Thirty Sunsets

by Christine Hurley Deriso

  But Olivia looks determined. “Bikini shopping. Tomorrow.”

  Whatever expression I have on my face makes her press harder. “Trust me,” she says. “This is my area.”

  “I’m well aware that fabulosity is your area,” I say, and again, I’m relieved when she laughs.

  “You know what pisses me off the most?” I say. “I feel like he stole the beach from me. I haven’t even been able to walk on the friggin’ beach for fear of running into him.”

  “Oh, you’ll do more than walk on the beach,” Olivia says. “You’re gonna strut on the beach. You’re gonna own the friggin’ beach.”

  Now she’s making me laugh.

  And as improbable as it seems, I’m thinking: Sure. Why not. What the hell.

  Yes.

  What the hell.

  fourteen

  “But I made pancakes!”

  I glance at Olivia, who’s turning gray just from the very mention of the word.

  “Sorry, Mom,” I respond, “but we want to get an early start.”

  Mom puts her fork on her plate, peering at me incredulously. “An early start on shopping? You?”

  “Wacky, huh?” I say, sticking my head in the refrigerator. “Liv, want a cola for the road?”

  “Cola!” Mom moans. “You girls need some food!”

  “What are you shopping for?” Brian asks, setting his own fork aside.

  Olivia shrugs as I hand her a Coke. “Just stuff.”

  She and I giggle, at which point a veritable flurry of alarmed glances unfolds at the breakfast table. I’m not sure what has them more flummoxed: my sudden BFF status with Liv (hey, she said she prefers it) or my newfound penchant for shopping.

  “What kind of stuff?” Dad asks.

  “Uzis, ammo, that kind of thing,” I say, popping the lid of my can.

  Olivia laughs some more. “She’s kidding,” she tells Brian. “We’re buying bathing suits.”

  “More bathing suits?” Mom says, and it’s obvious she’s referring to Olivia’s stash, not mine.

  Olivia bristles a bit. “They’re for Forrest.”

  “And, hey, I might even pick out a couple of baby outfits while I’m at it,” I say.

  Mom’s face blanches as she casts a panicked glance at Dad.

  “What?” I ask, looking from Mom to Dad, then back again.

  “It’s awfully early for that,” Mom says, still looking at Dad. When Dad doesn’t respond, her brow furrows.

  “I think that’s really nice, Forrest,” Brian says, getting up from the table to put his dish in the sink.

  “A compliment from my bro? I can die happy now.”

  He punches my arm playfully, then pecks Olivia on the cheek. “Want me to come?” he asks her.

  She shakes her head without looking up.

  “Not unless you need some new bikinis,” I tell him.

  “I’m good,” he says.

  Olivia and I walk into the family room and grab our purses, Mom’s eyes boring into the back of my head.

  “You girls have fun,” Dad says, and I turn around in time to see Mom glaring at him.

  I linger for just a second, wondering what’s up with that. But then I hurry to catch up with Olivia, who’s already rushing out the door.

  She can’t seem to get out of here fast enough.

  “Is just the thought of me in a bikini making you sick to your stomach?”

  Silence.

  Olivia has been pale since we walked out the door. Now she’s biting the nail of her pinkie, pitched nervously forward as she backs out of the driveway.

  “Hello?” I say, waving my hands as she pulls into the street.

  She glances at me. “Sorry. What did you say?”

  “Are you about to hurl?” I ask her.

  “No. Why?”

  “You just look kinda … are you okay?”

  Olivia’s eyes turn doleful. “Your mother hates me.”

  “Mom? No,” I say unconvincingly.

  “She’s never liked me,” Olivia says. “Then I spring the pregnancy on her, and … ”

  “She really seems okay with it,” I say, and this time, I mean it. I’d have guessed a full-scale meltdown, and instead, Mom seems eerily complacent. She didn’t so much as utter a word about the pregnancy for two weeks, for crying out loud, at least not in front of me. I mean, I know she’s not jumping for joy or anything, but she and Dad are apparently rolling with the punches. Of course, Dad always rolls with the punches.

  “Did you see how she reacted when you mentioned baby clothes?” Olivia says, her fingernail still hovering by her mouth.

  “Well, like she said, it’s kinda early to be … ”

  “I was so happy when she invited me on this beach trip,” Olivia says, her voice breaking. “I thought, Wow, I’m part of the family now. I mean, I know the only reason she’s accepting me is because of the baby, but still, if she wanted me along on your family trip, then she must think … ”

  “Right,” I say reassuringly. “You’re part of the family. And kudos to you for thinking that’s a good thing.”

  She doesn’t laugh.

  “Olivia,” I say firmly. “You’re family now.”

  She tosses me a grateful but unconvinced smile. We drive in silence for a couple of moments, then she says, “It wasn’t my idea for Brian to blow off Vandy, you know. I tried to talk him into going.”

  I swallow hard.

  She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “Is that why you hate me too? Hated me?”

  My hands fumble in my lap. “Of course not. Brian is responsible for his choices, not you.”

  “But his choice would have been Vandy if it hadn’t been for me. That’s what you think?”

  What do I say? Duh?

  “He’s been freaking out about college all year,” Olivia says. “He felt so much pressure to make his mother proud, to go to Vandy, to be a doctor … it broke my heart to see him so stressed. The first few months we were dating, he was breaking out in rashes, like, every other week. It’s only when he decided to stay home that he seemed like himself again. And he made that decision before I got pregnant, remember.”

  Yeah. I remember. And now that she mentions it, I remember the rashes too.

  “But he wanted to go to medical school,” I say.

  “He wanted to please your mom. And there’s nothing wrong with that. But, man, the guilt did such a number on him. It almost made me grateful I didn’t have a mom.”

  I peer at her. “Has she ever been in your life?”

  Olivia shrugs. “She shows up on our doorstep every few months to create drama for my dad. That’s all she cares about: making his life miserable. She doesn’t care anything about me.”

  I feel a stab in my heart to hear her sound so matter-of-fact.

  I stare out the passenger window and watch a blur of fuchsia crepe myrtle. “Why did she leave?” I ask.

  Olivia shrugs again. “A guy, I think. Or maybe a job. She was gonna be a model. I don’t remember ever living with her.” She laughs wryly. “Wouldn’t you think that would mean I wouldn’t miss her? I mean, if you grow up never remembering having your mom in your life, you shouldn’t miss her, right? It should be like ice cream: the only way you can miss it is if you remember what it tastes like. If you don’t remember, you don’t know what you’re missing. So you don’t miss it.”

  “But … you miss her.”

  Olivia’s expression darkens. “I hate her.”

  Wow. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I totally do. So when your mom hugged me when I told her I was pregnant and said everything was gonna be okay, then invited me to your beach house, I … ”

  Her eyes fill with tears.

  “Mom’s gonna be fine,” I tell her. “It’s just … she can’t go mor
e than two weeks without filling her bitchy quota. It’s probably best you found out sooner rather than later. It’s the cross we all bear.”

  Olivia giggles through her tears. “I loved it when you called me Liv,” she says.

  I nod smartly. “Well, long Liv the queen. Just remember that Mom is the queen.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “Can I be the princess?”

  “God, yes. I look like crap in a tiara.”

  “So, what’s his name?”

  I look up quizzically from the drink I’m sipping. “Whose name?”

  Olivia dangles a fry outside her mouth. “The guy who’s gonna eat his heart out when he sees you in your new bikini.”

  I blush. “Oh. I dunno. Who cares.”

  Olivia nods sharply as kids zoom around the periphery of the fast-food restaurant. “Exactly. Yes, we want him to eat his heart out, but you have so moved on. That’s what lover boy needs to know. We need you walking on the beach holding hands with some hot new guy by sunset.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, hot guys and I go way back. I just snap my fingers and they magically appear.”

  “Oh, they’ll appear all right,” Olivia says. “Stick with me, girlfriend. We’ll have ’em eating out of your hand.”

  I swallow a bite of my burger. “Hey, you’ve gone all morning without barfing,” I note.

  Olivia smiles. “Yeah. Maybe I’m turning the corner.” She strums her fingers lazily on the plastic tabletop. “I had fun hanging out with you this morning.”

  “Yeah. Me too.” I lean in a bit. “You know how you talked about Brian freaking out about college?”

  She tilts her head. “Yeah?”

  “I’m a little freaked out too. I can hardly stand the thought of eleventh grade, much less college.”

  Olivia’s eyebrows widen. “Really? I thought you loved school. Aren’t you, like, borderline genius or something?”

  I blush. “Yeah, Einstein’s got nothing on me. And that whole ‘genius’ vibe does wonders for my social life, by the way.”

  “So weird,” Olivia says, studying my face closer. “You seem so totally confident. I always thought you were, like, the ultimate cool chick.”

  I’m tempted to say something glib, but I think better of it. “I think the best way to hide your insecurity is to act like you don’t give a shit.”

  Olivia bounces lightly in her seat. “It totally works!” she gushes, and I laugh at her earnestness.

  “I mean it,” she continues. “It just blows my mind that you’re so … different than I thought.” She leans in for a sensitivity check. “I don’t mean that as an insult at all, I really don’t … ”

  “No, I get it,” I assure her. “I’m actually having to rethink some impressions of my own.”

  She points playfully at herself. “Diva?”

  “Like, duh,” I tease, and she laughs.

  Then she wrinkles her nose. “Does everybody think that?” she asks warily.

  “No, I think there are some Aborigines in Australia who haven’t gotten the memo.”

  Her eyes sparkle. “You’re, like, the funniest person I know.”

  “And you’re the most diva-licious.” I hoist my Coke toward her and she taps it with hers.

  “I think we make a fabulous pair,” she says.

  And it’s the damndest thing that I’m starting to think the same thing myself.

  fifteen

  I hear the front door slam as we pull into the driveway.

  Brian bolts out the door, his face white-hot with rage. He’s barefooted, so he can’t be going far. I guess this occurs to him, because rather than continuing to bolt toward the driveway, he pivots and walks around the side of the house toward the beach.

  Olivia and I exchange alarmed glances. “I’ll go catch up with him,” she says, and I nod. She gets out of the car and heads in his direction, her brisk walk morphing into a trot.

  I grab the shopping bag from the back seat, get out of the car, and stand there a moment. Should I follow Brian too?

  Of course not, moron.

  Still, I’m dying to know what’s up. I linger a moment longer, then head for the front door. I can hear shouting before I walk inside. Shouting? My parents never shout. What is up?

  I gently creak open the door. Their shouts are coming from the deck. I can see them from the foyer, but they don’t seem to notice me. I inch closer, straining to overhear.

  “Quit trying to micromanage everything!” Dad is telling Mom. “You’re just going to drive him away!”

  “He’s not going to ruin his life on my watch!” Mom responds, her hands flying in midair.

  “He’s not on your watch anymore, dammit. He’s eighteen years old!”

  “Eighteen!” Mom repeats. “Eighteen! Is this really what you want for him, Michael? To carve his future in stone at age eighteen? To shut off all of his options before he can even grasp what that means?”

  “It doesn’t matter what we want for him,” Dad snaps. “It’s his life, Maureen!”

  Mom’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, well, maybe you don’t get a vote.”

  Stunned silence. Even from my vantage point, I can feel the jolt of electricity that Mom’s words have sent coursing through the air.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Dad asks in a steely voice.

  Mom pauses. “I’m sorry,” she finally says, sounding anything but. “But I mean it. This is one time I won’t let you stand in my way. There’s too much at stake.”

  “So I’m suddenly an outsider, huh?” Dad yells, and it’s at that moment that Mom glances in my direction.

  Her face turns white. Dad follows her gaze. We all seem frozen in place. My brain replays the past few moments, trying to make sense of them. My normally prim mother shouting at the top of her lungs? My normally placid dad yelling back? Dad not getting a vote, being a sudden outsider? What the hell?

  I finally jolt myself into motion, walking through the house and joining them on the deck. I cross my arms and face them.

  “Forrest … ” Mom says. “We didn’t know you were … we were just … ”

  “We were just headed for the beach,” Dad says softly.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, glaring at them.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mom says. “We were just having a discussion that got a little heated, that’s all. It was nothing.”

  “What’s. Going. On.”

  Mom huffs. “This is nothing to make a federal case about, for heaven’s sake. Dad and I had a spat. That’s all.”

  Dad stuffs his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring at the ground.

  “You went two weeks without telling me Olivia was pregnant,” I say. “Two weeks. And even then, you didn’t tell me, she did. Now you’re keeping more secrets … ”

  “Keeping secrets,” Mom repeats, her voice dripping with ridicule. “We’re your parents, Forrest, not the CIA.”

  “I’m a member of this family too!” I bellow. “Or do I not ‘get a vote’ either? What’s up with that, Dad? Why don’t you get a vote?”

  He looks at me warily, then opens his mouth to speak.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake !”

  Mom’s shrill voice makes both of us jump.

  “I wanted to give Brian some advice,” Mom continues, her hands flapping again. “Your father disagreed. I told him he didn’t get a vote. I’m Brian’s mother. Mothers have instincts that fathers don’t have.”

  I’m still looking at Dad. His eyes fall.

  “End of discussion! ” Mom says, then walks inside, slamming the door behind her.

  A breeze sets our wind chime in motion, a discordant jangle of tinny pings.

  I keep staring at Dad until his eyes meet mine. “Tell me what’s going on,” I say.

  “Your mom just told you,” he says, but his eyes fall again.<
br />
  “Bullshit.”

  “Forrest.”

  “I mean it, Dad. I’m sorry, but you’re obviously keeping something from me.”

  He studies his hands. “Kids don’t necessarily need to know everything their parents know.”

  Dad is terrible at keeping secrets. If I wait him out, I sense he’ll keep talking.

  “What you need to know,” he finally says, “is how much your mom and I love you and Brian. Unconditionally. With all of our hearts. Period.”

  I study him closely. “Except there’s more to know,” I say. The tinny wind chimes keep pinging in the breeze.

  Dad opens his mouth, but Mom suddenly flings the door back open. “I told you both,” she says, “end of discussion.”

  I’m still staring Dad down, but the moment is lost. He walks over to me and kisses my forehead. “Let’s drop it for now. Okay?”

  Then he and Mom walk into the house, leaving the door ajar. I kick a deck chair with my tennis shoe, then walk down the steps toward the beach.

  sixteen

  Brian is sitting in the surf in his shorts, staring at the horizon. My eyes dart around for signs of Olivia. I don’t see her.

  I run to Brian and sit beside him, the waves lapping at our feet. I’m still wearing tennis shoes, but I don’t care that they’re getting wet. All I care about is the stricken look on my brother’s face.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” I say, leaning into his face.

  He runs a hand through his dark curls and drops his head.

  “What is it, Brian?”

  “It’s … ”

  His voice breaks, and my heart crumbles into pieces.

  “What’s going on?” I repeat. “And where’s Olivia?”

  He points vaguely down the beach. “Walking. I tried to go with her, but she said she wanted to be alone for a while.” He swallows hard. I put my hand on his back.

  “I heard Mom and Dad yelling when we got back,” I say. “Is it about the baby?”

  He lifts his chin defiantly. “The only reason Mom invited Olivia to the beach was to try to talk her into giving the baby up for adoption.”