I squeeze her back. “Hey, Ma.”
“How much time do I have before dinner gets here?” my dad asks and chugs down the rest of his water.
My mom looks at her watch. “Ten minutes or so,” she says, sparing him a glance. But it’s not awkward the way I’d expect it to be. “You have time for a quick shower.”
My father excuses himself to run upstairs.
“You’ll be happy to know,” my mom says, rinsing out my dad’s glass, “that I decided to spend my time baking cookies today instead of worrying about dinner.”
I tilt my head, confused.
“I’ve order dinner from Giovanni’s. It should be here soon.”
My stomach rumbles at the thought, and her smile widens. “I thought you’d like that.” She hands me the two cookie containers. “One’s for Bethany and Jesse. Make sure they get it, okay?”
Surprised, I take them from her. “Sure.”
“I mean it, Nicholas. You,” she says, pointing to one container. “Bethany.” She points to the other one. “Don’t touch.”
“I got it, Ma,” I say with a laugh. “I’ll make sure she gets it. I have some self-control, you know.”
“Good.” She smiles at me. “I really enjoyed having them here the other day. I hope Bethany decides to come back for another tutoring session.”
“I do too,” I admit. “She said it helped her a lot. I think she really appreciated it.”
“I’m glad I could be helpful.” I can see it in my mom’s eyes—a sense of purpose. It lightens her expression and her eyes smile. I don’t know if my dad notices those things anymore or if he even cares, but it makes me happy.
“So, this cookie business,” I say, inching closer to the cookie plate. “Are they strictly an after-dinner snack or . . . ?”
“You can have one now.” She chuckles softly and pats my shoulder. “How can I resist that handsome smile of yours?”
“I wish everyone thought that,” I semi-joke.
My mom’s brow furrows, and I don’t like the sudden sympathy in her expression. “So, you’re still not dating then?” she asks, folding her fabric napkins just the way she likes them for the table.
“No, we’re not dating,” I say easily enough. “I don’t really know what we are.”
“I see.”
“You do? Because I sure as hell don’t.”
“Language, Nicholas.” My mom opens the fridge and pulls out two brand new jars of pickles.
My salivary glands kick into overdrive. “Are those for me?”
“Of course they are. Do you think I’m going to eat two jars of Claussen’s on my own?”
I snort. “I could.”
“I’m aware,” she grumbles. “They were on sale at the grocery store, so I picked up a couple.” She nods to the cookies. “Put them with the rest of your things. I don’t want you to forget them.”
“Oh, I won’t. You got the best ones.”
“So you’ve told me.”
I scoot my to-go pile to the end of the counter, out of the way, and my mom points to the cupboard. “Pull out plates and glasses for dinner, Nick, and set the table, please.” She holds out her fabric napkins. “Use the nice ones this time.”
I do as she says, but part of me thinks pretending we’re going to have a nice dinner together is stupid. They don’t have to keep up the charade anymore, it just makes me uncomfortable.
“Did you see the roses your father brought me?”
I glance at the vase on the buffet and the white roses that fill it.
“Are you guys working things out or something?” I ask, because it’s weird that he’s still getting her flowers and they’re acting so normal, when everything is anything but.
Then the doorbells rings and my mom hurries toward the door; my dad jogs back down the stairs.
“Just in time,” he says and pays the delivery girl. He brings the takeout into the dining room and sets it on the table. Clapping his hands together, he says, “Ravioli, salad, and pesto bread sticks. Dinner is served.”
“It smells delicious,” my mom coos. “I’m ravenous.” She opens the plastic lids. The smell of rich Italian herbs waft over the table and my stomach rumbles again. “Serve yourselves,” she says and disappears into the kitchen. She returns with an uncorked bottle of rosé, and I feel a pang of sadness, remembering how things were just a few days ago, how they used to be.
“Would anyone care for a glass?” she asks as she opens the curio cabinet.
“Please,” my dad says, scooping food onto my mom’s plate for her.
I glance between them, awed by whatever is going on right now, and shake my head. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself, it’s Saturday after all.” She pulls out a glass for her and my dad. “Are you going to work tonight, sweetheart?”
I smooth my napkin in my lap. “Yeah, at eight.”
“Well then, I won’t be a bad influence on you, not tonight, at least.” She smiles at me, knowingly. I like to have a glass of wine with her now and again, but only with her. It’s sort of our thing.
“So, Nicky,” my dad starts, “how is your project going up at the ranch?”
Shrugging, I take a sip of my water. “It’s going fine.”
“Just fine?” He stabs his lettuce onto his fork, like it’s just another dinner.
“Yeah.” I set my fork down on my untouched plate. “So—why did you buy Mom roses?”
They look at each other, confused. “I always buy your mother flowers before family dinner.”
“Yeah, but why? You guys aren’t really together and I know that now, so it’s weird.” When they exchange another glance, I can’t take it anymore. “Why am I here, exactly?”
“You’re here for dinner, of course.” My mom takes a bite of her ravioli.
“Are we really going to sit here and pretend like we’re a happy family—asking me about my projects . . . Dad’s dishing up your food for you, like that’s normal.”
“It is normal, Nicholas,” my mom says.
“Yeah, but, aren’t we going to address the elephant in the room, because it’s creeping me out that we’re pretending I didn’t see Dad groping some woman in his office.”
“Nick, that’s enough,” my dad says, and the grasp I had on my emotions when I walked in loosens, it’s almost overwhelming.
“You two have been lying to me for, what, three years or something? You want to just brush it all under the rug and that’s supposed to be okay?”
“We’re not brushing anything under the rug, Nick.” My dad’s voice is stern and demanding, but it doesn’t faze me. He lost that power over me when he started screwing his coworker.
“What do you want to talk about, Nicholas?” my mom asks. “What do you want to know?”
“I want to know why you are both still acting like you’re married when you haven’t been for a long time. What happens now? Dad, are you moving out—really moving out?”
“We haven’t decided what we’re going to do next,” he explains, but it’s not a satisfactory answer.
“Are you sorry about what you did?” I ask.
“Yes, of course I’m sorry about what happened. I never wanted to hurt your mother, or you.”
“Nick,” my mom says, “we just wanted a nice dinner with you. We wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“Well, I’m not okay,” I tell her honestly. I see the hurt fill her eyes, but I’m not sure why she’s surprised. “How did you really think this was going to go?” I shake my head and sit back in my chair. “I feel like I’m in The Twilight Zone.”
My dad folds his hands and rests them on the table. His expression is unmoved, and it feels like I’m talking to a wall.
“Do you have anything else to say?” I ask him.
He clears his throat and glances at my mom. “I don’t expect this to be easy for you, Nick, and I understand why you’re angry, but your mother has forgiven me—”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she sa
ys into her wine glass.
“Look,” he says, impatient. “Nick, I wish you knew how sorry I was. I didn’t want this to happen. It just did. I can’t undo it, no matter how much I want to.”
My mom fingers the edge of her napkin.
My dad rubs the side of his face.
I stare between them, and the three of us sit wordless for what feels like eons as the grandfather clock ticks back and forth, measuring the silence.
“You know what I wish?” I ask him. “I wish you could see yourself the way I’ve seen you my whole life. I wish you knew how shitty it feels to know the man you’ve aspired to be is really a selfish asshole who blew off his son and broke his wife’s heart. I wish you knew what it felt like for me to walk in on you with another woman. Or that you acted like it was nothing more than some awkward misunderstanding. You cheated on your family—you lied.”
“Yes, I know I cheated!” he finally says with some emotion. “I know I screwed up and I’m sorry. I truly am, but I can’t undo it, Nick. I know you wish we could rewind and go back, but we can’t. This is just how it is now, even if it’s uncomfortable for you.”
I blink at him, processing.
“And she’s more than just another woman,” he says more quietly. “I care about Carrie, even if that’s difficult for you to hear.”
I glance at my mom. She’s staring into her wine glass like she wishes she could crawl inside and lose herself to a sea of oblivion. I don’t care what she says, she’s not completely over what he’s done to her. Maybe my dad’s not either and this is how they’re handling it—pretending or wishing things were different.
“Fine. You guys do whatever you want. It’s your lives and if you want me to accept it, I won’t bring it up again, even though this feels beyond wrong.” I try to formulate my final words, but all I can think about is anger. I glance at my dad. “But, let’s be really clear about something. If you still want a relationship with me, I’m not going to make it easy for you, like Mom has.” I stare into his eyes and tell him as fervently as I can. “You don’t get to just show up and pretend. I’m not a kid anymore. If you want my respect, you actually have to earn it this time.”
His eyes shift over my face and he looks away.
“Remember that the next time you blow me off or drum up some lie about why you can only act like my father when it’s convenient for you.”
My mom’s eyes are wet with tears when I look at her again, but as much as it hurts to see her upset, I’m upset too. “Sorry, but I’m not really hungry anymore.” I stand up from the table as my phone vibrates in my pocket. When I pull it out, I expect to find Brady’s name on the screen, but it’s Savannah’s. “Enjoy your dinner,” I say and head for the door. “See you next week.”
I accept the call, thankful for a distraction. “Hey, Red.”
Thirty-Eight
Bethany
I glance at my phone. The hour-long drive to the beach has been quiet. Nick and I don’t say much, but then, I didn’t sleep last night, and Nick is in a strange mood today. I try not to let the fact that I’ll be spending the day with the entire crew get to me, but it’s daunting, no matter how I look at it.
“Your destination, my lady,” Nick says as he pulls into the parking lot. I see Reilly’s big red truck and Mac’s Jeep and know they’ve likely been here for a while. Nick isn’t an early riser, I’ve determined, which, given his job, is understandable.
“Do me a favor, would you?”
I blink at him.
“Shut your phone off. I don’t want anything ruining your day. This is supposed to be fun.”
I roll my eyes but do as he asks, because he’s right. Today is supposed to be fun.
We unpack our things from the Explorer, and steadying myself for what will probably be a trying but hopefully fun day, I hang my beach bag over my shoulder and grab the other end of Nick’s ice chest.
I blow an errant strand of hair from my face as we lug it through the parking lot and over the grassy dune, to the path leading down to the beach. “What did you put in here, exactly? Bricks?”
“No, ice,” Nick says with a smirk.
“You’re so funny.”
“And our sandwiches and snacks . . . and some waters and a few beers. And a jar of pickles, of course—the usual.”
“You can’t forget the pickles.”
“Nope. Never.”
My steps are uneven in the sand, but it’s warm and soft as it falls around my sandals and between my toes. The air is fresh and intermittently cool against the heated rays of the sun.
Mac brushes the sand from the back of her legs as she stands up and heads for their ice chest next to the barbecue pit, her dark hair piled messily atop her head. I watch the rest of the gang milling around on the beach, oblivious to us as we make our way toward them. This is the first time I’ve been more than just an outlier, looking in.
Back in high school, hordes of us would come down here for volleyball games and bonfires. I brought Mike out here one day after meeting him at a dinner party with my family. His dad was a bigwig friend of my dad’s, and I’d offered to show Mike around since he was new in town. We flirted and laughed, and the way he looked at me, like I was some precious, intriguing creature worth knowing, had me eating out of the palm of his hand.
To my seventeen-year-old self, Mike was like no other guy I’d ever met; he was older, someone outside of school and Saratoga Falls with worldly experience, and no ties to anyone other than me. I could be myself with him.
But bringing him out here proved to be my first mistake of many. That’s the day he’d met Sam. The day Nick planted my first kernel of doubt about Mike, only for me to ignore it so it could bite me in the ass a year later.
I don’t know how soon after that day Mike started sneaking around with Sam, but when I found out, I hated her for it. Even if logic told me she likely didn’t know he and I were together. He was older and we did our own thing, always away from crowds, which was my second mistake. Part of me knew Sam was probably duped, like me, but it didn’t make the truth less painful. It all seems like yesterday and yet a lifetime ago, too.
Sam shouts at Mac to bring her a drink as she sits up on her woven blanket and tucks a loose wave of blonde hair behind her ear, the rest pulled back in a braid. I imagine her eyes are fixed on the beach festivities, on Bobby, Reilly, and Colton, playing barefooted volleyball in their shorts.
“Fear not, ladies, the party has arrived!” Nick calls down to them.
Mac and Sam peer back at us, smiles engulfing their faces, though they falter a bit when they see me. I’m not surprised by it, though my reaction to the way my presence affects them stirs my unwanted insecurities back into place.
“It’s about time, sleepy head,” Mac says, shielding her eyes with her hand.
Nick flashes them a full-faced smile. “It’s not easy looking this good. I needed my beauty rest.”
“Oh, I’ve seen you first thing in the morning. I know all about it,” she teases and we make our way over to the blanket.
When I meet Mac’s gaze, it’s more curious than I expect, less thwarted. “Hi, Bethany,” she says.
“Hey,” is about all I can manage as Nick and I drop the ice chest beside the others on the sand.
When Sam finally looks at me, she offers me a small smile but doesn’t say anything. She’s still uncertain how she feels about me, I’ve noticed. Yesterday’s civil conversation was for Jesse and Nick’s benefit, and she’s fine when we talk about design stuff, but the past still lingers, and so does Sam’s dislike for me, even if she’s trying.
“Oh, look, you got him out of bed!” Reilly says, jogging up to the group. He’s all easy smiles and bright blue eyes as he glances between us.
Reilly could make things awkward if he wanted, especially after my friend Claire kissed him and caused a scene between him and Sam last summer. She’d wanted a final summer fling before she moved away, but Sam walking up on them during Claire’s brave moment wasn’t part
of the fantasy. Mortification was what Claire got instead of Reilly. He got his girl, though, and he just smiles and acts like it never happened at all.
Reilly tosses Nick the volleyball. “How are things?” He looks Nick directly in the eye. I get the impression he’s talking about Turner family drama, and I busy myself, pulling my hair up into a ponytail.
“Fine,” Nick says, tossing the ball back to Reilly. “Annoying.”
“Time for another Tetris night?” Reilly lifts his brow, hopeful, and I drop my beach bag onto the sand.
“Oh, you want to get your ass handed to you again?” Nick asks. “Fine, then. Let’s do it.”
“It’s always a competition,” Sam says, handing Reilly a bottle of water. He chugs it down, then gasps for breath and glances between me and Nick. “You guys should come play some ball. Brush some of those cobwebs off from being so sedentary and hunched over your textbooks.”
“I’m down,” Nick says. He glances at me, his eyebrows dancing. “You want to play?”
I look from him to Mac and Sam, situating themselves on the blanket. As much as I’d like to play with the guys to avoid the awkwardness that awaits me here, I know it won’t earn me any points with the girls, so I shake my head. “Maybe later, when everyone’s ready to play.”
Nick nods and jogs after Reilly, toward the net. I’m not sure why I have the sudden need to get Mac and Sam’s approval, but I feel like I do, especially if Nick and I are going to be friends. I don’t want it to always be weird. Plus, I’m not as indifferent as I used to be. I want them to like me, and maybe I’m tired of letting people form their own, misguided opinions of me, too.
“Here,” Mac says. She pats the empty space between her and Sam. “Take a load off. Catch some rays—it feels really good.” She pulls her t-shirt off and then her shorts, revealing a full body most girls would kill for and most guys want to get their hands on.
She stretches back, completely oblivious. “Come on, Sam doesn’t bite, I promise.” Mac pats the blanket again and adjusts herself, her eyes closed behind her sunglasses.
Told You So_A Saratoga Falls Love Story Page 21