by Cassia Leo
I clear my throat as I exit Lightroom and close the lid on my laptop. “Uh, yeah. I guess. Why?” I spin around and look at him, awaiting his answer, but he just stares at me. “Why?” I prod him.
Mason shakes his head. “I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
My mouth drops open. “Uh, last week you were the one trying to convince me I should give him another chance.”
“I don’t think I told you that. I just said that I believe he probably had a good reason to break up with you, but I don’t think that means you two should get back together, like it never happened.”
I blink a few times as I stare at him with my jaw on the floor. “Are you kidding me right now?”
He shakes his head. “I just think you need to be careful. He’s… His life is different now.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you know something I don’t know?”
He laughs. “No, I swear. I’m just…looking out for my baby sister, okay?”
I roll my eyes. “Sure. I’ll take your words to heart, because you always have such great advice. Like the time you told me orange juice tastes best right after you brush your teeth?”
“Hey, man. I can’t help if it you were a dumb fucking ten-year-old. But you’re twenty-four now.”
“Twenty-three,” I correct him as I get up from my desk chair. “My birthday’s not for another four weeks. And what exactly are you implying? That I’m a dumb fucking twenty-three-year-old if I take Ben back?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” he says following me out of the office into the downstairs living room. “I’m just saying that you need to be careful. That’s all.”
“Thanks,” I reply, stopping at the base of the stairs. “I appreciate that advice coming from the guy who had a one-night stand with a girl who thinks women shouldn’t legally have to work once they have kids.”
Mason shrugs. “Yeah, I stuck my dick in crazy, but it happens to the best of us. Oh, wait. You’ve never been with anyone but Ben, have you? Maybe you should actually venture out into the world before you decide you’ve seen enough of it.”
“You think I’m settling for Ben because I’m too afraid to be with anyone else? You think Ben’s the safe choice?”
He laughs at this. “Ben is obviously not the safe choice, but you act like he’s the only choice.”
“He is the only choice!” I reply, surprising even myself with the ferocity of my words. “He’s the only one I love. The only one I’ve ever loved. Does that count for nothing?”
He’s silent for a moment before a slow smile spreads across his face. “Just making sure you’ve thought this through. And clearly you have. I’m happy for you.”
I shake my head. “God, you’re such a jerk.”
“Go get dressed.”
When we walk into The Dunk at two p.m. on a Tuesday, Michelle is handing a greasy brown bag to an older gentleman I recognize as Mr. Jones, my seventh grade pre-Algebra teacher. Her face lights up when she sees us walking toward the counter. Mr. Jones walks past us without a glance in my direction, his mind on his food. He probably got his usual fried haddock and chips.
Michelle comes out from behind the counter to give Frank a big hug. “You look great, Frank!” she declares, completely ignoring his oxygen tank.
Frank chuckles. “You should tell that to my doc. The guy’s all doom and gloom with the death stuff.”
Michelle shakes her head as she pulls out a chair at the table where I normally sit to edit photos. “Have a seat. I’ll bring you the usual, unless you’re changing it up today.”
He takes a seat in the solid maple chair and cocks an eyebrow. “Do I look like I can handle change?”
She laughs and shakes her head as she looks at me. “You want some chili?”
“What do you think?”
She rolls her eyes and turns to my dad and Mason. “The usual?”
My dad takes a seat in the chair to the right of Frank. “You don’t fool with the classics,” he replies.
Mason nods. “The usual.”
I take a seat in the chair on Frank’s left side. “How are you feeling?” I ask, grabbing his bony hand.
He gives my hand a squeeze and smiles. “I reckon I’ll survive this lunch.”
“Not funny. Ben said he’s still trying to find you another caregiver. I’m happy to help if he has work to do,” I offer.
Frank narrows his eyes at me. “No, young lady. I will not have you cleaning up after me. It’s not pretty. Pretty girls should only do pretty jobs.”
Mason laughs. “If that’s true, Michelle shouldn’t have to clean the restaurant bathroom after Charley ingests her chili.”
I smack Mason’s arm. “Are you calling my friend pretty? You’d better not even think of hitting on her.”
“Chill. I was just making a joke. Even though Michelle is looking good as hell, and I think I’m old enough to date anyone I want.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you annoyed by me telling you who you should and shouldn’t date?” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“Children, children. Settle down,” my dad says as Michelle arrives with a tray of their famous fresh-squeezed lemonade. “Michelle will kick us out if we’re too rowdy.”
“Damn right,” Michelle says as she puts down the last cup in the center of the table.
I stare at it for a moment, totally baffled. It’s a baguette wrapped inside a white cloth napkin and stuffed inside a tall drinking glass. This must be something new they’re trying out. My dad waits for Michelle to leave before he picks up the glass and stares at it for a moment in awe, like it’s the first time he’s ever laid eyes on a baguette.
He shoves the glass into the air and proclaims, “A toast! To not settling for crumbs.”
I shake my head at his awful dad-joke. “You don’t eat gluten, Dad.”
He shrugs as he puts the glass down and gives the baguette a squeeze, like it’s a tomato at a farmer’s market. “It’s warm. Enjoy some bread, possum. Bread is life.”
I take a sip of lemonade and shove the glass of bread toward Frank. “If bread is life, I want Frank to have it.”
Frank smiles. “That’s sweet. But bread is not life. Actually, there are three unwritten rules of life.”
We all stare at him, waiting for him to clue us in to these unwritten rules he speaks of.
“Well, what are they?” Mason urges him on.
Frank glances around the table then shrugs. “How would I know? They’re unwritten.”
My dad and Frank give each other a high-five and Frank launches into a laughter-slash-coughing fit.
“What is the point of this lunch? Are you two testing out a new dad-joke routine?” I ask, peeling the napkin off the baguette and handing the white cloth to Frank so he can use it to catch his bloody phlegm. I know Michelle won’t mind.
“Actually, possum,” my dad replies, his face suddenly looking very solemn. “Frank wanted to chat with you, and I thought it would be best if he did it with Michelle around, you know, for support.”
I shake my head. “I don’t understand,” I say, turning to Frank for answers. “What is he talking about?”
Frank grabs my hand this time and squeezes it hard. “Kiddo, don’t get upset. I just have a favor to ask of you.”
I stare him in the eye fiercely. “I’m going to get very upset if you don’t spit it out soon. My heart is pounding right now, Frank. Don’t do this to me.”
He smiles and my chest aches as his eyes fill with tears. “My doc just gave me some bad news this morning, which is why you haven’t heard from Ben today. He’s been at the beach all day, taking his aggression out on the waves. Doc says I’ve got a couple weeks left. I’m going into hospice tomorrow. Your folks have offered to take Spidey in.”
I try to hold back the flood of tears, but all that does is prevent me from being able to breathe. I let out a hot, stale breath and cover my face as I shake my head. “I’m sorry.”
Frank places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It’s ok
ay. Take your time.”
I use the neck of my Venice, California T-shirt to wipe my face. “I’m sorry. You go ahead. What did you want to ask me?” I say, turning to Frank and trying my hardest to sound brave. I want him to feel like I’m prepared for whatever request he may have, but inside I’m sliding away like a sandcastle hit by a swell.
“Hey, kiddo,” Frank begins. “I want to ask you to look after Ben when I’m gone. I mean, I know he can be difficult, but I… After his mom died, I wasn’t the best dad. I just… I know you’re the only one who can keep him in line when I’m gone. I’m not asking you to stay with him indefinitely. But… Ben saw me drinking a lot after his mom died. And now… I just need you to help him get sober… Please.”
I look around, thankful Michelle is in the back of the restaurant. She and Allie don’t know Ben and I are back together yet.
I sniff loudly and wipe away more tears as I nod at Frank. “I promise I’ll try my best.”
He nods back as tears well up in his eyes. “Thanks, kiddo. My son is one lucky son of a bitch.”
I laugh with Mason and my dad, but inside I’m filled with dread. Ben is going to lose his father very soon. If he loses me too, what will he have left?
Michelle arrives at the table with our salads, cocking an eyebrow as she sees me wiping the remnants of my spent tears. “Why are you crying?” she asks as she places the last salad in front of me.
I shake my head as I stand up and throw my arms around her neck. “Nothing!” I cry, sobbing into her shoulder.
She laughs as she hugs me and rubs my back. “Was it the baguette? I told my dad that was a stupid idea.”
I laugh as I let her go and look her straight in the eye. “Tell your dad he’s a genius. I’m just sad because it feels like everything’s gone a-rye.”
Michelle shakes her head. “Bread puns? Really?”
Frank smiles and nods at me as I sit down again. “Yep. One lucky son of a gun.”
I try not to spend the rest of our lunch thinking about how this is probably the last time Frank will ever enjoy a meal at The Dunk. I try not to think about the enormous burden he’s passed down to me. And I try not to think of how Michelle will react when she finds out Ben and I are back together.
Instead, I focus on savoring my meal while enjoying the company of a dying man who has always been more of a friend than a father figure, both to me and Ben. I can’t imagine how Ben is taking the news about Frank today. I’ll definitely have to check on him as soon as we leave.
18
To Be You
Now
When Dr. Lieu broke the news to me that my dad’s cancer was too advanced to qualify for experimental treatment, I wanted to punch the fucking wall of his pristine office. I wanted to topple the bookcases behind his desk and tell him if he had read any of those fucking books he’d know that this was all his fault. If he’d caught my dad’s cancer sooner, I wouldn’t be sitting in this fucking office, listening to him tell me my dad has two to four weeks left to live.
But as another wave crashes over me, tossing me in the tumbling whitewash, pounding me against the sand, I know this is my fault. It’s my fault my dad is dying. If I hadn’t left for three years, I would have seen the signs. I wouldn’t have let him put off going to the doctor. This is my fault, just like every fucking horrible thing that has ever happened to every person I’ve ever loved.
I’m a fucking curse. A pestilence infecting everything and everyone I touch. I deserve to be pummeled by these merciless waves. I deserve every fucking bad thing that’s ever happened to me.
But as I rise to my feet, shaking off the stinging saltwater from my face as I yank the leash on my surfboard to pull it back, prepared to accept another round of big blue punishment, I spot a silhouette standing at the top of the sand dunes. I recognize the shape of Charley’s hips and shoulders like a computer recognizes a fingerprint. Charley’s curves are imprinted in my memory. Her voice is the music I hear in my head when my soul is quiet, which isn’t very often lately.
I unhook the leash from my ankle and carry my board out to meet Charley on the warm sand, ignoring the overweight paparazzo who pops up out of the seagrass in the dunes. It’s the same one with the greasy ponytail who never seems to be more than four steps behind me since I arrived in Bodega Bay. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if perhaps he’s working for Jordan. Keeping tabs on me to make sure I haven’t told Charley or anyone else anything incriminating.
I drop the surfboard on the sand and take Charley’s face in my hands to kiss her before she has a chance to say anything. Her mouth tastes sweet and lemony, and the way it mixes with the saltwater on my lips makes my dick twitch in my shorts. I kiss her hungrily, nipping at those gorgeous lips, drawing out those fucking glorious moans that make me want to bury myself inside her right there. When I finally pull back, still holding her face as we breathe into each other, her fingers are digging into my forearms as she looks like she might pass out.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah, I just… Didn’t expect such an enthusiastic greeting.”
I kiss her forehead and let her go. “You don’t know how fucking relieved I am to see you.”
Her eyebrows scrunch together as she looks up at me with those beautiful hazel eyes. “I just had lunch with your dad.”
I’m silent for a moment, then I nod. “I can’t believe I thought I could fix this. I thought if I came back right away, I could get him some treatment that would… I don’t know, give him more time. I thought we had more time. I fucked up.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I can’t even pretend to know what it’s like to be you. But you have to know you didn’t fuck up. This isn’t your fault.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I know that’s what you’re supposed to say. But I know none of this would have happened if I hadn’t abandoned you and my dad. And I’ll just have to figure out how to live with that. I need a fucking drink. Wanna go grab a beer?”
“No!” she replies, landing a hard shove on my bare chest. “I do not wanna grab a beer. I want you to stop blaming yourself for something that has nothing to do with you.”
I force myself to smile as I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Char, but you have no fucking idea what you’re talking about right now.”
“Then tell me!” she shouts. “Tell me what it is I don’t understand. Or, wait, let me guess. You can’t tell me because you’re trying to protect me again? God, I’m so fucking tired of you thinking you need to protect me.”
“You do need to be protected. And so do I,” I reply, taking a step toward her. “I can’t risk losing you again, so as much as it hurts you that I can’t tell you everything right now, you’ll thank me when you do find out the truth. I promise.”
Her nostrils flare as she glares at me. “Why does your dad keep saying he wasn’t the best dad to you? What is he talking about? Does it have to do with his drinking after your mom died? Tell me, Ben. Please. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
I glance at the paparazzo standing on the top of the sand dune, watching us through his long lens, and I shake my head. “I can’t. I need you to trust me.”
She looks over her shoulder at the pap and rolls her eyes. “I don’t know how they live with themselves.”
I shrug. “They’re trying to make a living.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Uh, you’re talking to a photographer who makes a living without stalking people and invading their privacy.”
I smile as I reach up swipe my finger across the soft skin below her left eye, coming away with a smudge of black makeup on the pad of my thumb. “Kinda hard to have privacy when you wear your heart on your face. You were crying?”
She sighs. “They were telling really awful dad-jokes.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You poor thing. Come here,” I say, pulling her into my arms and squeezing her tightly. “Fuck. There is nothing that feels this good.”
“Nothing?” she replies, and we both laugh.
She doesn’t respond right away, and I worry she’s losing her faith in me already. “Of course I’ll go. But you have to promise me one thing.”
My gaze wanders over her delicate features. “How could I deny you anything?”
She chortles. “You kinda just cock-blocked me on the truth, but I’ll let it slide for now,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Do you think you can…post a pic of the wedding we went to and tag my Instagram account?”
I cock an eyebrow. “I thought you nuked your account.”
“I did. With good reason,” she replies with a look that dares me to challenge her. “But I decided to make one for the business. @winters_weddings. Make sure to include the underscore.”
I laugh. “Where’s your phone?”
She pulls it out of her pocket and readily hands it to me.
I try to unlock it with the old passcode and I’m not at all surprised when it works. “Take a selfie of us with your magic fingers,” I say, opening up her camera app and handing the phone back to her.
“I can’t believe you remember my passcode,” she says, accepting the phone. “Why do you want a selfie? Looking to boost your followers?”
“This selfie will net you 10,000 followers easily.”
“You want to post a picture of me?”
“Of us,” I correct her. “And what did you expect? You want me to post a picture of myself alone at a wedding and tag your business and people will just magically follow you, sight unseen? They need to know who they’re following. This will be great for your business. Trust me.”
The muscles in her neck visibly tense up. “I don’t know. Your fans can be real assholes. I mean, I’m sure you’re fully aware of the fact that…they think you’re too good for me.”
I’m stunned into silence by this ugly admission, but I know I have to react quickly or she might see my silence as complicity. “As much as I wish your words weren’t true, you’re right. Many of my fans are capital-C cunts. But the ones who think I’m too good for you aren’t just cunts. They’re plain fucking delusional.”