by Naomi Martin
“You know, if this is a bum number, you won’t be able to hide,” he warns. “Sapphire Bay is a pretty small place.”
I laugh. “Shut up. It’s real.”
Annie calls his name again, impatience coloring her voice. He turns and holds up a finger to her, letting her know he’ll be a moment, then turns back to me.
“Okay, I’ll text you the details,” he repeats.
“Great,” I reply.
“Great.”
Another awkward moment passes between us before he chuckles and turns away, walking over to the counter to pick up his food. I watch him leave then turn back to Katie, my face burning with heat. She grabs my hands and giggles, her own cheeks flush with excitement. We laugh together for a moment then I pull back and gnaw on my bottom lip.
“What is he like? I mean, really?” I ask. “Am I getting myself into trouble with this guy?”
“Believe it or not, he’s actually a pretty good guy,” she tells me.
“Then why were you riding him so hard about Brittany and Lacey?”
She shrugs. “He’s a good guy, but he hangs out with some real assholes.”
We laugh together and I feel my heart stuttering drunkenly in my chest. I know this is not the ideal time to even think about getting involved with somebody, but something about him just clicked with me. I’d felt it the moment our eyes met.
But then, maybe I’m just being stupid. Maybe I’m reading more into it than was actually there. It wouldn’t be the first time I let myself do that. For all I know, he could be a serial killer. Or at least a serial womanizer. And the last thing I need right now is to let myself emotionally invest in a guy whose only mission in life is to screw as many girls as he can.
“Well, I’m not going to get too invested,” I tell her. “If nothing else, going to the bonfire will give me a chance to meet some people before school starts.”
Katie nods. “Ugh. Don’t even mention the S word yet.”
“Sorry.” I grin.
We finish up our snack and spend the rest of the afternoon chatting and enjoying ourselves. Katie takes me around to some of the out-of-the-way places in Sapphire Bay and gives me a walking history of the place. Her depth of knowledge about the town is impressive—and informative. I probably now know more about Sapphire Bay than ninety-nine percent of the people who live here. It’s a good thing I like history and local lore.
By the time I get home, my dad already has dinner on the stove. The house is filled with mouth-watering aromas and I walk in, suddenly hungry and feeling better than I have any right to.
Chapter Four
I close the door behind me and inhale deeply. The air is saturated with the smell of garlic and my dad is singing along with Metallica in the kitchen—something that always amuses me to no end. You wouldn’t think by looking at him, always so strait-laced and buttoned down, that he rocks out to Metallica and other bands like that.
I look around and see that while I was out today, he pretty much got the entire house together. Most all of the boxes are gone, and everything is clean, organized, situated, and decorated. My mom will definitely be happy about this house when she sees it.
“Honey, is that you?” His voice echoes to me from the kitchen.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I call back.
I walk into the kitchen and he turns down the Bluetooth speaker, giving me a smile. Tendrils of steam waft off the pots on the stove, curling up toward the ceiling. He dips a wooden spoon into the smaller pot and holds it up, beckoning me with his other hand.
“Come here and try this,” he says.
I walk around to the stove side of the center island and sample his red sauce. And as the combination of garlic, tomatoes, sausage, and all of the spices and seasonings hit my taste buds, I let out a groan of delight and nod.
“It’s amazing,” I tell him. “So good.”
He flashes me a delighted grin as I walk around to the other side of the island and sit down on one of the stools, swiveling back and forth on it. I watch as he drops some pasta into the boiling water then checks the bread in the oven.
“So, how was your day?” he asks.
“It was good. Katie took me all around town.”
“Showed you the sights, did she?”
I nod. “And gave me a history lesson on top of it.”
“Well, it’s always good to learn something new every day.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s summer. I think it’s against the Constitution to force us to learn anything during the summer.”
“Oh, right, the little-known twenty-eighth Amendment.”
“Exactly.” I smile.
I’m tempted to tell him about Ryan, but I bite it back. Although things between us are getting better, I don’t think we’re quite to that point yet. Not with the long shadow of the Incident still hovering over us. Thanks to the fallout from the Incident, my parents have been skeptical about letting me go out with any boy. They say it isn’t that they don’t trust me, it’s just that they don’t trust the other people.
Right. Even though I was completely exonerated and all of the accusations leveled against me were proven to be complete bullshit, I’ve never been able to wash the stigma off completely. Not even in the eyes of my parents. It’s part of the reason we’re sitting here in a kitchen in Sapphire Bay instead of Norfolk.
I take a breath and let it out, doing my best to banish the bad feelings and anger that still churns inside of me whenever I think about it. I look at my dad and frown. He and I have always been close. I’m close to my mom, too, don’t get me wrong, but I guess because she’s been gone so often, deployed to one country or another, I’ve developed a different relationship with my dad.
I learned to talk to and open up to him in ways I never do with my mom. I feel as if he tries to understand me better than she does. That isn’t a knock on my mom, it’s just that she is usually all business and would rather find the solution right away than understand the emotion behind the original issue. And I’m a girl who has to understand what it is I’m feeling and why.
Ever since they announced that we were moving here, though, there’s been a rift between me and my dad. Our conversation hasn’t been as easy, and I haven’t felt comfortable opening up to him. I hate that there is this chasm between us. He’s tried to bridge that gap before, but I’ve shot him down every time. He’s backed off and has just let me be, for the most part. I guess he’s been waiting for me to approach him—when I feel ready.
I know the only way to mend that rift is to just open up and talk to him like I used to. I know he’s waiting for me to. But I also know there is still a lot of unresolved anger inside of me, and I fear that if I open that door again, all of those hardened emotions will come rushing back out.
But then again, maybe if I open that door, he and I can work through whatever we need to. Maybe we can talk through it together and get back to where we used to be. And if that doesn’t work, I suppose I can go back to being angry and sullen.
“So, when I was out with Katie today, I met a… boy.”
I sit back in my seat and wait for the look of disapproval and words of recrimination that feel inevitable to me at this point. He never did fully approve of the boys I dated back in Norfolk, and there were definitely a few tense discussions about them. Even I have to admit that I didn’t always choose very well. Surprisingly, though, his admonishment doesn’t come. Instead, he gives me a half-smile and a look of simple curiosity.
“And what’s his name?”
I’m so surprised by his casual, conversational tone, I nearly have to pick my jaw up off the floor. I mean, this is what I wanted. I wanted to be able to talk to my dad like I used to. But I honestly didn’t think he would be this receptive or willing to talk to me like everything is normal. No dark looks, no dramatic sighs—just normal.
”R-Ryan,” I reply. “His name is Ryan.”
“Why do you look so shocked?” He laughs.
“I just—I honestly thought you’d be u
pset,” I admit. “I mean, it’s not like we always saw eye to eye on my taste in boys.”
I let my mind drift back to a real knock-down, drag-out fight we’d had when I’d started to see a boy named Justin. My dad knew he was bad news from the word go, and I just didn’t want to see it. Refused to see it. At least, until Justin got busted selling meth at school. Like a lot of meth. The guy thought he was Pablo Escobar or something.
And somehow, I’d gotten caught up in that whole mess. I was questioned by the police, had to take multiple drug tests to prove to my parents that I wasn’t using—it was just mad drama. But even then, my dad and I fought about Justin simply because I didn’t want to admit I was wrong.
Eventually, cooler heads prevailed, and I had to apologize to Dad for being an idiot. Because, truthfully, I was being an idiot. I’m not going to deny it. My dad was trying to protect me. It just took me a minute to see it because sometimes, I feel like they treat me like a child.
He sighs. “I admit, none of us—none of the adults—handled things well,” he says softly, obviously thinking about the situation with Justin as well. “We should have protected you.”
“It would’ve been nice if you’d believed me,” I snap. “Or trusted me. Even a little bit.”
“You’re right. And I’m sorry for that, honey,” he tells me. “You’ll never know how sorry your mom and I are. We should have believed you.”
I sigh and look down at my hands, trying to push away the frustration and the hurt that wells up inside of me every time I think about it. They’ve apologized to me before, but I don’t know, maybe I didn’t want to hear it then. Maybe I wasn’t in a place where I could hear it. But, this time, for whatever reason, his apology sticks.
I hear the sincerity in his voice and understand, maybe for the first time, that this distance between us hurt him as much as it hurt me. It’s something I hadn’t thought of before and while it makes me feel bad, it also brings me a small sense of comfort since it shows me that he was just as impacted by everything that happened as I was.
“I kind of feel like everything that happened with Justin never went away. It just kind of hung over us,” I admit.
“Maybe it did. And if so, I’m sorry, Tatum,” he says. “I only wanted to protect you and keep you safe from all of that garbage. I never wanted to make you angry or treat you like a child.”
“I know that,” I reply softly. “At least, I do now.”
My father gives me a small smile as he gives the sauce a stir and looks down into the pot, as if he can find the right words to say in the bottom of it or something. Finally, he looks up at me, that earnestness still in his eyes.
“So, let’s make a deal, you and me. Let’s try to give this place a chance and let’s try to get back to where we were,” he says. “You know, back when we used to be able to talk to each other? I mean, really talk to each other?”
A gentle smile touches my lips. “I’d like that.”
“Me too,” he responds.
“So, fresh start, then?” I ask
He nods. “Clean slate for the both of us.”
I have to admit, talking to my dad like this, openly and honestly like we used to, feels good. It makes me feel like a piece of my heart that had been missing has been put back into place. Oh, I’m still carrying plenty of anger inside of me over how this all played out, but I can feel my hold on it loosening. At least, on the anger I hold toward my parents. I know there will be no letting go of my anger toward that piece of human garbage who put me in this position to begin with. Justin can die somewhere and rot, as far as I’m concerned.
Silence descends over us for a minute. But rather than strained or awkward, for the first time in a while, it’s companionable. I can feel that yawning chasm that’s kept us apart finally starting to close. It’s going to take a minute before it’s all forgotten, but things are moving in a more positive direction.
“So, tell me about this boy,” my dad suggests.
The smile crosses my face before I can even think to stop it. Dad laughs and I feel the heat creeping into my face. I look away and try to gather myself.
“I take it he’s a good-looking kid?” he asks.
“He’s nice, too.”
“Good-looking and nice.” He nods. “That’s a promising start.”
“He invited me and Katie to a bonfire down on the beach.”
My dad tenses, but I get the sense it’s the natural reaction of a father dealing with his daughter dating rather than having anything to do with the past. He’s protective. He always has been and always will be. That’s just who he is as a dad. Most of the time, it doesn’t bother me, because he reins it in and doesn’t smother me with it.
“A bonfire, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think it’ll be a good chance for me to meet some new people,” I say. “Make some friends before school starts, you know?”
“And get to know this Ryan better, right?”
I smile. “Yeah, that too.”
He laughs. “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good, let’s eat.”
* * * * *
Later on, after dinner, I’m lying on my bed, scrolling Facebook and Twitter, then watching some videos online. Truthfully, though, I’m feeling sorry for myself and am half-heartedly trying to stave off the depression. I pick up my phone and look at it again, scrolling through my text messages to see that I haven’t missed any. It sends a lance of pain through my heart and fills me with a gnawing sense of sadness.
I texted a couple of my friends from Norfolk a little while ago but haven’t heard back from them. Back in the day, they always responded right away. We were never out of nearly immediate contact with each other. So much so that it was a running joke to my parents.
But now that I’m on the other side of the country, the lag time between text messages has been getting longer and longer. I can’t help but feel like they’re pulling away from me. I guess that since I’m not there, since I’m not with them every day like I used to be, they’re moving on from me. They’re busy making new friends, new memories, and are carrying on with their lives—without me. I suppose that all those plans we made together—like going to the same college and sharing an apartment, our promises of eternal friendship—in the end, don’t mean anything.
Out of sight, out of mind. And life moves on, I guess.
I bury my face in my pillow and try to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill over. I don’t want to cry. I want to be tough. If they don’t want to be part of my life anymore, then I don’t want to be part of theirs, either. It’s easy to say that, but it’s not so easy to shut out the pain that comes with the knowledge that your friends have moved on from you.
My phone chimes with the sound of an incoming text, sending a jolt of excitement through my heart. I scoop it up and quickly call up my messages, expecting it to be one of my friends. When I see who it is, though, I’m taken aback for a moment. But then I feel a warmth spreading across my face and a giddy churning in my belly. It’s Ryan.
Hope you don’t think it’s weird I’m texting you. Just wanted to say it was nice meeting you today.
I gnaw on my bottom lip, trying to decide on the best response to send—or whether I should respond at all. I give it a little thought and then decide I should probably say something.
It was nice meeting you, too. Thanks for the invite to the bonfire.
“Keep it simple,” I tell myself as my phone chimes again.
Of course. I’m glad you’re coming!
I look at my phone and laugh at myself as I realize I have no idea what to say next. Sometimes, I’m so socially awkward it hurts. My fingers hover over the keypad of my phone as I try to figure out what to say but I’m bailed out when I see the little bubble pop up to show that he’s typing something to me. A moment later, another message comes through.
Anyway, just wanted to say hi and that I’m glad you’re coming to the bonfire. You have a good night, Tatum.
<
br /> Thankful he gave me an easy out, I key in a quick response and hit send.
You too, Ryan. Goodnight!
I stare at my phone for a moment, kind of waiting for him to reply again. But a couple of minutes go by without another message so I drop my phone and roll over, grinning to myself. My heart is thumping inside of me and a giggle erupts from my throat as I silently scold myself for being such an idiot. I don’t remember ever being so affected by a boy as I am by Ryan. If I have, it was a long time ago.
There’s a soft knock at my door and I quickly sit up, trying to wipe away the stupid grin that’s plastered on my face. The door swings inward and my dad is standing there, a strange expression crossing his face. He looks startled and slightly embarrassed, as if he’d walked in on me masturbating or something. Given the fact that my face is flushed and I’m grinning like a fool, I suppose it’s understandable.
“Oh, I’m sorry if—”
“I wasn’t doing what you obviously think I was doing.” I can’t stop the burst of laughter that escapes me.
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” he retorts. “But, you know, those urges are entirely natural and normal. Nothing wrong with them. I’d just remind you that your door has a lock—”
“Dad, ewww. Stop.”
I laugh even harder and feel my face turning from a warm shade of red to a red-hot shade of scarlet. My parents have always been very open about the subject of sex and have always been clear that no questions were ever out of bounds. They believed in demystifying it for me at an early age—much to my dismay.
They thought taking the stigma off what most parents treat as a taboo subject would help me develop a healthier attitude toward sex. Which, in turn, would lead to me making smarter decisions. They preached knowledge and safety, rather than telling me that sex is bad and to avoid it like the plague.
But even that healthier attitude toward the topic doesn’t mean I want to discuss my masturbatory habits with my father.
“So, what has you grinning like the cat who ate the canary?”