Nothing.
I can’t go yet. I sit on the couch in the family room. Olive green and warm, this couch was here before me. I cuddle up into the corner of the cushions and count to thirty and pretend I’m not crying. My heart is beating too fast. It’s hard to breathe. This is my home. I lose count and start again. One, two, three. I can’t see the fire from here. Is it still there? I can stay. Twenty-four, twenty-five. I never meant for it to get this bad. What if I stayed? The firefighters would probably take an ax to the door.
I hit thirty and force myself up. I stop crying. I walk out the back door. The noise almost sends me to my knees—a helicopter swinging just above my street. The man and woman from earlier are waiting for me, as if they’d been watching me through the windows. But the man holds an ax. They were going to come in and save me. I don’t need saving.
“Miss, you need to come with us now.”
Guilt soaks me. They’ve wasted precious time. They’re asking more questions. They’re talking medical talk. I see Grace through the haze, still on the ridge from where I came.
“The cat wasn’t there,” I say. “The cat wasn’t inside.”
“Honey.”
“Have you seen a cat? A kitten?”
“Let us check you out.”
“I need this cat.”
“An open window, maybe.”
“She was sick, I think. My sister—she found her.”
“Miss, you need to lie down.”
“I’m fine,” I say, still gripping the Zippo. “No.”
“Miss, please.”
They don’t believe me. They think I need to be checked, and maybe I do. But I am supposed to be keeping it quiet, staying low. That’s what Brooks said.
“Miss, what’s that in your hand?”
One, two, three.
I duck between them and run, sprinting to the back corner of the yard, where the pool’s fake waterfall rocks offer a step to hop over the gate. I hurdle it like a pro.
I think they’re going to chase me up the hill, but they don’t, so I stop running because I can’t run anymore. I climb to Grace with all the energy that is left in my limbs, and they don’t follow me.
“What the hell, Audrey?” Grace says, face red, hands clenched. “What the actual hell was that? I didn’t know what do. I didn’t know if you were coming back or—”
“I had to save Maya’s cat.”
“A cat?” she cries. “You risked your life for some cat?”
“I can’t believe they didn’t catch me,” I say. “I can’t believe they didn’t take me in.”
She’s shaking her head. “Who took you where?”
“The two firefighters.” I motion down at my yard, but they’re no longer there.
“You need water,” Grace says. “We need to get you water now.”
We start the trek back to the car. My heart is breaking, and my phone is buzzing in the back pocket of my jeans again. Like it’d been buzzing when I was in my home, back in those dim, smoke-drenched rooms. I pull out my phone, and it’s my mom. She’s turned on the news. Will she be able to hear the fire’s roar, the helicopters, the shouting and sirens and the danger when I pick up? Can she see me on the TV now?
“Mom,” I say.
The whoosh of her shaky breath and then, “Hon, don’t freak out, everything is okay. Okay?” At the sound of her voice, the creak of comfort, familiarity, my eyes fill again. And then she says, “Maya and I are at CHOC.”
“Wait.” I press the phone to my ear. “What?”
“The hospital.”
CHOC. As in, Children’s Hospital of Orange County.
I fall back on my ass. “What?” I say again, because it’s all I can say.
Grace nods in the direction of my car.
“She fainted during her audition,” Mom says. “She’s okay, they’re doing tests, they don’t know if it’s the—they don’t—I want my girls together—” Her words cut off, and I know she’s crying, her wrist held to her mouth. “I want you away from that fire, okay?”
This I didn’t do. This is one blow too many. Lifetime worthy. My sister fainting. My sister back in the hospital we thought she was done with, on today of all days, the day that was supposed to be her day.
All I can say is, “Yeah, okay, I’m coming,” and I push myself to my feet, leaving my home, the cat, and the fire behind.
32
Meet the Parents
I managed to keep Brooks a secret from my family until August. It helped that they were busy. Mom and Maya with ballet. Dad with work, his LA commutes and out-of-state conferences. I let them assume I was spending my summer afternoons with Grace.
But then Brooks dropped me off when Mom was gardening in the front yard. A goodbye, a maybe-too-long kiss, an I’ll see you later. I stepped out of the Audi and slammed the door, and Mom emerged from behind the tall rosemary bushes. I froze. Did she see him? Did she see me kiss him? Mom watched Brooks zoom off on his way to save the day, to answer a station page.
“Honey.” She wiped her gloved hands on her jeans. “Who was that?”
“A friend,” I said.
She shaded her face with her hands. “Was it someone you didn’t want me to see?”
“No,” I said. “It was just a friend from school.”
“A guy?”
I nodded and said, “Yeah, Brooks,” and she asked me to tell her about him, and so I did, not mentioning that he’d graduated that spring, or how he liked to speed through the canyons at the foggiest times of night, and sometimes even let me drive despite the fact that I only had my permit.
I told her that Brooks was into existential philosophy and that he interned at his dad’s firm through the school year. I explained how he’s good with words and brilliant too. “Quiet though, like me,” I said, “not so into the party scene.” I explained that he and his dad had moved down from Seattle, and that Brooks spoke of the Pacific Northwest with such love, I’d decided a trip north ought to be our next family vacation.
“That’s how great he is,” I said, bending over to a pick a sprig of rosemary. “He makes me excited for a family vacation.”
“Are you two together?”
I looked at the cracked pavement. “I’m kind of with Brooks, yeah,” I said. “But, I mean, I don’t see the big deal with labels.”
She smiled at this. “Fifteen and yet so wise,” she said, not suspecting that my lips were chapped from kissing in the Audi the night before. “Invite him to dinner on Sunday. Dad can barbeque.” She fanned her face with her hat. “I want to meet the boy you’ve deemed worthy of your time.”
“If I say okay will you let me go inside?”
“Deal.”
* * *
* * *
Brooks came to dinner three days later.
He was horrified at the request but, after some pleading on my part, agreed. Mom and Dad went overboard. Rib-eye steak and grilled prawns. Rosemary roasted potatoes. Citrus arugula salad. The weathered patio table in the backyard was set. A candle in the middle. Wine for the adults. Cucumber water for the rest of us.
“Mom,” I said. “You’re going to freak him out. This is too much.”
She waved her wooden spoon. “Oh shush. No one ever minds being treated nice.”
* * *
* * *
Brooks was freaked out.
I sat upright, trying to trigger my appetite. “This looks delicious,” I said. “You guys haven’t barbequed all summer.”
“False,” Maya said. “You simply have missed all barbeque nights.”
“Your sister makes a good point,” Mom chided.
I clicked my tongue. “Still. Good work, Mom and Dad.”
Brooks sat beside me and stared at his plate, as if he didn’t know how to proceed, how to enter the conversation. His hair had grown out all summer, a
nd for the first time, the blond tangles that fell near his ears didn’t look rugged or sweet but rather vulnerable and sloppy.
“Glad you finally could join us for a summer meal,” Dad said to me, and he looked at Brooks. “Especially you, Brooks. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brooks said, making eye contact. “Likewise.”
So formal and foreign, and my heart swelled at his eagerness to gain my parents’ approval.
“Kevin,” Dad said with a smile. “You can call me Kevin.”
Brooks nodded and I said, “He’s been busy at the station or we would’ve done this sooner.”
“Oh yes!” Mom clapped. “Firefighting! I want to hear about the firefighting!”
Dad cut his steak. “Such an honorable job. What initiated your interest?”
“Was it the uniform?” Maya asked, yanking a tail from a prawn. “I bet it was the uniform.”
“Excuse Maya,” I said. “She’s entering her boy-crazy phase.”
“Am not!” She plopped the shrimp into her mouth.
Brooks set down his fork and knife, like he’d read online that this was the way to be polite at a dinner—to not hold your utensils while talking. “My brother,” he said. “My brother initiated the interest. Cameron.” A broken name. He shifted in his chair, and under the table, he pressed his hand against his pocket where his Zippo waited. “He was into it, so—”
“Is Cameron also a firefighter?” Mom asked.
I nearly choked. “Tell them about the family road trip!”
He glanced at me nervously. “It’s okay,” he said. “My brother died last fall.”
My parents took in a collective breath. Maya stared at him, brown eyes instantly glossy.
“Oh,” Mom said. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Brooks picked up his fork and knife, cut into a potato. His left eye was acting up, and I wondered if my parents thought it was the start of tears.
“Thank you,” he said. “It’s okay.”
I wished I could hold him and tell him that he didn’t have to explain a thing. He took in a breath, and I was relieved my parents didn’t ask how Cameron had died.
“But firefighting, my interest—” Brook started again. “I went to this summer camp as a kid, up in northeastern Washington,” he said. “People typically assume Washington is always raining, no droughts, you know? Not true. The summers dry out quick, especially once you diverge from the coast.”
“Such a beautiful area,” Dad said.
I turned to him. “You’ve been?”
“Of course, my parents used to—”
“Kevin,” Mom said. “I want to hear Brooks’s story.”
Brooks’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not much of a story.” Which was so strange to hear coming from him, after all the stories he’d told me with such earnest passion. “When I was twelve, there was a fire near the camp. Usual deal—wiped out the entire area. The camp was evacuated. The town too. The community destroyed from this seemingly uncontrollable thing. This fire.”
“That’s terrible,” Mom said.
I stared at him. He’d never told me about a summer camp. He’d only mentioned the family road trip to Oregon.
Brooks swallowed a prawn and winced. “I remember seeing the firefighters—throwing themselves into that heat to save lives, trying to tame what can’t be tamed.” Brooks gulped his water. To tame what can’t be tamed. I’d never heard him respect—let alone acknowledge—the danger of a fire. But I’d never seen him tell a story with such tepidness either. “I guess I knew then,” he said.
“Is this your long-term career goal then?” Dad asked.
“I think so,” he said. “Don’t think I could handle an office job—have to keep moving.” And he ran his fingers through his hair, as if proving his struggle to remain still.
“I like to be on my feet too,” Maya said, her voice a boom box compared to his.
I smiled. “On your toes to be precise.”
“Ah, yes, you’re a ballerina,” Brooks said, his relief at the change of topic tangible.
She wrinkled her nose. “I wish. No. I practice ballet. Not yet a ballerina.”
He paused. “A ballerina in training then?”
“I guess,” she said, shy now too.
I was exhausted by all of the nervousness at the table, by the anxiety of the meal. I pulled my remaining prawns out of their shell one by one.
“She was invited to audition at the Institute up in Newport this October,” Mom said. “An incredible academy. Ninety percent of their alums join companies worldwide.”
“Mom, I’m not in yet.”
“But you’re auditioning,” Brooks said. “That’s big, right?”
Dad clapped. “Thank you! I’ve been trying to tell her that all summer.”
“Well,” Mom said. “Audrey was en route to ballerina status herself not long ago.”
I almost choked on my water. “Mom. No.”
“Really?” Brooks perked up.
“No,” I said. “Not really.”
“She was awesome,” Maya said. “She danced the main solo in Red Shoes.”
“He doesn’t know what that is,” I said. “Because it’s irrelevant.”
“I really think, honey,” Mom spoke, holding her glass, waving one hand, “that you were on your way, that—”
I cut my steak into six bites. “I wasn’t happy.”
Brooks stared at me. “Audrey dances. I had no idea.”
I stared back. “Danced.”
“She taught me everything I know,” Maya said.
“Wow. Audrey and ballet.” Brooks leaned back. “I never would have guessed.”
“I don’t know why you’d keep it a secret from him,” Mom said.
“What secret? That it was the pits of my life? I wasn’t happy,” I said again. “But Maya, dude, she breathes for the shit.”
“Audrey,” Dad says. “Language.”
Maya smirked. “Beautifully said.”
“Thank you.”
But then Maya added, “But still, I doubt I would’ve gone back to it if it weren’t for you”—she smiled at me—“you dancing for me when I was sick.”
Brooks shot me a glance. “Sick?”
And there was this pang of silence, because I guess that’s also something I should have already shared with Brooks. Maya having had cancer. But he’d never asked about her, and it’d never come up—because she was better, she is better, and it was only something that happened, something she endured and conquered.
And Maya said, “When I was younger,” as if she hadn’t had that scare just three years ago. “Burkitt lymphoma. It’s gone now.” A smile. “All better.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Because you whooped it in the ass.”
“Honey,” Mom said.
“Thank God for that,” Brooks murmured, relaxing even more, somehow.
“Ass whooping.” Maya beamed. “What can I say? I’m a pro.”
“Well then,” Mom said. “Audrey, will you pass the salad?”
Maya peered at Brooks’s plate. “Hey,” she said. “Where are all of your prawn legs?”
He stared at her. “My what?”
“Oh god,” I said.
“You’ve been eating the shells?” Mom asked. “Oh dear! You must be miserable.” She laughed. “No, honey, you peel them—have you ever had prawns before?”
Brooks face was red and my chest tightened, and Maya and Mom and Dad laughed and made idiotic jokes, and Brooks tried to laugh too, but he looked ready to flee out the door—his face redder than I’d ever seen. I wanted to take him away, shield him from my family’s noise, lead him to his fire pit, where it could be just him and me alone.
“It wasn’t too bad,” he finally said, an attempt at a smile. “Gave the shrimps a
good crunch.”
“I do it all the time,” I added. “Forget.”
“Man,” Dad said to him. “You are a trooper.”
* * *
* * *
Before he left, Brooks kissed my cheek. He shook Dad’s hand and waved awkwardly at my mom and Maya. And then he was out the front door, and that was that.
He sent me a text from the car: I’m sorry I’m so miserable. They hate me, don’t they?
I wrote back: No. You’re charming. They adore you. Though I wasn’t sure if that was true.
“Well,” Dad said. “I think Brooks is a nice guy.”
Maya clanged a plate into the dishwasher. “I can’t believe you managed to snag someone even more socially inept than you.”
I flung water at her. “Shut up.”
“It’s not a bad thing. You two were clearly destined in the stars with your awkwardness, that’s all,” she said. “Though I will never forget that your first boyfriend basically ate a bucket of prawn shells.”
“Neither of us is awkward.” I insisted. “And yes you will forget it.”
“Oh yeah?” She smirked, and she said, “Prawn shell, prawn shell, prawns,” sashaying into the family room and turning on the TV.
“Really, honey,” Mom said. “He’s a sweetheart. I could tell he really wanted our approval.”
“He did,” I said.
She shook her head. “But, my, he’s gone through a rough time. His brother dying only a year ago,” Mom said. “He must still be grieving.”
I stared at the wood floor. “Of course he is—it was terrible.”
“How did he die?” Dad asked.
“An accident.”
“Just remember, it’s not your responsibility to take care of him,” Mom said. “I know what it’s like to feel like you need to save someone, but that’s not on you.”
“I’m proof,” Dad said with a laugh. “Mom tried to save me, and it was a disaster.”
“Brooks doesn’t need me. Are you serious?” I tried to hide my agitation. “He’s fine.”
“Okay, okay,” Mom said. “Regardless, you shouldn’t have been so nervous about us meeting him.”
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