by Susan Soares
Suddenly, as I watched him fold up the piece of paper and stuff it into his pocket, I wanted to take it all back. Something about Brandon was too real. Too genuine. Too intuitive. I wanted to back out. No, I had to back out. When I opened my mouth to try to object, he brushed past me and said, “See you then, Marissa.”
The sound of my name rang in my ears like a symphony, and all I could do was stand there and watch him walk away. With my address in his front pocket.
Chapter Twelve
It was eight forty-five in the morning, and I was just finishing getting ready for my date — was this actually a date? — with Brandon. My grandmother was out for her morning walk and didn’t know I was still home. I placed my hair into a loose French braid. My jean cut-off shorts and light pink T-shirt evoked the casual attire one would wear to the beach. All I needed was to add my flip-flops, which would show off my freshly painted toes. I mean, come on, who doesn’t like cute toes? Not like I was trying to have cute toes for Brandon or anything. It’s just nice to have cute toes.
As I grabbed my purse off my bed, I heard the doorbell ring. When it rang a second time, I felt my knees quake. Calm down. I rushed down the hall to the front door. When I opened it, I was struck by his smile. His hair was kind of messy, like he combed it in a rush, and he was wearing jeans with a tear in the right knee. His blue T-shirt looked custom fitted, and I liked how the fabric tugged on the muscles of his upper arms.
“Ready for some good, clean fun?” he asked.
I crossed toward him and shut the door behind me. “I’ve got my halo with me.” Inside I cringed at how ridiculous my comment sounded.
“I don’t know what that means, but cool.” He gave me a perplexed smile, and I walked slightly behind him to his car. This was the first time any boy had ever opened a car door for me. I felt a little guilty for enjoying it, like I should be a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need any man to open her car door for her. All my life I’d been so used to Marc, who bounded ahead of me any time we had to get into a car. This was nice. Brandon was nice. My stomach muscles tensed as I watched him walk over to the driver’s side.
We had driven the first few minutes of the ride in silence. Finally, Brandon broke the tension. “Coffee?” he asked.
“Yes, please.” I wondered what I was doing there with this guy who had some sort of telepathic link to me. It just seemed like he got me or something. All of my instincts to hide who I truly was from him were slowly beginning to fade. But I wasn’t ready yet. Sure, I’d share my favorite color with him and talk about my hobbies, but there was no way he was going to know my secret. A sensation of warmth washed over my shoulder. It reminded me of when my mom would squeeze my shoulder whenever I’d tense up. Maybe my mom’s ghost was signaling me to relax.
I looked out the window at the perfect morning. The sky was already a clear blue, and the sun was warming the earth below. It took a moment for me to realize we had parked. I’d been so lost in thought.
“I’m starving. I think I’ll grab a muffin too,” Brandon said while exiting the car.
My stomach growled. I craved a chocolate chip scone, but didn’t want to seem like a pig or anything, so I decided to get a croissant. A wave of fresh pastry scents hit my nose as Brandon opened the door to Have Another Cup Coffee Shop. Maybe I would get the scone after all.
We were in line waiting when I heard his voice. “Marissa?” I didn’t want to turn around. But he said it again. “Marissa?” Now I knew he was right behind me.
I turned slowly, wishing that somehow time would stop, so I could make a break for it. “Hey, Mr. Brockwell.” My cheeks felt like they were cracking as I smiled. He locked eyes with me, and I immediately moved my gaze to the floor. I was so embarrassed by my face. My face that constantly reminded him of my mother’s.
“I haven’t seen you in a while. Funny, running into you here,” he said. But it wasn’t funny. The last time I ran into him here, he practically had to run away from me. The pain of seeing me and the memories that I conjured up for him.
I watched in slow motion as he extended his hand to Brandon. “Hi there, I’m Hank Brockwell.” The two shook hands.
“Brandon.” I heard Brandon say softly over the ringing in my ears.
“No school today?” Mr. Brockwell asked.
I sheepishly looked toward the ground, hoping it would open up and suck me in whole.
Mr. Brockwell laughed. “Don’t worry, kids. I won’t tell anyone. So, Marissa, how’s the running going?”
The air suddenly seemed denser around me. “It’s fine.” Was the room starting to sway for anyone else?
“Good,” Mr. Brockwell said.
“Are you guys neighbors?” Brandon asked.
My head whipped around toward him so fast I thought I had given myself whiplash. Why would he ask that? Why was he asking questions?
“What? Oh no, I was a friend of Marissa’s mother.” His words hung in the air like smoke after an extinguished fire. Stale and poignant. The words “was a friend” stabbed at my heart.
I prayed someone would drop a plate or spill a coffee on somebody. Something, anything, so we could stop talking. As if in answer to my silent wish I heard the cashier yell, “Can I help who’s next?”
“Oh, that’s us.” I grabbed Brandon’s arm and tugged him toward the counter.
“Okay, well it was nice seeing you, Marissa.” Mr. Brockwell said, but I didn’t respond. I didn’t look back. And I kept my eyes on the floor as we left with our coffee and baked treats.
After we started driving I dove into my chocolate chip scone. I touted its texture, its taste, the juxtaposition of the chocolate chips to the dense pastry. My scone small talk was something to be admired. I wondered aloud how many scones they must bake each day. What time of day must the bakers come in to make the scones? How many scones do they sell versus how many they’ve baked? What do they do with all the extra scones? Why are scones so popular? Are they more or less popular than muffins? How many people dunk their scones in coffee? Are there any mix-ins that just don’t work with a scone’s texture? I don’t know how long I talked, but my throat was starting to feel sore. Brandon finally cut me off.
“So, seeing that guy kind of threw you for a loop, huh?” He grabbed his coffee with one hand and took a long sip. I looked at his profile, which was strong and solid. I liked how his sideburns had blunt edges; he must have used a beard trimmer to shape them.
“Me? What? I mean, what do you mean?” I picked at the last few crumbs of my scone.
“You’ve been giving me a dissertation about scones for maybe ten minutes, and since I don’t think you have any plans to get a doctorate in scone-ology I’m thinking it has something to do with that man.”
I was glad he kept his eyes on the road, that way he couldn’t see how fiery red my cheeks were. I sat silently. This was not something I was ready to get into.
“Sore subject?” he asked.
How bad would it be to tell him, I wondered. I mean we were going to spend the day together. Wouldn’t it be better to come clean about what had happened in my life rather than harbor the secret? Especially to someone who just might understand it.
“Look, I know what it’s like when you run into one of your parent’s exes.” He glanced over to me on the last word.
“What?” Again I played the idiot.
He let out a heavy sigh. “My mom dated this guy, Richard, a few years ago. He was a jerk. His name may have been Richard but I always called him Dick.” He chuckled. “Anyway, he was always trying to buy stuff for us kids. Skateboards for me, video games for Bobby and Nick. But at the same time, he treated my mom like garbage. He was always late or standing her up. Just a jerk.” He stopped at a red light and looked at me so deeply that I was afraid to blink. “So one day I’m in the mall doing whatever, and he comes up to me like we’re old friends.” His eyes were intense. “He slapped me on the back, and was like, ‘Hey kiddo, long time no see!’ and all I’m thinking is, ‘You jerk,
you made my mother cry.’“
Just then a car honked behind us, and I was grateful Brandon had to return his gaze to the road. Something about when he looked at me made me want to melt like a marshmallow fresh from a campfire.
“I’m sorry if I’m totally going off here. For all I know, he could’ve been your exterminator. I just figured since he said he was a friend of your mom’s, like they ‘used to be friends,’ that he was an ex.” He had made air quotes around the “used to be friends.”
And I realized that I could go with that story. I could leave it at that. Or I could jump right in with both feet and set him straight.
“Exactly.” I stared at the road ahead. “He’s my mom’s ex.” The back of my throat had a lump in it and I washed it, along with the guilt, down with a large sip of my vanilla flavored coffee. You didn’t lie, I thought. Technically, he was an ex. Technically.
****
One of my favorite parts of going to the beach is the first moment you realize you’re there. When you’re driving with the windows open and suddenly you can smell the salt water. Then you can taste it in your mouth and an impulse takes over, and all you want to eat is some saltwater taffy. The sounds of seagulls echo through your ears, and the sun seems just a bit warmer right where you are.
Brandon found a parking lot close to the boardwalk, and we began our walk. As we strolled, our hands lightly brushed up against one another. I shoved my hands in my pockets. Even though I wanted to hold his hand, I couldn’t. I rolled my shoulders inward, and in my head I pictured a bubble surrounding me. Then Brandon playfully pushed against my arm.
“You’re funny,” he said, and I felt the bubble pop, but my hands stayed in my pockets.
We strolled through the customary souvenir shops. We made fun of the tie-dyed clothes and the custom screen-printed T-shirts. We tried on a variety of sunglasses and laughed at the different bumper sticker sayings. I admired the sea glass jewelry and even tried on a bracelet. It was a piece of dark blue sea glass that naturally formed the shape of a heart, a crude heart, but a heart. It was set onto a piece of black cording, and the center glass piece was flanked by a few smaller white chunks of sea glass. Before I could blow the last of my paycheck on it, I gave it back to the sales girl. She rolled her eyes and returned it to the case. I looked to my left and saw Brandon watching me. He was modeling a large floppy sun hat that was definitely meant for a woman. I laughed so hard I spit a little.
He did a supermodel walk over to me. “What? It’s not my style?” he asked, showing me his profile.
“Fake it till you make it, I guess.” I was still laughing.
“Do you wanna get some lunch?” As soon as he said it, my stomach started to growl.
“Sure,” I said.
He repositioned the hat so it covered one of his eyes. “Okay, why don’t you go grab us a place to eat outside, and I’ll return this hat.”
I had a mad urge to hug him, but I didn’t. “Okay, I’ll save you a seat.” Oh man, I was flirting.
****
Brandon walked over to me with his long stride and placed the tray on our high top table. He placed my plate of pepperoni and pineapple pizza in front of me, along with a diet soda. The large umbrella was shielding us from the hot afternoon sun. I was grateful to that umbrella, as the last thing I needed was to sit here sweating like a pig. I was already eating like one.
“So, any idea what you want to do after high school?” he asked.
I detached the long string of mozzarella cheese that had stretched from my slice to my mouth. “The normal plan. Try to find a good college. Any school that’s far away from here will do.” I felt his eyes staring at my collarbone, and it made me warm inside.
“Far away, huh? I bet your parents will freak out.”
I choked a little.
“Oh sorry,” he said as he gave my back a little pat. “I’m looking to stay local. I want to make sure I’m close by in case my mom needs help. Like with Nicholas or anything. I’d like to move out to have some independence, but if she wants me to stay with her, I’ll probably just do that.” He gave me a sheepish smile.
He was so sweet. His family obviously meant the world to him. I bet his mother leaned on him a lot right after Bobby died. I imagined him making dinner for himself and Nicholas and bringing his mother some tea and toast, trying to make sure she ate a little something. I did that for my mom too. For days after her chemo treatments, she’d be so wiped out she’d have to spend the whole day in bed. I’d bring her food. Sometimes I tried to help wash her hair. She said she hated feeling it so greasy. So I came up with this weird sponge bath method of washing her hair. It always seemed to make her feel better. Once her hair fell out completely, I made sure her wig, the one and only wig she could afford, always looked styled and clean. She always wanted to still feel like a woman, instead of a cancer patient. But, she was both.
A strong breeze blew through the air, and a strand of my hair escaped my loose braid and blew into my face. Brandon noticed and reached his hand toward me then quickly withdrew it. He looked down at his pizza and laughed.
“What?” I tucked the strand back into the braid.
He chuckled, this time more to himself. “It’s nothing I was just… I was going to move your hair to behind your ear, and then I thought I shouldn’t.”
“Oh.” Goose bumps ran up and down my arms, and it wasn’t from the breeze. I nervously nibbled at my pizza and sipped my drink. Silence fell around us. But it’s kind of like when you’re microwaving a piece of apple pie. It might only take forty seconds, but somehow those forty seconds seems like forever.
“All right, that’s it!” Brandon tossed his napkin down on his plate and peered at me.
“What?” I was afraid to ask but did.
“It’s time for me to see what you’re made of.” He leaned into me. “Pinball.” His eyes were locked on mine.
“Oh, you’re asking for it.” I got up from my seat and started walking down the boardwalk to the arcade.
“Don’t think I’m going to let you score higher than me.” He walked faster than I did, and I had to double my pace to keep up. I then realized he was doing it on purpose, so I sprinted the last few yards to the arcade.
An hour later, I had accumulated one hundred tickets to his mere eighty-seven when all was said and done. I crushed his pinball score. We played air hockey; he won two rounds and I, one, but I think that one was a pity win. We gathered more tickets from the target shooting game and various other games. At the ticket redemption counter, I wanted the pink stuffed leopard but was fifty tickets short. Brandon graciously gave me the extra fifty tickets, and with his remaining winnings, he walked out with a key chain in the shape of a shark.
It was time to head back, and the ride home was filled with continuous conversation. We talked about our favorite music groups and favorite movies. The only lull was when we went through the tollbooth and the toll taker said we’d better get home before our parents found out we ditched school. Since when were toll takers truant officers?
“Do you think your parents will be mad if they find out?” Brandon asked.
“I kind of don’t have a dad.” Oh no, oh no, oh no! I couldn’t believe I just let that out. I was busy breathing in the last of the salty air, and my brain must have clouded over momentarily.
“What about your mom? I don’t want her to think I’m a bad influence on you. That is if you’ve ever even mentioned me to her.” His voice got tight at the end of his last sentence.
My feet got pins and needles. I was sure he could hear my frantic heartbeat because it was deafening in my ears. I couldn’t mention my mom. I just… I just couldn’t. So I deflected the question. “What’s your mom gonna say?”
He grinned. “She told me I should take you to see the sunset.”
I bit my bottom lip and had to look out the window so he wouldn’t see my smile.
After we parked in my driveway, he walked me to my doorstep. I thanked him for a fun day. The late
afternoon sun was shining on his face, and his eyes had specks of gold in them I had never noticed before. We both seamlessly moved in for a hug. His arms felt warm and strong wrapped around me. My armor of defenses felt like they were crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. When I peeled myself back from him slightly we ended up standing almost toe-to-toe.
“Can I… try something?” he asked.
I was staring at his chin again; I was afraid to look in his eyes for fear that the gold flecks would entrap me. “Okay.” My voice sounded like a younger version of me, quiet and unsure.
Then I felt his hand under my chin, and he tilted my head up toward his before his lips slowly found their way to mine. His mouth was soft, and the kiss was gentle. If I was a microwaved piece of apple pie, he was the cool scoop of ice cream on top. And his lips melted into mine.
Chapter Thirteen
As I organized the sales rack at Denim I still felt a bit dreamy. Since I had skipped school, I figured I should at least go to work. After all, they paid me to come here, and it was only a three-hour shift. My lips practically still tingled from the kiss. It was a like a movie in my mind, and I kept replaying the scene over and over again. I touched my lips gently as if trying to seal in the feeling.
I was brought back into the present when my phone vibrated in my pocket. There was one new text from Zoe.
Have 2 talk.
I tried to conceal my phone as I texted a reply. The last thing I needed was Taylor nabbing me for texting on the sales floor. I’m working.
Two seconds later her reply came. I know. Look across the hall.
I looked up from the sales rack and out the front doors. There across the hall was Zoe. She caught my eye and started waving me over. Why didn’t she just come into the store?