TWO
AIDAN
I fucking hate my brother.
This is not a hyperbolic statement.
This is not a statement made out of unbridled anger, something that I’m going to later retract, apologize for. This is a statement of fact, and it is taking everything in my power not to fling my iPhone across this beautiful expanse of sand and straight into the crystalline waters of the Pacific Ocean.
I toss the phone on the passenger side of my Jeep Wrangler instead, ignoring the vibrating sound it makes as I haul my surfboard off the Jeep’s rack and head toward the beach. I know why that fucker’s calling. Christmas is fast approaching, only three days away—when it’s eighty degrees out and perfectly sunny, who gives a shit about Christmas?—and Alex is going to try to convince me to come home for the holiday.
Yeah, no thanks.
Why would any rational, reasonable person with half, no, make that quarter of a brain do something like that? Reasons for staying here are SO much more compelling.
Exhibit A: white sand, blue seas, hot sun.
Exhibit B: women with tits as big as their bikinis are small.
Exhibit C: there is no Exhibit C. I’m a hot blooded twenty-five-year old guy and exhibits A and B are more than enough for me, fuck you very much.
This time of year, you can barely tell the women of Chicago are actually women. People look like androgynous blimps, swaddled up in parkas, cowls, scarves and fur-lined mittens. You’d have to be out of your fucking mind to want to be anywhere near Chicago at Christmas.
Seeing as I’m not out of my fucking mind, I plan on spending the better part of the morning surfing. If you’ve never surfed before, it’s hard to find the words to describe what it feels like. Most of my friends here, all avid surfers, also skateboard or go snowboarding in Vail or Europe. To them, so long as there’s a board to stand on and momentum to be harnessed and tamed, that’s all they need. I’m a little different. I’m not knocking skating or snowboarding, but there’s only one thing that can get my heart racing and that’s surfing. Perhaps it’s because the ocean is a living, breathing entity. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is a liar, or just plain dumb. It has a life force to it. It sustains us. Back in the day, we crawled out of the ocean as a weird-looking fish with legs and since then we’ve evolved dramatically—Bipedal. Opposable thumbs. Epic hipster moustaches—but we’re still dependent on the sea. When I’m out there on the water, no matter how wild the waves are, everything just feels…quiet. It’s not pavement or hard packed snow. It is not smooth, and it can be unpredictable. The ocean is ruled by the pull of the moon, by a force mankind couldn’t even contemplate conquering. When you catch a wave and nail it, it’s so much better than attempting to harness or own something. It’s like you’re working in harmony with the planet, existing alongside it, like Mother Nature’s giving you the biggest fucking high five. Seriously, it’s the most intense high. I should know. I’ve experienced a lot of those, synthetic and otherwise.
Some people attain this kind of blissed out happiness in god, singing their hearts out with their asses parked in a pew every Sunday, but not me. The four-mile stretch of beach in front of my apartment is my church, the early morning weather forecast my gospel. When I’m on my board, underneath a swell, cruising, the crest of the wave arcing around me, I’m truly in my own personal heaven.
This morning, I paddle out for a good ten minutes before trying to catch a wave. Once I’m past the break and the other early morning surfers, I lay on my back on my board, staring up at the washed out of the blue sky, my arms and legs hanging over into the water, trying to find some inner calm. Alex has this effect on me. He turns everything upside down, flips my shit around, makes me feel less somehow. He’s always had such a skill for fucking with my head. It takes a solid thirty minutes, staring up at the nothingness overhead before I manage to calm down.
I’m at peace when I finally go hunting for waves. The ocean’s a fiery bitch this morning. I get dumped and rolled over and over again, but I also ride out some of the most incredible tubes of the summer. My body is humming with pain when I’ve had enough.
I shouldn’t be surprised when I make it back to the Jeep, puffing and blowing, my lungs burning in my chest, to find that my phone is still goddamn ringing. The thing’s probably been going off the entire time I was out there. I’ve got such a good buzz going on from being out surfing, though, that I actually think, fuck it. I pick up.
“What’s up, Alex?”
“Well, you sound happy,” my brother says.
“Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve just come in off the beach.”
“Yeah. Dad says you’ve got salt water running in your veins instead of Callahan blood these days.” Alex’s voice drips with condescension. And so it begins. My euphoria begins to plummet. That has to be a new goddamn record.
“You sure are hard to get a hold of,” Alex continues. “How are you, little brother?”
“I’d be fine if I wasn’t on the phone with you. What do you want?”
“Now, now, that’s not a very warm reception, is it? When was the last time we talked? I can’t even remember it’s been so long. Is it so difficult for you to believe that I’d be calling just to check in?”
“Aaaalex,” I groan. “You forget that I’ve actually met you. You’ve never just called for a chat. Why would you start now? Just say what you wanna say so we can both be done here.”
“Fair enough. You don’t have time for pleasantries. I can respect that, though god knows how you’re so busy. For all intents and purposes, it seems like you’re sunbathing at the beach all day long.”
My patience is wearing impossibly thin already. “Alex—”
“Time’s come, Aidan,” Alex cuts in. “The old man’s retiring. You know what that means?”
Here we go. Somehow, my brother seems to think this stuff matters to me. “Yeah, I know exactly what it means.” And I couldn’t care fucking less.
“You are now speaking to the new president and CEO of the Callahan Corporation. The family business is about to enter a new phase of existence. Which means you have to come home.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. “Alex, congrats on the promotion. Really, I mean it. But whether the plaque on your office door reads president or chief-executive asshole licker means very little to me. And I sure as hell don’t see how Dad’s retirement requires my presence in any way.”
“Chief executive asshole licker. Nice.” He sounds pissed. Good. He carries on talking while I secure my board to the roof of the Jeep. “You’re required because every member of the Callahan family should be present during this time of transition, of course. We have to be seen to be showing a united front. It’s not just about that, though. I’ve decided that you’re coming to work for me. Or not for me, but together. Can’t trust anyone more than family, right? You’ve been wasting your life in paradise for long enough, living your bohemian, rootless existence. I’m glad you’ve been able to sew your wild oats, Aid, but it’s time to grow the fuck up. Time to be a man. Be responsible. You need to get your ass on a plane. Preferably in time for this Christmas Eve charity event that we’re all going to.”
Out of the two of us, I’ve always been the one to experiment with drugs. It would seem as though Alex has been hitting the crack pipe pretty hard of late, though. “Yeah. Like I said, man. I don’t think so.”
Alex sighs. “Listen, Aidan. Truth is, I’m not really asking. You have to do this.”
I laugh, and the sound is harsh, even in my own ears. “Are you serious? We’re not kids, anymore, Alex. You can’t tell me what to do. You can make suggestions, requests, pleas… Depending on what you’re wanting, I may or may not oblige you. In this case, no fucking way.”
“Yeah, you’re right, we’re not kids. We’re Callahans. That’s all that matters. You are a Callahan. Do you hear me? And that means you have to come home. Enough is enough. You’ll be getting an email confirmation for a plane ticket shortly. Be on that fucking plane,
man. If not, I’ll take the time out of my busy schedule and come down there and get you myself, and I will not be fucking happy about it. Seeing as we’re going to be working together, I’d think that we’d want to keep things as amicable as possible between us, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Don’t waste your fucking time.” My calm from lying on my board is totally gone, shot down, completely vanished, like it was never even there to begin with. Motherfucker. “Maybe everyone else is okay taking orders from you, doing whatever you say, but I’m not your fucking bitch, Alex. You and I will never work together. You decide to come all the way down here, that’s on you, but I’m not coming back to Chicago with you. Though a vacation would probably do you some good, seeing as you’re such an uptight pretentious asshole.”
“Fuck, Aidan, I am so sick of your bullshit! You’ve been reckless for years, done whatever the hell you’ve wanted, and you think that sort of shit is just going to fly. Well, it’s not. If you’re going to call yourself a Callahan, you need to be around and put in some damn work.”
“Oh? You’re rescinding my membership to the club, huh? I’ll make sure to turn in my blazer and tie.”
He ignores me. “You think I’ve been sitting on my ass the past five years, doing jack shit? Working on my tan? Drinking pina coladas? You don’t just get to be on a perma-vacation and reap all the benefits.”
“Excuse me? What benefits have I been reaping? Have I asked you for money? Have I asked Mom and Dad for money?”
“You’re a punk if you think I don’t know about the checks Mom sends you every month.”
“Yeah, and I rip them up. I haven’t cashed a single one of them. I have a job. I make my own money. You might not think it’s the most glamorous work and it might not make me millions of dollars every year, but guess what? I’m happy. I. Enjoy. My. Life. I’m sure that’s probably a difficult concept for you to grasp, but not everything is about money or what your last goddamn name can get you out of life.”
“You want to be disinherited?” Alex asks softly. “If you don’t give a shit about the family name, perhaps you shouldn’t have it anymore. You joke about it, but how would you like that?”
“You know what I’d like?” I try my best to keep calm, but it’s almost impossible at this point. “I’d like it if you’d fuck off and die and never call me again, Alex.”
He starts saying something else but I hang up the phone.
Asshole.
THREE
ESSIE
Usually I enjoy working at Blossom, enjoy chatting with our regulars, with my co-workers, but today, I can’t help clock-watching and count down the minutes until my shift is over at four. Because when this shift is over, I have eight whole days off to hang out, enjoy the holidays, and spend some time with my brother (who doesn’t have as many days off, but still). It’s December 23rd, only two more days till Christmas, which means only two more days until I can give Vaughn the present that I’ve been saving months for—an iPad. He’s never had something like that of his own before, and I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he opens it.
When four o’clock finally rolls around, it’s started to snow. A thick white mantle of the stuff quickly coats every available surface. I zip up my jacket as I step outside, and I pull my phone out. Vaughn called once while I was working, but it was busy so I let it go to voicemail. I see that he’s called several more times, which is a little strange, though he never left any messages. I give him a call back, but it goes to voicemail.
“Hey,” I say. “Sorry I wasn’t able to pick up the phone earlier. It was really busy today. But I’m heading home now. You already there? I’ll see you soon!”
The streets are packed with cars and the sidewalks are crowded with people, but nothing can bring my good mood down. Vaughn was only working a half day at the bike shop, so he should be home when I get there, and our “staycation” can commence. We’re going to watch movies, eat junk food, and just hang out. I know to some people that probably sounds pretty low key, maybe even boring, but I can’t wait.
No one’s home when I get there, though, so I plug the tree in, put the kettle on for tea. Vaughn might’ve had some last minute Christmas shopping to do, or maybe he went to pick up some takeout for us to have for dinner tonight.
I go into my room, into my tiny closet and get the iPad. It’s wrapped in red paper with silver ribbon. I look at it, trying to picture the look on his face when he opens it, then I decide to bring it out and put it under the tree. We won’t open presents until Christmas Day, of course, but it’ll be fun for him to try to guess what it is. There’s no way he’s going to know.
I make myself a cup of tea and then putter around a little, wondering where the hell my tardy ass brother is. I check my phone, but he hasn’t called or texted. I try calling him but again, it goes to voicemail.
An anxious feeling begins to gnaw at me, but I ignore it, telling myself that I’m getting worked up for no reason, that Vee will be home at any moment, that it’s silly to worry. I have plenty of things to do while I’m waiting for his ass anyway. I take a shower, and telling myself that by the time I get out he’ll be home. When that turns out to be false, I start ferociously tidying the living room. I actually say out loud before starting, “Vaughn will walk through the door by the time I’m done.”
Except we still don’t have a ton of stuff, so cleaning doesn’t take that long.
I do this for the next several hours, finding meaningless tasks to engage in, trying to convince myself at the end of each one, my brother will be home, or will have called, or texted. Or something. Anything. Where the hell is he? Where the hell is he, the inconsiderate bastard? He should have at least phoned.
Finally, the phone rings.
I snatch it up, but it’s not Vaughn, it’s Max.
“Hi,” I say, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.
“Essie.” Max’s voice sounds off, like he’s choking on something. The voice on the other end of the line almost doesn’t sound like him. God, straight away I know something’s wrong. I grip the phone tightly.
“Max, what is it? Is Vee with you?”
“Oh, Jesus.” He exhales harshly, the sound rattling through the receiver. My stomach clenches, twisting painfully. “Essie? Essie, I don’t…Fuck, I’m no good at this shit.”
“What, Max? C’mon, you’re freaking me out. You’re scaring me.”
The line is silent for a painful second. In that second, I know my entire life is over. I know, with a sinking sense of fatality, that if I hear what Max is about to say, nothing will be the same again. My brother’s best friend pulls in a deep, ragged breath and says the words I’m terrified to hear. “He was in an accident, Essie. His truck was totaled.”
The room pitches sideways. “Oh god. Is he…is he badly hurt?” Somehow, some part of my brain is still clinging to the hope that Vaughn’s alive. That he has multiple bone fractures. That maybe he’s paralyzed. That would be terrible, but we could deal with it. He could stay home. I would work. I would take care of us, the same way he took care of me. Max’s next words crush every last remaining scrap of hope I might have, though.
“He…he suffered major internal injuries, Essie. He died on the scene. I’m so, so sorry.”
The whole world seems to stop, like it gets sucked inward, and all that’s left is me, nothing else, no one else, just myself and this horrible pain that has started, that is raging through my entire body. Except I can’t quite feel it, it’s muted somehow, but it will come on full force if I move. So I won’t move. I will just stand here forever, the phone pressed against my ear, Max saying my name.
“Essie? Essie? Are you still there, Essie?”
I am, Max, but I can’t move. Can’t speak. If I do, that will make everything you’ve just said true. And that can’t happen.
“I’m coming over, Essie. I’ll be right over.” He hangs up. I’m still standing there, phone against my ear, when he gets there, half an hour later.
FOUR
AIDAN
Well, look at that. It’s eleven-thirty and I’m loading my board onto the Jeep, seconds from heading to the beach. The plane Alex arranged for me to be on took off an hour ago. I could be wrong about the time, though. I gave the ticket that arrived this morning—express post, like my fuckhead brother’s never heard of email confirmation—to my friend Brewster. His rolling papers weren’t quite cutting it, and that motherfucking ticket was just the right thickness for blunt building.
If me missing the flight means Alex is going to make the pilgrimage down here in order to drag me back to Chicago, well…I’d like to see that. It’ll be entertaining as fuck, I’m sure. No way am I spending Christmas in that barren winter wasteland my brother likes to call home. No, today I’m visiting Celeste, the short blonde with the perky tits I hooked up with last weekend. We’re planning on celebrating Christmas a little early. Our festivities will involve a full three-hour sixty-nine session, and I’m sure there’ll be some reverse cowgirl to finish off the session. Celeste has a mirrored wall in her bedroom and likes to watch herself getting fucked.
Heart Breaker Page 2