by Mindy Hayes
Her fingers begin to braid my long strands, and I’m this close to falling asleep when a pillow hits me in the face. I immediately lift my head and shoot Brodee a glare. He raises his hands innocently, but I see the condemning evidence written across his face and throw the pillow back at him.
He catches it and says, “There’s no sleeping in Beaches,” While he chuckles to himself.
“Who are you, Tom Hanks? We’re not in A League of Their Own, and I wasn’t sleeping!” I hiss. “I was closing my eyes.” I refuse to prove him right. Technically, I wasn’t asleep, just almost.
“Shhh…you two,” my mom says. “It’s almost over.”
I keep my eyes trained on him until Tatum tugs on my hair, coaxing me back into her lap.
“You’re lucky they’re here to hold me back, Fisher.”
“Bring it, Parker.” He continues to laugh quietly.
“Be quiet,” Tatum scolds, and so I shut my mouth and look back at the screen. I feel Brodee’s eyes on me throughout the rest of the movie, but I don’t want to give him any more fuel, so I ignore him and focus on the screen.
When Beaches is over, and my mom and Tatum are wiping tears from their faces, Brodee says, “Pete and I will clean up so you guys can go to bed.”
What’s he doing volunteering me? I’m tired, man. Then I move. And sore.
It’s begun.
“Thanks, Brodee.” My mom bends down and kisses the top of his head. “You’re a good son.” Tatum does the same thing as she passes by him. They say goodnight and head up the stairs.
I carefully get up and waddle to the kitchen. I know I waddle because I feel like a penguin, but not just any penguin. A nine months pregnant penguin. Wait, penguins don’t get pregnant. Whatever. I’m waddling.
Brodee clears his throat. “You all right there, Pete? You seem to have transformed into my nana. She’s ninety by the way.”
“Why didn’t anyone bother to warn me that horseback riding makes you sore? How did I not know this? How have we not gone before so I could’ve been prepared?”
Brodee throws back his head, laughing. “C’mon. You can’t be that sore. You went for like an hour.”
His patronizing tone does not mesh well with my exhaustion or my pain. “You can clean this kitchen up all by yourself.” I steer around the counter, heading for my room.
“Aww…c’mon. Don’t leave me hanging. I was just giving you a hard time. Please help me? Pretty please?”
I turn my head over my shoulder because it’s about the only muscle that doesn’t hurt. He’s giving me puppy dog eyes. Not the puppy dog eyes. They stupidly work.
“Fine.”
After we’ve finished with the dishes, swept the floor, and wiped down the countertops, I make my way to the bottom of the stairs. When I look up, I think to myself, I’ve never seen so many stairs. It’s going to take me an hour just to get up them. I hear quiet chuckling over my shoulder.
“Here,” Brodee says. Before I know what’s happening, I’m in his arms, and he’s carrying me up the stairs like I weigh nothing. When we get to my room he stops. “Can you get your door?”
“You can put me down. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself into bed.” I wiggle, but not convincingly enough because even that hurts. I’m already in my pajamas, so really all I have to do is crawl into bed, and that’s exactly what I’ll do. Crawl. Slowly. One knee at a time over my comforter.
“Just open the door, Pete.”
I’m too tired and too sore to argue, so I oblige and turn the knob. Brodee walks me to my bed effortlessly. I knew he was strong, but I’ve never really experienced it firsthand. The most I’ve ever done is ride on his back. He sets me gently on my bed and helps me pull back the covers so I can maneuver under.
“Look at you tucking me in and stuff,” I tease.
“Oh. I’m a pro at tucking.” He starts at my feet, exaggeratedly shoving the covers around me, cocooning me. I chuckle. When he moves up to my waist and up around my shoulders, he comes face to face with me, and my laughter dies. He doesn’t pull away like I think he will. He tucks slower and slower, avoiding eye contact until I’m completely wrapped up.
Brodee swallows, watching my lips. His eyes drift up to meet mine. “There you go,” he says a breath away from my mouth.
I don’t say a thing. There isn’t enough air in my lungs to form words. For a second I think he’s going to kiss me—and I’m pretty sure he’s thinking hard about it—but then he pulls away and turns.
“G’night, Pete.” He sounds completely unaffected.
I still can’t respond. He shuts my bedroom door after him. The closed door stares back at me, begging me to open it and go after him. Obviously, I don’t. Because I can hardly move. And because it would be a completely irrational idea.
I CAN’T MOVE my legs.
My thighs are on fire. My butt feels like I’ll never be able to sit down again. It’s very possible that I won’t be able to walk today. And if I do, it won’t be normally. Brodee’s going to make fun of me all day. He’ll be enough of a pain in my butt; I don’t need the additional soreness.
When my phone buzzes, I blindly feel for it on my nightstand. Holding it above my face, I see Tyler’s name.
Tyler: I hope you’re not too sore today. ;)
Ha. If only he knew.
Me: I can’t move, but I’ll live.
Tyler: Are you serious? Haha. Peyton I’m sorry.
Me: Don’t feel bad. I had so much fun. :)
Tyler: I have to work all day or I’d come take care of you.
Well, isn’t he sweet?
Me: Even if you didn’t work, I wouldn’t let you.
I’m seriously okay!
Tyler: Okay good! Can’t wait to see
you tomorrow at Marcus’s.
I stare at my screen, rereading the text. There’s a knock on my bedroom door.
Me: Ditto.
“Come in,” I holler.
Mom peers around the door. “You’re not up yet.”
I groan and settle further into bed. “I’m a little sore from horseback riding with Tyler yesterday.”
She chuckles and sits down beside me.
“Okay. Well, I came up because I need to head back to Charleston for a few days, but I’ll be back on Friday.”
“Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah. Nothing for you to worry about. Just some odds and ends that I need to tie up with the insurance company.”
“Dad stuff?”
She nods, melancholy, and runs her fingers through my hair. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
“Okay.”
She kisses my forehead. “Don’t stay in bed all day. It’s beautiful out. Not too hot. If nothing else, just go lay out on the beach.”
“I will,” I say to assure her, but I could contently lie in bed all day. The more I move, the more muscles I discover that I didn’t even know existed. I’ll see what my body will allow me to do. Maybe Brodee will carry me again. I’m not that heavy. He proved that last night. It’ll be good exercise for him.
“Love you, Peyton.”
“Love you too.”
ABOUT FIFTEEN MINUTES later, I’m contemplating texting Brodee. I could holler, but I don’t even know if he’s inside. Stop being such a baby and get up, Peyton.
It’s not without difficulty or pain, but I manage to get out of bed and make it out of my bedroom. As I stand at the top of the stairs, I think that going down can’t be worse than coming up. It is. I consider sliding down the carpet on my butt, but I can hear Brodee strumming his guitar downstairs. If he catches me, he’ll never let me live it down. So, I hobble down one step at a time, holding onto the railing, careful not to put too much pressure on either leg.
When I round the corner of the first set of stairs, I realize Brodee has stopped playing and is at the bottom with raised eyebrows. “I don’t remember Nana coming with us this summer, but I guess I was wrong.”
I peer down at him. “You like breathing, righ
t?”
He laughs. “Let me help you.” When he takes a step up, I stop him.
“You don’t need to baby me. If I don’t push through it, I’ll only be stiffer. It’s fine.”
“So, I take it no surfing today.” Brodee leans a shoulder against the wall and crosses his arms. It’s such a casual move, and yet so sexy. Sexy? Peyton!
He gets the evil eye from me and laughs more.
“What are we going to do today with you like that?”
“We can still swim in the ocean. You can surf or skimboard. I’ll just watch.”
“Well, that’s no fun.”
“For today it’ll have to be.”
I still haven’t made it all the way down the stairs. Just … I count the stairs in my head…five more steps. I wince.
Brodee doesn’t stop chuckling. “I’ve never taken you for such a wimp.”
“Have you ever tried horseback riding?”
He doesn’t respond because he hasn’t. I know he hasn’t.
“Exactly.”
“C’mon, Pete. At least hop on my back. I’ll carry you around today. If I let you walk, we’ll never get anywhere.”
He’s probably right. “Fine.”
Brodee spends the rest of the morning helping me around the house, carrying me up and down the stairs, which really is much appreciated and kind of sweet, even if it makes me feel a little embarrassed. I know I’m not super heavy, but I think every girl feels uncomfortable when a guy knows exactly how heavy she is. Thankfully, he doesn’t make me feel like I weigh a million pounds and never once fumbles when he’s carrying me.
He helps me onto his back when we head outside and walks us down the boardwalk. It’s more for his benefit than mine, because Brodee’s too impatient to wait for my slow butt. This is also a bit more intimate because I’m only in board shorts and a bikini top, and he’s only in his board shorts. We’re skin to skin, my arms around his neck, my chin resting on his shoulder. I’m having trouble breathing. We’ve spent so much time at the beach I know every angle and curve of his body. There’s no way he hasn’t given me piggyback rides in our swimsuits before. This time is different, and I keep wondering if he feels it too.
Am I imagining things? Am I making something out of nothing? Seriously. Am I just being a girl and overanalyzing every aspect of our time together?
Our afternoon is spent in the water. Thankfully, I feel weightless in the waves. We bob and float, dive and jump over waves. The only thing that doesn’t occur is our pick-up line challenge. I can’t think of a single one, and Brodee never mentions it; I’m not sure what that means.
When he skimboards, I lay out on the beach and let the sun dry the salt water on my skin. I watch him jump and ride the waves. When he spreads his towel out and lies down beside me, we joke and laugh and talk like we haven’t all summer. Just Brodee and me. No distractions. No other friends. Nothing but the ocean and us. This is how I wish every day was, I think.
AS SOON AS we walk onto Marcus’s street, we hear the bass bumping from inside the house like it has its own heartbeat. The two of us walk up the mile-long driveway. It’s a nice night, so Brodee and I decided to walk since Marcus is only a couple miles away. When we open the door, there are people everywhere. Where did all these people come from?
“Peyton!” Tyler throws his arm around my neck and pulls me to his side, planting a kiss on my temple. “Hey, gorgeous.”
“Hi.”
“I’m glad y’all made it. Hey, Brodee. Good to see you, man.” He holds his hand up for a high-five, which Brodee reciprocates.
When Tyler opens his mouth to say something more, Marcus Surgett comes barreling through the entryway and nearly knocks Tyler over. I break away so I don’t get caught up in their playful tussle.
“Dude.” Tyler laughs and shoves him back. “Way to make an entrance.”
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t miss me.” Marcus grins, and his eyes go straight to me and my legs.
I am wearing a blue top and white shorts, but now I’m wishing I wasn’t. “Seems to me that would be quite difficult,” I say dryly.
“Same goes to you.” His grin never falters. He’s got ‘flirt’ written all over him. Always has. I can’t remember a time that we have hung out where he hasn’t hit on me. His dusty blonde hair is messily arranged on his head like he’s been nervously tugging on it all night.
I find myself stepping closer to Brodee, then look to him and realize he’s gone. “Where did Brodee go?” I ask, searching. It’s a pretty open floor plan so I can see most of the rooms, but I don’t see him anywhere.
“Huh?” Tyler looks around too.
Brodee was just here. How did I miss him taking off? Why didn’t he say something?
“I don’t know. Probably making the rounds to say hi to people.”
Or doing his best to hide from Rylie.
“Let’s get you something to drink,” Tyler says, grabbing my hand, and guides me toward what I assume will be the kitchen.
I keep my eyes peeled for Brodee. When we pass through the living room I see him off to the side with Darren and Larson and some girls I don’t recognize. They’re really pretty. Tan, tall, good hair—a blonde, a brunette, and a red head. Nice array to choose from, Brodee. The girls are eyeing him, flirtatiously touching his arm and laughing at who knows what, but he only seems mildly interested. He’s offering his half-smile, but not the cute one. It’s the ‘I’m only smiling because I’m trying to be polite’ half-smile. A small sense of relief clings to me, and I want to ignore it. It doesn’t matter who he smiles at. At least it shouldn’t matter. But it does. It really does.
Almost like he knows my eyes are boring into the side of his head, he looks my way, and his cute half-smile replaces the other, but there’s something in Brodee’s eyes I’m not completely familiar with. Disappointment? Hurt? Did I do something wrong? He almost looks annoyed. I raise my eyebrow in question, but he just smiles in return, ignoring my inquiring eyes. He’s pulled back to their conversation when the brunette snatches his arm so he’ll look at her. Attention hog.
Tyler keeps me pressed against his chest as we make our rounds, chatting with a bunch of people I’ve never seen before. Occasionally he kisses my cheek or the top of my head throughout our conversations like it’s the most normal thing. Like we’ve always been a couple. And I have to think to myself, am I still with him for the summer because I actually like him that much? Or am I with him because it’s the way it’s always been?
My eyes drift over the sea of people to see who else is here and land on Brodee again. It’s not as though I was seeking him out, but my eyes always know where to find him. His spine-tingling smile is spread across his face as he continues to talk to the attention hogs.
I take a minute to look at him while he’s not paying attention. His brown hair looks like he styled it with eggbeaters tonight, and somehow he still makes it look good. Brodee’s only wearing khakis, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops, but it’s my favorite. He doesn’t need to dress up to look good. He always looks good.
How much do I really like Tyler? Am I stringing him along now?
Tyler keeps referring to the future as ‘we’ and ‘us’. Have we officially reached the ‘us’ status, where I’m not longer a ‘me’ and he’s not longer a ‘him’? When did I agree to this?
The future sinks in more and more—cementing how different life will be in the coming months. I’m not sure how ready I am for that change. Rather than Brodee and I going to parties and hanging out with people, I’ll be with Tyler.
As I look at Tyler while he talks to Darren and Marcus, I take him in. His model status looks and perfect laugh that verges on overly practiced. His tan skin and light brown hair with sun-bleached tips. And that jawline with a faint shadow of facial hair. It’s perfection. I listen to his topics of conversation that I don’t care much about. Football and his workout regimen. Granted, they asked since he’s doubled in size from last summer, and Darren wanted to know his se
cret, but I realize…I don’t care. Even if it’s not a topic I know much about or have interest in, shouldn’t I care a little bit because it’s what he loves?
Why am I with him?
Tyler has to leave early—work at 7:00 in the morning.
“Dang responsibilities.” He smiles and kisses me goodbye. I don’t care as much as I should that he’s leaving.
That should be my answer, shouldn’t it?
With Brodee acting especially pouty and distant, after Tyler leaves, I go in search of him and find him sitting alone on the beach out back. I plop down beside him on the sand.
“This party is such a drag,” I say jokingly and nudge his shoulder with mine.
He lifts a small smirk in return, but stares back at the black ocean without responding. I nearly start twiddling my thumbs, trying to think of something to say to make him laugh, or figure out who peed in his cheerios.
“Are you ready to head back home?” I ask.
He pauses. I almost think he’s about to give me the silent treatment when he says, “Yeah. Let’s get out of here,” and gets to his feet.
We decide to take the beach route back. Brodee isn’t any more talkative than when we were at the party. I thought maybe it wasn’t any fun for him, but he’s not acting any different now that the party is just noise in the distance. So, maybe he is mad at me.
“You okay?” I hesitantly ask.
He shrugs and nods, but it’s so subtle I almost don’t catch it.
“You sure about that?” I press. Holding my sandals in one hand, I bump his shoulder with my other.
“I just didn’t picture our last summer panning out this way.” His eyes remain forward as we walk.