,” Bee said.

  Autumn looked up at her, aghast.

  “I’m sorry! I thought we were doing tough love today!” Bee said. “You took control away from Pat, so she took control away from you. You both think the only way for you to win is for the other to lose. You’re just…in each other’s way.”

  Autumn flopped across the bed backward. She stared up at the ceiling as her hair wagged against the floor. “When I moved back here, I thought I would know what to do. I thought I would finally be an expert at something. My theater. My town. But I’m not. It wasn’t supposed to go like this.”

  “Then you’ll have to find a new way to go,” Bianca said. “And maybe take some of these boxes to Thrift Town.”

  BIANCA: We’ll see at you at the bonfire.

  JO: You’re coming!

  BIRDY: Wait until you see the all-terrain rollator we got for Lita!

  I just got plain old crutches

  AUTUMN: Awesome! I miss Lita!

  BIANCA: First we have to see if she can actually get from the parking lot down to the beach

  She seems excited to try

  As in, she would like to try right now while we are having dinner

  FLORENCIO: Should I bring church dip or beer to this send-off party?

  JO: Both, Coach! Duh. It’s a party!

  AUTUMN: Even if it’s the sad kind.

  “You’re really overthinking it,” Eden said, standing over the eerily headless body laid out on Jo’s bed. “You’re literally just going to float on a piece of wood in the ocean. It’s not brain surgery, Jo.”

  “Brain surgery has a lot less risk of sharks and drowning,” Jo said, poking at a neoprene arm. It smelled like an unwashed yoga mat. “Bianca’s grandma had brain surgery, and she’s fine!”

  Eden threw her hands up. “Look, you must have wanted to surf once because you wrote it on your stupid list.”

  “I didn’t write it,” Jo protested. “It’s in Autumn’s handwriting. I have zero curiosity about the briny deep, thanks. There are fucking dinosaurs in there.”

  Deb appeared in the doorway, half invited, half eavesdropping in the way only mothers can. “But cute dinosaurs. Like whales and silly seals.”

  Jo glared at her mother. “If everything in the ocean was an herbivore, it wouldn’t change the fact that you can drown in there.”

  “You could drown in the bathtub!” Deb snorted. “You could have fallen off the top of the anchor when you climbed it, too. Cracked your head wide open and never set foot on a surfboard.”

  “God, Mom. That’s so morbid,” Eden said.

  Deb held her hands up. “Life is unpredictable! That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Fine!” Jo said to preemptively block out any more talking. “I’m putting on the wet suit.”

  Before getting into the water, Jo had assumed the caption for this list item would be something along the lines of A beautiful communal moment between myself, my family, and the infinite cradle of the sea.

  Five minutes in, she knew her post would actually start with the phrase Today I let the ocean beat the living shit out of me. She had no natural balance or grace to keep her planted to the board; the surf leash meant that she couldn’t lose her board, but it could fly up and smack her in the nose. And she still couldn’t cross this idiotic exercise off the list.

  “You got this one, Jojo!” Phil shouted, pointing back at the incoming foamy white surf.

  Chin up, Jo kept her belly pressed flat to the deck. Behind her, waves rushed, growing from high to higher than her head. They caught the board, carrying it toward the beach.

  “Stand up, Jo! Don’t forget to goofy!”

  Knees wobbling, Jo got to her feet, taking her southpaw stance. When they were done, she really needed to talk to her family about the stupidity of surf jargon. They could call this position goofy all they wanted, but it was a left-foot warrior two pose and she knew it.

  Her ankles started to quiver. The board went forward as Jo’s balance faltered to the side. Ass into the water and then under. Salt water irrigated her nose and brain. The inside of her skull ached. When she got to shore, she threw up a mouthful of the ocean.

  “Okay,” she called to her family. “I’m done now.”

  “One more wave!” Eden called. “You got the hang of it now!”

  “Yeah! One more!” Deb agreed, shaking both arms over her head, the same way she did when she wanted to stay up late with one more episode.

  Jo thought about the price of the wet suit and board. Jo’s parents had special-ordered her a board through their vendor at the Surf & Saucer. It was gray and made Jo feel like she was riding a shark.

  Jo blew the water out of her nose, squared her shoulders, and marched back into the ocean before, once again, being blitzed back to the sand.

  “I get it,” she told her dad, lying on their boards on the beach. “But that doesn’t mean I have to do it again.”

  Phil turned to face her. “Ever?”

  Jo scrunched her nose. It felt like there were sand castles stuck between her tongue and her brain. “Anytime soon,” she said.

  “Hot dog! I’ll take it!” Deb cheered, kicking her French pedicure around in the sand. When she looked at Jo, her eyes crinkled
at the corners like a paper fan set to flapping. “It’s not never, bean!”

  “Or a list of why it sucked,” Eden agreed. She pulled on thick wool socks and slid her feet into slides, somehow making the combination high fashion. Youths made everything look cool. Jo sometimes thought about Autumn’s boxers fad and how weird it was that instead of her being mocked, other girls had gone out and bought novelty boxers to wear as shorts under hoodies.

  With a scowl, Jo noted the wet ropes of her hair. Her blowout couldn’t fight seawater. It only kept her curls from exploding to their fullest potential. Spirals of water dripped around each tendril.

  “I feel like kelp,” she grumbled.

  “Like you wanna eat it? Because we could go to that fish place in Oceanside. The one that used to be a titty bar.”

  “Dad!” Eden said. “You have two daughters. Could you try for, like, a modicum of feminism?”

  “I’m very sorry, Eden Ellison. The former palace of erotic entertainments—”

  “Phil, pass the sunblock, please. Not all of us have the gift of melanin.”

  “My hair is frizzy!” Jo said over everyone. “I need conditioner and a flat iron, stat.”

  “Oh please,” Eden said. “All of your subscribers are going to be like, You should wear your hair natural all the time, OMG we stan a queen, blah, blah, blah.”

  Phil found the huge beach bag Deb had spent predawn expertly packing with surf day essentials. From within, Phil produced the sunblock and tossed it to Deb for a reapply.

  “Your curls are beautiful, Jojo,” he told his eldest. “There’s no law that says you have to get rid of them.”

  Jo motioned to his glistening scalp, reflecting the weak sun. “Tell that to your scalp!”

  “Hey, you know men lose their hair because of excess testosterone,” Deb purred, rubbing sunblock suggestively over her cheeks.

  “Ew, ew, ew.” Jo shuddered. “I am so glad I am moving out of your house.”

  “Me too!” Phil joked, delighting himself. Snickering, he said, “Kidding. You’re always welcome at home.”

  Bringing Deb one hundred Mother’s Days’ worth of joy, the lunch picnic marked the first time every Freeman ate their namesake Surf & Sauce combination plate at the same time. Under great duress Jo admitted that the mushroom-and-onion tart was her favorite of the four dishes. She ate all of it and the side of chickpea feta salad.

  When Deb and Eden went back into the water for one last ride, Jo hung back with her dad. He cleaned up the to-go containers. She triple-checked to make sure her camera was safely wrapped in plastic and cushioned in towels.

  “Dad, do you ever regret leaving your salaried job?”

  Phil’s wide brow furrowed, taken aback but not mad about it. “I had to quit that job to keep your mother. She wanted out of the city. I wanted her. I don’t regret a thing.”

  Jo sat back down on her board. She wrung her hands together until the knuckles popped. Her dad sighed, knelt in the sand beside her.

  “If you are looking for the meaning of life, I haven’t found it. What I have found is that the most fun thing about being alive is the scariest damned part. You get to be whoever you want to be. Once you figure out who that person is. The guy I was back in my suit-and-tie days, up in Washington.” He wiggled his spine into a straight line and deepened his already deep voice. “Philip John Freeman the Third—yeah, the whole name every time—he couldn’t have been your dad, Jo. He couldn’t have been anybody’s dad. My priorities changed, and that changed how I fit into the world.”

  “Did leaving the job change your priorities? Or did you just decide to be a new person?”

  He sat back on his heels, turned to the sea. “Well, first I fell in love with a bossy white girl. You know how that goes.”

  “I have been there,” Jo said. “They’ll wreck your shit.”

  Deb beamed and waved from her board. They waved back.

  “Mine, thankfully, can run a business. And has emotions,” Phil said. “We learned quick that there’s less room to fail when your name’s on the door. There’s no coworkers or shareholders to cover your ass. Just you and your family and the world. And that’s the second thing, we had you and your sister. Having kids means different priorities.”

  “No more cigars on penny-poker night.”

  “Yes, that is probably the very smallest way things changed. But also being ready to drive twelve hours to get my daughter out of her apartment before she’s evicted. Opening the store on a Sunday when Eden wants to throw a cast party in there. Gotta stay alive. Gotta stay healthy. Gotta not lose the house when tourism rates tank.”

  “Normal adult shit,” Jo said heavily.

  “Normal adult shit,” Phil concurred. He got to his feet, only the hard set of his jaw betraying the creakiness he felt. He extended a hand to Jo and pulled her to her feet. “If your shit isn’t here, Jo, that is okay. If you want to go out there and sell booze or HeartCharts or fun on the interwebs, then do it. But do it all the way. That’s the only way you’ll know whether or not it’s got the potential to make you happy.”

  Happy had never been Jo’s goal. She had lists for productivity and lists to kill time and lists for shopping and lists for chores.

  Or was the Thowback List her list for happiness? What did that mean when she was so close to the end?

  She picked up her board and started psyching herself up to carry it back up the steep stairs to Jetty Avenue. The trek down had involved her almost being dragged to her death twice.

  “Thanks for moving my shit from California,” she said to her father.

  “I wasn’t fishing for that, but you’re welcome. When you get that signing bonus, you can hire movers to get the shit out of my garage. When you’re ready.”

  “When I’m ready,” Jo said, staring out at the ocean. “That’s a good idea, Dad.”

  “A compliment for your father? Don’t strain yourself before your big party!”

  COMPLETED ITEMS

  TP Bianca’s house

  Perform onstage

  Get belly button pierced

  Redo the yearbook prank

  Eat the giant sundae at Frosty’s

  Host a dinner party

  Pose like a pinup girl

  Get a pet

  Learn an entire dance routine

  Get stoned

  Eat breakfast at midnight

  Have a glitter fight

  Try everything on the menu at Days

  Break something with a sledgehammer

  Do a keg stand

  Get a high score at the boardwalk arcade

  Climb the giant anchor on the boardwalk (and survive)

  Play hide-and-seek in public

  Surf the Point

  TO BE COMPLETED

  Have a bonfire

  Dig up the time capsule

  When Autumn went to use her key at the red-and-white house on Main Street for the last time, she found the door already unlocked. Her mother’s voice echoed out of the dining room, loudly detailing the contents of the china hutch to someone on the phone.

  “You used to love those Precious Moments figurines! You gave me about a million of them!” Cindy Kelly complained to the person on the other end of the line. Aunt Fred, from the sound of it. “I suppose I could check to see if they’re worth anything on eBay….”

  “They aren’t. They’re just porcelain Funko pops,” Autumn piped in as Cindy hung up the call. “Cute but not valuable.”

  “Well, you never know,” her mother said in syrupy singsong as she swept Autumn up in a squeeze. “Hello, my baby.”

  “Hello, Momsie.” Autumn buried her nose in her mom’s crisp hair. In the dim light, Cindy Kelly’s hair was a shock of white, no longer the faded blond of the woman in the Sears portraits. Although the hairspray use was about the same. “I didn’t know you were going to be here,” she said. “I’m supposed to meet Jo.”

  Her mom’s shoulder twisted in a delicate, put-upon shrug. “The May-first deadline was for everybo
dy. And here we are at the end of April.”

  Autumn gestured at the things accumulated in the dining room: a pair of skis, a Big Mouth Billy Bass, her parents’ wedding china, a freestanding carousel horse. “Couldn’t you just tell Dad not to throw away—”

  “The Chief can throw away whatever he wants,” Cindy interrupted. “It’s time for us to take what we want and let go.”

  A knock on the front door made Autumn’s mouth shut.

  “Hello?” Jo called, poking her head in. Her face was haloed in soft brown curls.

  “Your hair!” Autumn exclaimed. “There’s my friend! You look like high school Jo.”

  “Please,” Jo said, clutching invisible pearls as she fully entered the room. “I am not wearing an outfit color-coordinated to flip-flops. My hair did not like spending the day in salt water, so I’m letting it rest before I flat-iron again.”

  “Little Jojo!” Cindy cried, bum-rushing Jo into a mama-bear hug. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you again on the day before you leave!”

  “Oh! Hi, Mrs. Kelly!” Jo said, wobbling from the force of the hug. “Are you coming to the bonfire tonight?”

  Cindy looked faux-offended. “Of course! Who else would make the church dip?”

  “Florencio’s dip isn’t bad,” Jo said tactfully.

  “Oh well, speaking of, guess who was just here?” Cindy Kelly asked, holding her hand up to signal how conspiratorial she was being. Autumn had never been able to direct her mother away from overacting.

  Jo opened her mouth, possibly to actually name the obvious guess, which was not what Autumn’s mother wanted.

  “Who, Momsie?” Autumn asked.

  “Florencio came to pick up a few things,” Cindy said. “At the same time as your father.”

  “And did they both stay?” Autumn asked.

  “They did!” Cindy grinned. “They cleared out all the surfboards and camping things from the garage! They weren’t chatty about it, of course. They have a lot of healing to do, but it was more talking than I’ve seen them do in years.”