by Jolene Perry
I laugh. An honest one. It feels good. “Getting the words down are a small part of it.”
“Well, I think it’s really cool.” She pulls open the door of the bookstore.
“Thanks.”
We part ways as soon as we step inside. I’m looking for memoirs today, and if I keep hanging out with Amber, who knows what’ll come out of my mouth next. My safety filter apparently doesn’t work around her.
The afternoon passes fast and before I know it, we’re back in the car, both reading. In what feels like minutes, we’re in front of the harbor, but I’m not ready to be back on Dad’s boat
Dad and Lynn head down the docks together. Amber walks up the street, and I stand next to the car like an idiot for a few moments. I leave my new books in Dad’s car and then head out for another coffee.
- - -
Sitting in this small place with its wooden floors and padded chairs makes me wish I’d brought one of my new books. Instead I stare at the line of cars waiting for the ferry—probably the only reason this town exists.
Amber steps in a few minutes later with a girlfriend. Someone with short, dark hair and a pretty, round face.
Her eyes narrow as she sees me. “Stalking me, Antony?”
“Uh…” I make a show of looking back and forth. “I was here first?”
She laughs as she pulls her hair down, letting it slide down her back. I gotta stop staring.
“This is Brit.” She glances at her friend.
I nod.
Brit nods, and she’s smiling at me like I kinda wish Amber would, her eyes searching, biting her lip.
“I’m headed back underwater,” I say as I stand up.
“What?” Amber’s small brows come together.
“Into the boat? You know, because I have to step down?”
Brit laughs. Amber shakes her head.
“Oh, hey.” Amber’s hand reaches out and touches my arm. Then she jerks it away. So, she didn’t mean to touch me, but she did. Hmm. Maybe she might up for something. But I dismiss the thought again as soon as I have it.
“If you can think of a way to get our parents together more, let me know.” She chuckles and turns toward the small pastry counter.
“Yeah.” I step away. “I’ll do that.”
I guess it’d give me something to occupy my brain around here. Dad and Lynn. She seems cool. And it’s not like she’d be my step-mom or anything. I’m almost eighteen, and don’t plan on sticking around any longer than I have to.
Four
Three days here, and I have a routine. Wake up whenever, walk up the hill and get coffee. Mornings are nice, quiet. New York is never quiet, and I love that, but the real feeling of silence is growing on me, too. Today I’m in the coffee place with my laptop to do some writing—another essay for a literature class I’m taking.
The door opens and Amber steps in followed by the teenage version of Captain America—some tidy haircut blond who looks as healthy and wholesome as Amber does. My gut twists a little, which it shouldn’t, because I’ve already marked Amber off as definitely not for me.
“Hey, Antony.” She smiles the same friendly smile as always.
Captain America’s brows pull down as he sizes me up. I wonder who he thinks I am. And, I kind of wonder who he is? Must be her boyfriend or something, even though I haven’t seen him around before. Guess that’s not really fair since I’ve only been here for a few days. Well, and I never asked if she had a boyfriend.
“Oh, sorry.” Amber chuckles. “Kent, this is Antony. Antony, Kent.”
“Hey.” I stand up and make myself as tall as I can without being obvious. We shake, and there’s no way he’s not squeezing tightly on purpose. I know I am. We’re evenly matched. “Nice to meet you.”
“You’re the kid from New York?” he asks as Amber grabs her drink over the counter.
“Yeah.” I sit back behind my computer. What the hell’s wrong with me? Girls have totally tried to pull this before—bringing some other guy around to make me jealous. I usually just nod and keep doing whatever I was doing before they showed up. I’ve never let it work. Ever. And now, with a girl I’m NOT going to get involved with, and when she didn’t bring him in here on purpose (she doesn’t strike me as the playing games type) I’m affected.
“See ya.” She smiles and waves as she blows on the top of her hot chocolate.
Blondie holds the door open for her, and even though I don’t watch, I know his eyes are on me. Ridiculous.
This is a mess I do not need to be in the middle of.
- - -
The rain’s coming down again, more like misting this time, but it keeps us inside. Amber and her mom are here for dinner. Pancakes. For dinner. Dad claims he just likes breakfast food.
“So, your boyfriend seems nice,” I say. Why am I fishing here? Do I have to admit that I kind of like her? I mean, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. It’s just that she so obviously doesn’t like me, not in that way, and I can’t imagine what that’s like. To like someone who doesn’t like you back. So, I really should make sure I don’t like her. As these thoughts spin around in my head, I realize I sound like I’m back in middle school.
Her mom’s head jerks toward her.
Amber’s cheeks redden. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
I chuckle. “Well he’d sure be happy to fill that role.” And I should not feel relieved. And her reaction is kind of cracking me up. We’re not in eighth grade anymore. It’s not like having a boyfriend should be any big deal.
“No.” She shakes her head. “We’re not that way. He doesn’t like me like that.”
Her mom laughs. “I assume we’re talking about Kent, and he totally does like you that way.”
Amber’s cheeks redden further.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
DAVID: EMER, CALL NOW.
I laugh. David has yet to have an emergency worthy moment.
“Just a sec. A friend from home.” I step outside, grabbing my coat on the way. This is good. David will be a good slap in the face.
He answers the phone with, “Dude, you will not believe what happened.”
“Lay it on me.” I sit on the captain’s chair on the back deck, behind the big steering wheel and underneath a navy blue canvas roof.
“My mom’s show got cancelled, and I think we’ll be moving to LA.” There’s a solemn tone on his words.
I laugh. “So?”
“Did you hear me? I won’t be a New York guy anymore! I don’t want to be one of those ridiculous sunglass wearing, cheap BMW driving pricks!”
“Then don’t be.” I shake my head. “This is seriously your emergency?”
“Yeah!”
“David, I’m living on a boat, in Seattle.”
“Yeah, but your mom is…well, your mom. You’ll always be okay. Everyone thinks she kicks ass.”
He’s kind of right. “So, you called for some girlie-talk to make you feel better, and instead you helped my sorry ass.”
“Antony, right now everyone is salivating over your latest adventure with some wild-man father no one’s heard of on some exotic sailboat near Seattle. It’s all adding to your mystery as the world-traveler.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. “It’s just Seattle man, and there’s worse things than your mom being a totally hot actress.”
“Gross, Antony.” He’s laughing.
“You gonna survive?” I tease.
“Maybe I’ll come up and visit. Cali’s closer to Seattle than New York.”
My chest drops. I really don’t want him here. Since when don’t I want to hang out with my closest friend from New York? “I don’t know David. They both feel like a lifetime away right now.”
“Don’t get all philosophical on me. You know how it freaks me out. We’ll talk later.”
“Later.” Five days from home, and I feel separated. It’s crazy. Mom and I have left New York loads of times. It’s that we’ve always done it together. I can’t wait ‘til she’s
settled wherever she’s going so we can talk.
- - -
Amber’s already sitting at the coffee shop when I arrive in the morning.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” I tease—mostly to check her reaction.
She blushes again. No kidding. “Come sit with me, and stop using that word.”
I order, push the hair from my face, and sit.
“You’re a guy . . .” she trails off.
I raise my brows. “Yeah, thanks for noticing.” I start to say something about the way I fill up my pants, but keep it to myself.
“No.” She lets out this little snort of a laugh and stares at her cup. “I don’t want Kent to like me. That way. I don’t think.”
“Then stop being likable.” Wait. Did I say that?
Her eyes widen. “He’s my friend! I can’t be mean! And I’m still not sure how I feel. I want him to not like me until I’m ready…or something like that.”
“No guy who likes a girl wants to be told she only wants to be friends. We’d rather get kicked in the…you know.” And if I keep spending time with Amber, at what point will I rather be kicked than have her continue to be so depressingly friendly?
Her face turns scarlet and her eyes bore holes into the lid of her cup.
“What exactly do you want from me?” And why would it make a difference if she wanted to be with him or not? I shouldn’t care what she does or doesn’t have going on with Kent. But I do.
She slumps. “There isn’t some magic phrase or anything? A way to tell him I don’t know how I feel without hurting his feelings? I mean, I might like him.”
Girls really are crazy. Even normal seeming ones like Amber. “Maybe if you told him you liked him, and left off the ‘but’ at the end of it.”
She laughs. “Well, that wouldn’t really help my case, would it?” Her eyes meet mine again, and there I feel it, in my gut. No one’s eyes should affect me this way.
“Nope,” I agree. “Just his.”
“Is this one of those universal guy things of getting the girl no matter who it’s for?”
“Definitely not.” I don’t want him to have her. What the hell’s wrong with me? Let her run to him. That would sure un-complicate things for me. My eyes take in her eyes another time. “I gotta go.” I half leap to standing. I cannot let this girl get under my skin, which means I need out of here.
“See you Antony.” How can her voice be so relaxed after we sat so close? I’m totally screwed here.
“See you.” I back out of the door and take a long drink of my Cappuccino. Probably I should spend some time catching up on schoolwork.
- - -
Dad’s face is pale as I step down into the boat. At least I know how to get the damn door closed now.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I…” A tear drips from his eye.
“Dad?”
“Sit down.”
Our eyes lock. This is big. Something big. My heart’s making that part clear, banging around inside me.
I’m shaking, all through. The news isn’t for him. It’s for me. I’m numb, tingling.
“Your Mom’s plane went down. The small one they chartered for the last flight in. The whole crew was on board.”
“I…” My mouth is thick, stuffed with cotton. My breath stabs into my lungs. Sharp breath. I get it now. “Is she okay?” I can’t believe I’m asking this about Mom. My mom.
His head shakes.
There has to be some mistake. Has to be. Some mix-up or something. Maybe she wasn’t actually on that plane. Maybe she…
“They have her body, Antony. They’re sending her home.”
Body. Mom. Not okay. Pain and disbelief start to pull me apart from the inside. I go numb and fill with a wretched aching at the same time. This can’t be happening.
Dad steps toward me. I need away. Alone. I push myself away from the table and shut the door to my room.
“Antony, if you need anything, let me know,” he calls through the door.
I sit on my bed and lean against the wall. My whole body is actually shaking, not just my insides, but my legs, my hands.
Tears hit my lap before I realize I’m crying. How can Mom not be okay? It still feels too much to be real. I’m alone. Seriously, really, alone. Nothing makes sense. Nothing. How is the boat not shaking? How am I still sitting here?
Dad opens my door, steps in and sits on the opposite side of the bed from me. He has a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. He fills one to halfway and hands it to me without a word. Then he pours one for himself.
I drink. Just keep swallowing the burning stuff until my glass is empty. Dad doesn’t ask—he fills it up again. And now I get why it’s cool to have a dad. Mom would want to talk, to hold me. Dad knows I need a drink. Hell, he probably needs a drink.
The heat from the liquid fills me, warms me, and the pain still wracks me from the inside, but it’s duller. I down the second glass. It could still all be a big mistake. All of it. She could be okay. Maybe she was on a different plane. Maybe it was a different film crew. Maybe. I’m going to fill my head full of maybes. It sure beats the shit out of the alternative.
Five
I’ve gotten calls or texts from almost all my close friends in New York. Everyone from the Today Show has sent me an email or left a message on my phone. The president of NBC called me to give his condolences. I don’t want any of it. I just want my mom. All of it fades into the minutes and hours, and seconds, and little bits of time that don’t mean anything anymore.
I’m living half in the real world, just enough to function, and half in a world where I’m heading to New York to find Mom and to know that this is all a big mistake.
We’re on the plane. The air smells like we’re being canned. Dad’s asleep in the seat next to me. I drink the whiskey he left on the tray in front of him. He cut his hair and even had his beard trimmed. He still looks eccentric, but in a good way. In a way that makes him look like a writer of something other than cheap mystery novels.
My chest is scraped, hollowed. My brain can’t focus. The pain makes it all so much more real. I don’t want real.
How will I stay with Dad in Mom’s apartment? Where will he sleep? The couch? Even the guestroom feels like an odd place for him to be, but I guess that’s where he’ll end up. What am I going to do with myself in New York?
I scroll through the texts on my phone, even though I’m not supposed to while flying. What are they going to do? Kick me off the plane?
I stop at the one from Amber. The girl I barely know, but who also has this weird inside track on me because I can’t keep my mouth shut around her.
I KNOW I DON’T KNOW YOU THAT WELL. BUT YOU CAN CALL ME OR TEXT ME ANYTIME K? I CAN’T IMAGINE NOT HAVING MY MOM.
I blink back tears at the simplicity of her words. Yeah. That makes two of us.
- - -
Dad’s eyes widen as we step out of the cab in front of my building. Mom and I live in a great place, right on Madison. And now, with the first sympathetic look from a random person walking from the building, the problem is clear. Everyone knows Mom. Everyone knows who she is. Everyone knows what happened. I get a sympathetic look from Carl, who gets the door for us. I get two sideways glances from an older lady in the elevator. Pictures of Mom and I together have been all over the TV. I caught a glimpse of our last trip to Eastern Europe while I was in the airport.
I hate twenty-four hour news networks. I wonder how many times they’ve played the story about my mom, and I wonder how many more times they’ll play it. Guess it all depends on ratings.
When I unlock the door to the apartment, its like the place already knows its unused—it feels too still inside. Dad’s silent. I would be too. What the hell do you say to your stranger son after your ex-wife dies?
There are pictures of Mom and I everywhere in here. I can’t look.
“Don’t use Mom’s room. Take the one at the end of the hall. I’m going to bed.” I don’t slow. Don’t take off my shoes
. Just go to my room.
I open the door to my freshly vacuumed floor, and newly made bed. Rachel, the housekeeper, probably came, knowing I’d need to come home. I wonder if she stocked the fridge with coffee grounds and milk while she was here.
I flop on my back, stick in my headphones and crank the music as loud as I can.
- - -
The next few days go by in a haze. I take all the pictures down and put them on Mom’s bed. Then I take them off her bed and put them under her bed. If she comes home in the middle of the night, she won’t want to have to move them. I don’t touch anything on her dresser, or open her closet or bathroom door. She always gives me a hard time when I mess with her stuff.
Being home makes me feel like she’ll walk through the door at any moment.
The phone rings. Dad answers. His voice is quiet. He tells people I’m unavailable. He takes messages and leaves them for me to see, but I don’t want to see them. Seeing messages of sympathy will mean that I need sympathy, that I’m deserving of sympathy, and really, it could still be some big mistake.
The pain and ache of it all crawls around me as I once again sit on the floor of Mom’s room, just waiting for her to come home and catch me in here.
“Antony?” Dad stands in the doorway.
“Don’t come in here,” I warn. Her ex-husband in her room is just…wrong.
“I won’t.” He shakes his head. “The silence is killing me.”
“Me, too.” But there’s nothing else to do. Talking and listening will only make me say or hear things I don’t want to hear or know. Dad and I have walked around one another like shadows in a house that’s dying.
He’s been on the phone. I know he’s making “arrangements” which is why I don’t want to be here. Don’t want to talk. Don’t want to listen.
“There’s been an offer for—”
“For what?” I snap.
Dad sighs. “For your mom to be buried at Arlington. With all the war correspondence and…”
Shit. Bury Mom. Mom. Tears should stream down my face, but it’s like I’m too numb for them to come. No relief. Not for me. Bury. Underground. Mom. Because she’s gone. She doesn’t need air. Bury, bury, bury…Coffins. Suffocation. Mom.