by Lia Riley
It’s good to be back home—better than I expected. I walk in my college graduation this afternoon. Things with Bran border on amazing. I rock my head back and let my eyes close.
Thanks, universe. I needed a day like today.
There’s no snicker. No cosmic elbow nudge. Nothing warns me for what’s coming next.
A ghost. My own personal demon.
Tanner. My dead sister’s epic love.
The guy I lost my virginity to in a gigantic whisky-fueled mistake. The guy who left me passed out in my underwear on the cold sand. The guy who walks toward me like it’s his job.
Okay, okay, okay. No need to panic. I’m wearing glasses and a slouchy hat—pretty incognito, right?
Shit and fuck. He’s coming closer.
If I had access to a bucket of lamb’s blood, I could swathe myself in the hopes he’d pass me by. What’s close? Heirloom tomatoes? Dinosaur kale? Vegan baked goods? Crap, not going to cut it.
Tanner gives a stiff nod. I’m definitely in his sights. The last time our paths crossed was over a year ago near the skateboard ramp at Derby Park. He looked right through me. I figured that was our new normal. He pretends I don’t exist and I pretend it doesn’t hurt.
Should I glance away like I don’t notice? Acknowledge? I end up doing both, an awkward head jerk. My chin collides with my shoulder. Super classy.
“Hey.” Tanner pulls up short and addresses the ground between us.
How does he do that? Sound exactly the same? Like someone that I know. A guy who’d chowed sunflower butter sandwiches at my house every afternoon for eight years.
At least I’m wearing appropriate footwear. The fact is mildly heartening. The hey-I-never-spoke-to-you-after-taking-your-virginity conversation definitely requires combat boots.
Be cool, aloof, politely distant.
“Hi. Wow. So…how’s it going, you?”
Falling all over yourself=NOT cool.
“I didn’t know you were back in town.” He rolls a pebble around with the toe of his old-school Adidas.
“I didn’t know you would care.” SO NOT ALOOF. I take a giant gulp of coffee.
He resets his trucker hat. His hair’s shaggier. Loose waves hang over his ears. Pippa always liked it shorter, buzzed right to his skull.
“Been a while, Tea-bag.”
His unexpected use of that old jokey nickname distracts me midswallow, flushes the bitter liquid down my air pipes. “Tea-bag” was the number one way he used to annoy me. It used to be kind of funny, before I actually performed the maneuver on him.
His stricken expression echoes my own thoughts.
You there, God? Go ahead and smite me. Please, I beg you, have mercy.
I choke, bend over hacking, because really, this situation needed to get just that little bit worse. He pats my back before we throw ourselves apart at the casual touch.
“Yeah,” I gasp, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and reset my glasses in a gesture that I hope passes for dignified. “A while. I got sick.”
“Sunny said you were in Africa.”
My eyebrows squish together. “Since when do you talk to Sunny?”
“We hung out for a little, late winter.”
“You and Sunny? She never mentioned.”
Sunny hates Tanner. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word, but she’s always been curiously immune to his charms. “Golden Boy,” she calls him behind his back, pretending to gag. She enjoys being contrary. Everyone else and their pet donkey loves this guy.
Still, is it weird she never mentioned Tanner during any of our phone calls since I’ve been back? Yeah, kind of. But I haven’t exactly been a master communicator. Anyway, as much as I love the girl, she’s a smidge flaky.
“You were sick?” He frowns.
“Oh, you know.” I shrug and give an airy wave of the hand. “Malaria.”
“Holy shit, Talia.” This is the first time Tanner looks me straight on. Those wide baby blues used to give me all the flutters. He’s like an altar boy, impossibly angelic, ripe for a little corruption. I crushed on him even though I knew it was wrong, that he was my sister’s. They’d been together since middle school. I was so shady, wishing he’d realize that even though Pippa got all the looks, the charm, and brains…I was a diamond in the rough. All I needed was the right kind of polish and I’d shine.
Thou shalt not covet your sister’s boyfriend. I broke the eleventh commandment. Then I doused it with cheap whisky and fucked it under the Santa Cruz Wharf.
But now?
My sketchy feelings toward Tanner are gone. The realization disorients me. He’s still completely attractive, but that old, familiar yearning is gone. He’s like a brother.
He shoves his hands deep into his jean pockets. Muscles cord in his forearms.
Okay, maybe more a cousin. A distant cousin.
“I came back to walk for graduation.”
“Right on.”
“Yes,” I say, tasting the sweet truth. “It’s pretty awesome. A long time coming.”
“Your folks around?”
“Dad is, he’s out for a surf with my um, with my boyfriend.” I pass my coffee cup between my hands.
He whistles under his breath. “Your guy’s going to be put through his paces. Swell’s massive.”
“He can hold his own.”
“Good to hear. Your pop’s gnarly.”
“He’s something.”
The silence drags until I have no idea what to say next. “How about you? What are you up to?”
“Taking time out,” he mumbles.
“From skating?”
He shrugs. “Life.”
“Oh.” We’ve established a thin, wavering connection, but it’s no stronger than a spider strand, and there’s a huge gulf between us. “Are you doing okay?”
“Touring, the scene, it got intense.”
“You work hard.” Tanner has a freakish gift. His mom took home videos of him popping ollies at three. Doing railslides by six. I mean, this is Santa Cruz, ground zero of skate culture, and he’s a pro. Add the fact that he is an anti-hooligan, all honest smiles and self-deprecating kindness, and sponsors fall over themselves. He’s a public relations wet dream, the looks plus the squeaky-clean role model.
He’s perfect.
Just not perfect for me.
“So.” I shift my weight. “I should probably head back, get ready for the big ceremony.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Dream Inn.” The same place where his mom cleaned rooms before Tanner made it big and bought her a place, set her up right—another part of his mythology.
A shaft of light cuts through the fog and his hair catches it, turns every shade from white-blond to honey wheat.
Sunny is right. He is such a golden boy.
“Good to see you.”
“You too.” I give his shoulder a playful punch. I want to touch him just once. Because once, I loved him. There. That’s enough.
“Catch you later.” His gaze drifts away.
“Take it easy.” I turn and start to walk. Does he turn to watch me leave? I can’t bear looking back. The sidewalk ahead is filled with cracks. It takes every ounce of self-control not to skitter around them. I push myself to West Cliff, the multi-use trail that hugs the coast. My heart remains compressed like it’s double wrapped in elastic. I don’t want to hold any thought too close. I toss each one to the crashing waves below and walk faster and faster.
Breathe, just breathe. Let it go.
Warm rays fall on the back of my neck. I pass Lighthouse Field, nearly at Steamer Lane where Dad and Bran are in the surf, when I hear my name.
“Talia!”
Tanner?
I pivot on one heel. He jumps off his board and runs toward me.
“Hey! What—” My words stifle because my face slams into his broad chest. He grabs my shoulders and hangs on tight. My glasses dig into my face. It’s hard to breathe.
“Tanner?” I say. His name comes out mo
re like “Tshmsmoffr.”
He shudders.
Holy shit. He’s crying?
I can stand a lot. Well, maybe not a lot, a lot. No way can I handle his tears. I brace my hands on his ribs and shove back a little. I don’t want him this close.
“What happened—what we did—what I did—taking advantage…”
I take a deep breath. “It took two for that to happen.”
“You were drunk.” His eyes are wet, their expression hollow.
“You could barely walk. We were wasted.”
He punches his upper thigh. “I shouldn’t have let it get out of hand.”
“But, Tanner, I wanted it, all of it. Everything.”
“Me too, but I freaked.”
“Yeah, well, I kinda noticed.” I’d woken to the high tide pulling at my toes, a homeless man snoring a few feet away, and Tanner nowhere to be seen.
His gaze scours my face. What’s written there?
“You deserved better.”
“It sucked.” I shrug. No sugarcoating the truth. “But nothing short of building a time machine will change the facts, and I’m no help there. I suck at physics.”
He grinds his fists in his eye sockets so hard that I worry he’s going to do damage.
“You’re different,” he says at last.
“Wow, a loaded statement.”
“You seem more, I don’t know, like your own person. Confident. That’s cool.”
I shrug. “Truth circle? I don’t know who the hell I am.”
But I’m starting to have a better idea.
“Hey.” I extend my hand in lieu of a white flag. “Can we be cool again?”
“Come over here.” He wraps me into a bear hug. My nerves get the best of me and I laugh, then he’s laughing too, a low, deep rumble.
“Hey.”
I wince at the familiar accent. What’s Bran going to think finding me in Tanner’s embrace? I turn slowly, and brace myself. His wetsuit is unzipped, the top hanging over his waist. It looks like someone took an eraser and rubbed away any emotion on his face. His stomach tells a different story. Each abdominal muscle stands out as he flexes, reining himself in.
Shit. He and I just found our way back together. What do I say? This isn’t what it looks like? Totally lame. Instead, I cock my head to the guy fastened against me.
“Bran, this is Tanner. And uh, Tanner—this is Bran. My boyfriend.”
“How’s it going, man?” Tanner releases me and throws out a hand to execute a brotastic hand slap as per his usual friendly self.
The problem is that Bran doesn’t do the whole outgoing thing. At least, not with people he doesn’t know well, and especially not with guys who tackle hug his girlfriend.
There’s an excruciating second where I’m 99 percent confident Bran will ignore the proffered hand or land a sucker punch.
“Wait, holy shit.” Tanner peers closer. “I know you, dude! You’re the guy from that show. I saw the commercial, you jumped off a boat to save the girl. That was badass.”
Welp—that seals the deal—Tanner’s getting a fist in the face. The only question remaining is when, and how hard.
Bran’s arm flies out and I flinch.
“Hey, man. I’m all right, yourself?”
The moment shifts from scary to surreal. I’ve slept with a grand sum of two guys in my entire life and here they are, shaking hands, being cool with each other. Tanner quizzes Bran about his surf session and they trade knowing references about how things are going with my dad. I can’t maintain focus.
Tanner adjusts the brim of his hat and glances to where his board is kicked on the edge of the path. A gaggle of middle school kids cluster around it, stare at him, back to the board, at him again.
Unlike Bran, Tanner’s used to attention. People in our neighborhood view his success as theirs, and he never lets it rattle him. He takes the adoration with the same easy stride he does everything with.
“Looks like you’ve got a fan club,” I say.
Tanner raises a fist to the boys in greeting, and they sputter into nervous giggles. “I should probably go say hey. You sticking around long?”
“Nah. Only until tomorrow morning,” I answer.
He takes a step away. “Well, take it easy. Don’t be a stranger.”
“You too.”
“Ever think about moving back to town?”
I shrug. “Might be good to give the place a break.”
“Sick of the patchouli already?”
“I should try something new.”
“Do me a favor and tell Sunny hey when you talk to her again.” His smile doesn’t extend to his eyes.
“Will do.” There’s that weird feeling again. Not jealousy. Just so odd. The idea of them hanging out does not compute. “I wish she was around this weekend.” I have a few questions for that girl.
Tanner’s shrug could mean a thousand different things, but I have enough to worry about.
“See you around, T.” Behind him, stretching out over the bay, is the Santa Cruz Wharf—the scene of our crime. We are so much better off as friends. I’m glad we have a chance of that becoming a possibility again.
“Good catch-up?” Bran asks when we’ve walked out of earshot.
“Hey, if you’re not okay with what just went down…”
“I didn’t say that.”
“We ran into each other at the farmers’ market. It was so awkward. Then he showed up here. He cried, Bran. Not a lot but it was—”
“I don’t need to hear the details.”
“Please—”
“No, I mean it.” He stops, takes my hand, prowls restless fingers across my wrist. “You guys have history. You don’t need to pretend it didn’t happen. I might not want to hear all the particulars…wait, why are you smiling?”
“I’m proud of you.”
“For what? Not losing my shit when the guy you used to love was all over you?” His words suggest a barely there smile.
“Yes. That.”
He makes a deep noise in the back of his throat. “I almost lost the plot when he brought up the Eco Warriors—”
“I know, I know.”
“It was all I could do,” he mutters.
“Gold star restraint.”
“That guy’s your past?”
I squeeze his hand. “Ancient history.”
“What I care about is your future.” Bran pulls me close and fits his chin to the top of my head. “That’s where I want to be.”
Chapter Eleven
Talia
We walk toward the hotel. I grin at Bran’s bare feet. His exposed toes are everything cute. I can’t shake the sense we head in a new, better direction. He didn’t go all dropkick ninja on Tanner. Instead of masking insecurity with animosity, he managed to calm down. Even after the fact, he hasn’t retreated into himself. He’s here with me. He glances at my face, and his gaze softens. In public his countenance typically shifts between gruff and expressionless. Only when we’re alone does he ever remove the defensive mask. For him to look at me like this—out where anyone can see—makes me ache with sweetness.
I lace my fingers tight around his. For too long he convinced himself he was unlovable, and lashed out, hurt before being hurt. In Africa, when he wrote and asked for another chance, it wasn’t easy to muster the trust. I’m so grateful I believed in him. There’s no guarantee that his abandonment fears, the ones that almost destroyed us in Tasmania, won’t rear in the future, but I had hope, and now proof, that he’s moving forward and trusts my love for him.
He squeezes my hand as if sensing my thoughts. Below us, in the bay, otters splash in the kelp beds. Playful pups bob while adults crack oysters’ shells on their bellies. Ahead, a lone woman perches on a bench at the lookout, legs drawn up.
Barbed wire lances my heart. Wait. No. It can’t be. Holy hell, what’s up, today? First Tanner. Now her? The universe has a wacked sense of humor. I can almost hear the Fates cackling behind the ocean’s dull roar.
“Tell me that’s not who I think it is.” I stumble, stunned, as if I’ve been tasered.
Bran tightens his grip, steadies me. “That’s not your mom staring at us.”
“It’s really her, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” A grim finality infuses the word.
I’m dizzy, almost floating. Now and then I experience moments that feel fake, surreal, as if I watch a hazy movie of this thing that’s supposed to be my life. The action isn’t happening to me, but to another girl. I see myself but have no control over the situation. In the past, this disassociated sensation meant a panic attack loomed. Anxiety stirs in my depths like a viper in a pit. I could give in and let it slither to the surface, or fight for calm. My next breath is deep, from the diaphragm, as I roll back my shoulders.
Come on, come on, come on. Keep it together, girl.
Bran tugs me close—that contact—his touch—is always real. I slam back into myself. No time to raise the drawbridge or man the battlements. This moment is happening, full speed ahead.
I haven’t seen Mom in a year. Not since she blamed me for killing Pippa. Okay, maybe not killing in a stabby ice pick way but through my OCD. If I hadn’t returned home for yet another compulsive check on whether or not my hair straightener was still plugged in, I wouldn’t have been late to my dad’s birthday. My sister wouldn’t have jumped in a car to fetch me. She wouldn’t have been in the path of the neighborhood meth-head when he ran his truck through a stop sign.
My bad thing caused a worse thing.
We draw closer to Mom.
Scratch that. This woman abandoned me. She hasn’t been a mother these past two years any more than I’ve been a daughter.
“What should I do?” I settle my free hand over my churning stomach. Blood roars in my ears.