Nearing September

by Amber Thielman

  “Excuse me, once again, for ruining your life,” Nick said. “This is all just a dream come true for me, as you can probably imagine.”

  “I'm sure,” I said. “One less person to forget to send a Christmas card to. Tough.”

  “That's not fair, Sam,” Nick said, and the hurt in his voice was heavy. “I loved Emily—I love Emily. And I love Piper, too.”

  “I guess we'll see about that,” I said. “Actions speak louder than words.”

  He shook his head and glared at me. “Yeah. I guess we will.”

  Nick

  The six-hour flight from Miami to Seattle was long. Six hours too long. I hated planes; they scared the shit out of me. The only part of flying I had ever enjoyed was the complimentary cans of soda and tiny bags of pretzels. Sometimes, if I was lucky, it was cookies instead of pretzels. And I only liked it when the flight attendant gave me the entire can of soda and not just half of it, which seemed to happen more often than was appropriate.

  “I never understood that,” I said, sipping my cup of ginger ale. “Why do some flights give you the whole can, and other flights only give you half of it? That seems half-assed.”

  “I think the same thing every time I fly,” Sam admitted. “It's like a game of Russian Roulette. Only nobody dies; they just get half a can of soda. Honestly, it’s hard.”

  Seated in the middle seat between us, Piper was gnawing at my pretzels, headphones over her ears as she watched the in-flight movie—also not complimentary. I had to hand it to the kid—aside from clutching an ugly, tattered teddy bear everywhere she went, Piper was taking the move well. I only heard her cry at night when my mind was at ease, and my thoughts were rampant. I knew that if I was still hurting over Emily's death, it probably wasn't a fraction of what Piper was going through every moment of every day without her mother—even Sam had it worse than I did, and I knew I had to remember that.

  “So, what's the plan with you and Dick?” I asked. “Sorry, I mean Richard.” I knew I was treading on dangerous territory with the subject, but I didn't care. Getting a rise out of Sam was my favorite pastime.

  “Not that it's any of your business, but Richard and I are going to be just fine,” Sam said. She eyed her soft drink, probably wishing it was liquor instead. I couldn’t blame her—I wished the same thing. “We're going to work on a long-distance relationship—and then maybe someday he can relocate to Seattle.”

  “I see,” I said. “Seattle is a hip town though, isn't it, Sam? Most people over the age of sixty don't enjoy the area.”

  “Richard is forty-six,” I huffed. “And he's more handsome and distinguished than you are at twenty-six.”

  “I didn't realize it was a competition,” I said. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. “But hey, if you have a thing for gray hair and premature wrinkles, more power to you.”

  “God, you're so immature.”

  “I know.” I smiled and craned my neck, waving my hand at the flight attendant with the snack cart.

  “Sir?”

  “Hey, do you guys have little packages of cookies or something? The pretzels didn't quite hit the spot.”

  “Um,” the flight attendant said. “We might.”

  “I apologize for him,” Sam called, drawing stares from the front seats of the plane. “He's a child.”

  “I totally am.” I shot a pointed look at Sam as the flight attendant handed me two small packages of chocolate chip cookies. I gave one to Piper, who barely peeled her eyes from the screen in front of her, and then inhaled the second package while Sam glowered at me.

  “What? Cookies are delicious. Don't hate me just because your inner child is dead.”

  “Everyone is a child at some point, and then they grow up,” Sam said. “You must have missed the memo.” She pulled her frizzy red hair off her neck, fanning herself, obviously flustered. “Are we almost there?”

  “Yes, Sam, we’ve been in the air for an hour, so we’re definitely almost there.”

  “It's stifling in here.”

  “Stifling?” I repeated. “Christ. Who uses words like that?”

  “Educated people,” she said. “People who went to college after they graduated high school. People whose vocabulary has graduated from right on, bro and ’sup dawg? to real-life words like stifling.”

  “I must have missed that memo, too.” I peeled my lips back, grinning at her like a chimp. I didn't laugh, only rolled my eyes, and took another sip of my drink.

  “How was that half a can of ginger ale?” I asked.

  “Perfect, thank you. Some things are better in moderation. Kinda like you.”

  “Is kinda a word?” I asked. “Or is it kind of?” I knew that if I kept it up, she’d probably smack me, but the desire to tease her was too overwhelming. In the six years since I’d last seen Sam, she hadn't changed one bit—she was just as easy to rile up as ever, and I was just as amused now as I had been then.

  “Shut the fuck up is a word, too,” I said. “Well, a phrase.” I glanced down at Piper to make sure she hadn't heard and then flashed Sam the middle finger. I laughed and rested my head back against the seat.

  “We're not almost there,” I said. “And even if we were, Florida would be five times hotter than this plane is right now.”

  “Awesome,” Sam said. She pulled a Kindle out of her purse and clicked it on. “I'm so glad we’re doing this.”

  Sam

  Nick was right. I hated when he was right. Seattle was cold, and it was wet, and it made me want to curl up into a ball and scream.

  “Welcome home,” Nick said, stepping out of the terminal. He had Piper's hand gripped in his, dragging my suitcase and hers behind him. Piper hadn’t said much since we’d left Miami, but I didn’t mind. I wasn’t sure I’d have known what to say anyway, not given the circumstances. Were seven-year-old kids supposed to be talkative? Piper had always been on the quiet side, but I knew she was an intelligent child. A lot was going on in Piper’s head, even if she didn’t say it aloud.

  “Seattle is cold,” Piper said. The ragged bear she held under one arm was still clutched tightly against her. “But it’s really pretty. I saw it out the window of the plane.

  “It’s perfect,” Nick added. “So much different than Miami, which was never anything but muggy and polluted. Did I mention hot?”

  “Don't listen to the negativity about your hometown Pipes” I said. “Your uncle used to adore the heat because it meant he could hang out on the beach all day and swim.”

  “I did not adore the beach, Sam, I tolerated it.”

  “Do we get to go to the beach?” Piper asked.

  “Well, duh.” Nick smiled down at her with such a loving gaze I almost tripped over my own feet. I’d thought he would merely exist in Piper’s life, but so far, she seemed to be warming to him more than I was. I wasn’t sure if I was envious or happy, but I loved seeing that grin on Piper’s face. It had been rare to see her smile since Emily’s death. And now Nick was making her giggle without even trying. I knew I shouldn’t be jealous, but it was difficult not to be. It didn’t matter either way, however, because I knew that if I couldn’t make myself smile, how could I make someone else smile?

  “You’ll need a wetsuit first,” I quipped, ignoring Nick’s eyeroll. “This isn’t like home, Piper.”

  Nick turned to me then, a small smile playing on his lips. “This is home now.”

  Nick

  I tried not to concern myself with what Sam would think of my house, but it was difficult not to. This whole ordeal was so surreal I hadn't had time to think of the little things—like the two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment I’d lived in for the last three years. The fact it was a block from the water seemed to fade into insignificance—it wouldn't help me when I had to house two women in a single man's apartment.

  “I didn't realize you had your own place,” Sam said. I stepped through the front door after she’d led Piper though and dropped my duffel bag on the floor. I couldn't tell if she spoke with surprise or not, and
I fought the urge to sneer at her. I wasn't a complete loser, contrary to her warped belief.

  “It's only a two-bedroom,” I said. “Piper, you can take the guest room upstairs. It’s got a bed and everything.”

  “Can I have my teddy bear sleep with me?” Piper asked. “He won't hurt anything.”

  “Of course you can,” I said. “It wouldn't be home without Mr. Bear.” Piper grinned at me, her eyes lighting up. I thought of my sister then; Emily not much older than Piper, having the same look of glee over Christmas presents.

  “I'll have to stay here until I can secure my own place,” Sam said. “I’m sorry. I know it’s awkward. I can sleep on the couch.”

  “No.” My words surprised me. Of course, it made sense, I realized, for Sam to find her own place to live, but truth be told I hadn't thought much about that until she'd said something. What had I been expecting? A slumber party in the same bed? “Don't be sorry,” I said finally. “You can have my bedroom. I'll sleep on the couch until we can figure out a more permanent solution.”

  “Are you sure?” For the first time in days, Sam looked embarrassed—even slightly thankful, and it made me feel good that I’d offered. I wasn’t a total jackass—most of the time, anyway.

  “I’m sure.” I grabbed Piper’s bag and carried it up the stairs for her, relieved that I at least had a room for the kid to sleep. This would have to be a temporary solution, I knew. Eventually, I’d have to invest in a bigger place.

  “This is a nice apartment, Nick,” Sam said softly from the bottom of the staircase where she was standing, looking around. “Color me impressed.”

  Sam

  It wasn’t my cozy Miami apartment, and it certainly wasn’t Richard’s fancy condo, but Nick’s apartment would work for the time being. It was charming and cute and close to the beach, gloomy as it was here, which were all things I made myself notice so I wouldn’t be too bitter about the move. As I put my things away in the drawers he had emptied for me, I felt a sudden longing for home—a wish I was still back home in Miami. But even beyond wanting to be back in my city, I wanted to be back at home with Emily. Emily had not only been my best friend, but also my partner in crime and self-proclaimed sister. Losing Emily meant losing a piece of myself, a piece that I didn’t even know I’d had until I said goodbye to my best friend. Without Emily, I was lost. Every time I looked at Piper and saw Em, my lungs seemed to cease to work, and I had to fight to breathe. I wondered if that feeling of suffocation would ever go away.

  In the bedroom next to hers, the room Nick had thoughtfully shared, I could hear Piper rummaging around, probably doing the same thing I was: putting away my things in a new place we would have to call home. I supposed Nick and I were lucky for taking on a kid as well-mannered and polite as Piper. I had never been the biggest fan of children, but Piper was different. Emily had raised her well.

  I hung the last of my clothes in the already-full closet and sat down on the edge of Nick’s bed, grateful that he had changed the bedding for me earlier. Knowing Nick, every woman on this side of Seattle had probably spent a night or two in that bed, and that thought alone made me want to vomit up whatever little bit was in my stomach. Emily had often chastised her brother for being such a player, but I hadn’t needed to care about his sexual tendencies until now.

  Outside the tiny bedroom window, the hazy sun was setting over Mt. Rainer. Pastels of red, orange and blue painted the sky, mesmerizing me. I had to give Seattle this—the woodsy backdrop made for a gorgeous, mountainous view. The air was fresh here, cleansed by daily rain, and a cozy sensation settled over me. It almost made me feel good about coming. Almost, but not entirely.

  On the dresser next to Nick’s bed there was a photograph of Emily and him—siblings, arm-in-arm, grinning on the beach back when they were kids. I picked it up and stared at it, feeling my chest tighten with pain. I’d given him so much shit since the funeral—angry, accusing words over his lazy approach to staying close with his sister—but the photograph made me regret my anger toward him. Nick cared—he always had. He just cared in a different way than I did, so it wasn’t so bluntly obvious. Yes, I had lost my best friend, but he had also lost his twin sister. I knew that it was time to back off, if even a little bit. Just because Nick didn’t show pain like I did didn’t mean he wasn’t hurting.

  “Sam?” There was a soft rap on the door, and I put the frame back in its place, feeling like I’d been caught red-handed.

  “Yeah?” I called. Nick poked his head in, smiling at me. He’d changed out of his travel clothes and was now dressed in clean Levi’s and a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt. It looked like he’d even combed his hair, which surprised me. He never combed his hair, let alone took regular showers or dressed like an adult. Some women found it charming, but I found it nothing short of irritating.

  “Cute shirt,” I said, and I wasn’t sure if I was being serious or not. I, too, was a fan of Zeppelin despite Richard’s hatred for classic rock. “What’s up?”

  “I just wanted to see if you ladies were hungry,” he said. “We could go to the boardwalk for dinner if you’d like.”

  “Do they have jalapeño burgers here? I haven’t had a boardwalk jalapeño burger since I was sixteen.”

  “No different than Miami, Sam,” Nick said. I noticed that when he smiled, a tiny dimple appeared on his right cheek. I remembered that dimple; he’s always had it. He leaned around the corner to peer into Piper’s room. “Uh, burgers may have to wait,” he said. “Emily Junior is passed out between the covers.”

  “Already?” I slipped my phone into my pocket and joined Nick, my heart melting when I caught sight of Piper asleep on the futon. She was under a blanket, the stupid bear still in a death grip under one arm. I watched Nick step forward to tuck the covers under her chin before leaning down, kissing her on the top of the head, and turning off the lamp before backing out of the bedroom.

  “It’s uncanny how much she looks like Em at that age,” I said. “She’s just beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “She is,” he agreed. “It’s both a blessing and a curse all at the same time.”

  I turned and looked at Nick, who glanced at his watch, eyebrows raised.

  “So, no jalapeño burgers,” he said. “How about a pizza and a bottle of booze?”

  “Charming,” I said with a small smile. “Is that how you make all your women swoon?” Despite my teasing, nothing sounded better than a pizza and alcohol. Had I been back home in Miami, Richard would have brushed that idea off in an instant. Distinguished people didn’t eat pizza and drink liquor straight from the bottle. Maybe, finally, I could relax for a few hours.

  “You say that like there are a lot of swooning women,” Nick said. I followed him downstairs and sat down on the couch while he called for a pizza. I looked around, uncertain. There was so much of him in the apartment it was overwhelming—every fake plant, every smashed penny from old vacations, every surface that hadn’t been dusted or wiped down. He was such a guy.

  “No housekeeper?” I called as Nick rummaged around in the fridge. “The place sure could use it.”

  “You want me to pay someone to clean my house?” he asked. He emerged from the kitchen with a frosted bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. “That’s what I have you for.”

  “I figured as much,” I said, taking one glass from him and admiring the label on the tequila. “My favorite,” I said. “It’s like you’re already prepared.”

  “I have an idea.” Nick sat down next to me, his elbow knocking into mine faintly. I shifted on the couch, tense, hyper-aware suddenly of the muscles rippling under his T-shirt. His skin was smooth against mine, and I cleared my throat and scooted over, just slightly. God, I needed a drink.

  “Are we playing a game?” I asked. “Or just drinking because fuck all?” I eyed the bottle of tequila, unsure if I should trust any of Nick’s bright ideas. Even as children, the phrase I have an idea had been a scary one coming from him.

  “The game is called Never Have
I Ever,” he said. “Someone says aloud something they have never done, and the other person has to take a shot if they have done it.”

  “I’ve played this,” I said. “When I was in high school. Don’t you need more than two people, though?”

  “No,” he insisted. “You get drunk faster with only two people.” He laughed. I knew that laugh. It was a man’s I will get her so drunk laugh. “Come on, just try. Some friends and I used to play it every weekend in college.”

  “College?” I repeated. “You went to college?”

  “Just a two-year for now,” he said as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. I looked down at my shot glass, pleasantly surprised. Assuming he was only a loser who bummed it on people’s couches had been the wrong idea, and I felt guilty for thinking it.

  “What did you graduate with?” I asked.

  “An associate’s in robotics engineering.”

  “No, you didn’t,” I said. “Did you?”

  “Wow, don’t look so surprised,” he said. He poured himself a shot, took it, and then filled my glass again. “You’re not the only smart person in the world, Sam. Sorry to burst your precious little bubble of arrogance.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” I flushed, wishing I’d been drinking already—then, at least, I’d have an excuse for acting like an asshole. “I just didn’t expect that from you,” I said. “You hated high school. I never assumed you’d keep going.”

  “I hated high school because I couldn’t voice my opinion without getting detention for it,” he said. There was a knock on the door, and I watched him cross the room to pay for the pizza. He tipped the delivery driver and came back to the couch, offering me the box.

  “Spray painting a gay pride rainbow on the seminary building is not voicing your opinion,” I pointed out, inhaling the aroma of food. “That’s vandalism.” I reached for a slice of pizza and took a bite, savoring the salty, spicy taste.