The Day That Saved Us

by Mindy Hayes

  I agree, which might be the best segue into the conversation that I’ll get. “You know, when I first saw you I was really shocked. It took a second to realize it was you. Why did you decide to cut your hair?” Subtle, Brodee.

  “Harper talked to you, didn’t she?” There’s no question in her tone. How does she know?

  “Why would that be something Harper talked to me about? I just realized I never asked you. You’ve never had short hair before, so I wanted to know what sparked the change.”

  “Gosh. She’s such a drama queen. Would you tell Harper to cool her jets and worry about something that actually needs to be worried about.”

  I start back peddling. “This isn’t about Harper, Pete. I noticed a change in you. I just wanted to talk to you about it.”

  “Why wouldn’t I have changed? It’s been four years, Brodee. It’s called growing up.”

  It’s not that she changed. There’s nothing wrong with changing, as long as she’s doing it for herself and not for him. “Sure. Everyone grows up. But why did you cut off all your hair and dye it white?” I ask again. After our surfing trip, I feel like we’re closer to where we used to be, that I could be a little more evasive. Even if it means I’ll piss her off.

  “Because I felt like it, okay? I’ve never had short hair. I wanted to know what it would be like. Yes, Tyler liked the idea, too. But I came up with it.”

  “Makes sense. No need to jump down my throat.”

  Peyton sighs. “I’m sorry. Harper just has it in her head that Tyler is this controlling boyfriend, err…fiancé. And he’s not. He’s really not, Brodee.”

  “Okay. I believe you.” I don’t. I really don’t. But I don’t feel like I can argue any further. I have no claim to her life. Nor have I been there for any of their conversations. She could very well be telling the truth. For all I know, Harper might be building this up in her head. It doesn’t mean I think he’s good enough for her.

  “I’m heading to Isle of Palms tomorrow morning. You up for it?”

  She pauses before answering. I imagine her sitting on her bed, wanting to say no just to spite me, but she can’t resist the waves when they call to her. “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Meet me at six in my driveway?”

  I hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll be there.”

  BROOKE DOESN’T SURF, and I haven’t taught her how yet. It felt disrespectful to introduce her to something Peyton and I shared. I’m not sure why, considering I know Peyton goes with Tyler. When she told me they surf all the time, I wasn’t expecting to feel offended. Why wouldn’t they go surfing together? He’s her fiancé. I can’t expect to hold her to the same standard when she’s no longer mine. I’ll have to teach Brooke when we get to Boston so she can go with me. I’ll need a new surfing buddy.

  We’re walking back to my car after surfing when Peyton asks, “Will you give me away?”

  I’m confused at first. Those five words are not words I would expect Peyton to say to me. And then when I realize what she’s asking, I nearly have a coughing fit. She can’t be serious. I tighten my grip on the towel around my neck. “You want me to give you away to Tyler?” Oh, the irony.

  “You’ll be coming to the wedding, right? I mean, with your new job, I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come back.”

  I hadn’t thought about using that as an excuse. Duh. It’s the perfect out. She doesn’t have to know the thought of watching her say ‘I do’ to him makes me want to jump in the ocean and feed myself to the sharks. But the look of hope in her eyes severs that thought. She’s still my best friend. If the roles were reversed, she’d be there for me no matter what. “Yeah, of course. Like I’d miss your wedding day.”

  She nods, satisfied. “I know it might be weird since you’re not the biggest fan of Tyler, but will you give me away anyway?”

  Her request might be taking it too far. Being a guest and being a part of the wedding are two very different things. If I’m in the audience, camouflaged among the people, she’s not looking at me; she’s focusing on the groom and the officiant. If I’m walking her down the aisle, I won’t be able to mask the regret in my eyes when she has me hand her over to Tyler. Could I willingly do it?

  “After my dad died,” she says, like she knows I’ll need convincing, “I thought once that I’d ask Nick, but there’s no way I’m asking him now. And I’m still not in a place where I’m ready to ask that of my mom. You’re the closest thing I have to family. I really want you to do it. Say you will. Please, Brodee.”

  I remind myself we’re beyond this. I’ve moved on with Brooke. I can handle walking Peyton down the aisle toward Tyler. I can handle passing her off to him when the time comes. When the officiant asks me, ‘Who gives this woman to be married to this man,’ I can say, ‘I do,’ without grimacing. Right?

  No, I can’t.

  But, I can’t tell her no. “If that’s what will make you happy, okay.”

  “You will? Thank you.” She sets her surfboard against my trunk and throws her arms around my neck, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Thank you so much.” I lock my emotions in a cage. Then I toss a cover over the cage to conceal them for good measure. Hugging her shouldn’t make me feel like this anymore. I have to love her like I would a best friend. That’s it. But when I wrap my arms around her, the cage explodes. My emotions fly like shrapnel through the layers of my heart. I let go of her and step back.

  I smile to conceal my uneasiness. “Anytime.”

  Boston can’t come fast enough. If my apartment were available to move into tomorrow, I’d be there.

  “SO, TYLER CAME and went and the wedding is still on.”

  “How is it that you and I talk more than Skylar and I do?”

  “I’m serious, Brodee.” Harper clearly isn’t amused. I try not to laugh.

  “Harper, I tried talking to her, but nothing I say is going to make her see reason. In case you just met our friend, Peyton, she’s a little stubborn. Once she has something set in her mind, that’s it. She’s going to have to figure it out for herself.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  I toss my hands in the air, even though I know Harper can’t see me. I can only pray she does. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s not our life. And maybe you’ve read the situation wrong. We’ve been hanging out, and she still seems like the old Peyton. She might come to her senses.”

  “Psh…That’s because she doesn’t have him hanging around. Did you spend any time with them when he was here last weekend?”

  I’d rather swallow a gumball covered in thumbtacks. “No. I was busy helping my mom with stuff around the house.”

  “Well, Skylar and I went on a double date with them. You want to know what Tyler said to her while we were walking into the restaurant?”

  I don’t think I want to know.

  “‘Those jeans are looking a little snug, baby,’” she mimics him. “Her butt looked amazing in those jeans, by the way. And then when Peyton decided she wanted a burger and fries instead of something from the low-calorie section, he asked, ‘Baby, are you sure you want to do that?’ If Skylar weren’t there to hold me back, I would’ve lunged across that table and strangled him. Baby? I’d scratch out the eyes of any man who thought he could call me ‘baby.’”

  I laugh against my better judgment. I would’ve paid to watch Harper lunge across that table at Tyler. She’d be able to get away with it. I’d end up in jail for assault. “What did Peyton say back to him?”

  “She told him it was her cheat day. Why did she have to justify it to Tyler in the first place? And since when does she have a freaking cheat day?”

  Never. She doesn’t need one. Her metabolism is that of a teenage boy going through puberty. “Did you say something to her?”

  “I gave her a look, and she averted her eyes.”

  “Skylar didn’t say something?”

  “He was too busy trying to decide what he wanted to eat to hear the conversation.”

  As much as I hate the w
ay their relationship works, I still don’t feel like I can do anything about it. Not because I don’t want to. If it were up to me, I’d punch the douchenugget and send him packing, but I know Peyton won’t listen, and now that we’re starting get back to what we once were I don’t want to risk losing that.

  “I know neither of us want this wedding to happen, but I’m not in a position to try and talk her out of it yet. I haven’t been around Tyler enough. When I did try to call him out on some stuff, she immediately knew you and I talked. After that, anything I said wasn’t going to be heard.”

  “I hate him,” Harper mutters.

  “Well, we can agree on that.”

  When Harper and I hang up, I look out my bedroom window and see Peyton walking around her room. It’s dark out, so the light inside her room draws my attention. Her window is closed, but her white curtain is pulled back. I can tell she’s arguing with someone. Her arms are all over the place, and she’s pacing. We’re opposites in that aspect. When she’s angry, she paces. When I’m angry, I can’t focus on anything aside from my anger. I pace every other time of the day.

  Peyton chucks her phone onto her bed. She looks out her window and spots me watching her. Caught. I might as well lift my hand to wave. She walks to her window and pushes it up. I open mine.

  “Why do men insist they’re always right?”

  “I think you have us confused with women.”

  “You better watch your tongue, Fisher.”

  I laugh, but ask, “You okay?”

  She exhales through her nose. “Yeah, it was just a stupid fight about where we’re going to get married. Tyler thinks we should get married in Asheville because of our family.” She motions between the two of us. “He thinks it would be better to have the wedding where there’s no awkward drama, like our hometown wouldn’t come to the wedding because they judge our parents. And apparently his parents belong to some country club where he wants the ceremony to be.”

  Of course he does. And to think, I didn’t think it was possible to hate him more than I do. “I take it you don’t want to do that.”

  “No, I don’t. So things are a little weird here, but if our parents can hold a holiday party and have a full house, I don’t see why a wedding would be any different. And I don’t want a country club wedding. How pretentious is that? But it’s important to their family status in his community or something. I don’t know. It’s stupid. I’m not a country club kind of girl. This wedding should be about us, not how he wants to portray us.” Maybe she does see what Harper and I see. She just doesn’t realize it yet. Peyton sighs and lays her head against her arms folded on the windowsill. “He doesn’t understand why I would want the wedding in my hometown.”

  Tyler seriously doesn’t know her at all. “Maybe give it a couple days. He might come around if he realizes how important it is to you.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” She doesn’t seem convinced. “I thought we could get married on the beach and do a casual dinner on the shore. Does that sound like such an awful wedding?”

  Not at all. It sounds like Peyton.

  “You want to come watch a movie? Get your mind off it. We can watch The Proposal.” I know how much she loves Ryan Reynolds. “Or if you ask really nicely, I’ll watch Singin’ in the Rain with you.”

  A laugh bursts from her. “I think it’ll be another ten years before I’m ready to watch that movie again. It still haunts my nightmares.”

  It’s hard not to laugh with her. “The Proposal then?”

  She hesitates. “Not tonight. I think I just want to sleep. You check the surf for tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. It’s not great, but we can go if you want.”

  She shrugs. “Nah. But I wouldn’t hate heading out to Sullivan’s and getting some Beardcats.”

  “In need of some gelato, huh?”

  “In the worst way.”

  I smile. “Let’s do it. Call me when you wake up.”

  “Okay.” She smiles back. “You know what would really make my night?”

  “What?”

  “Your Chewbacca impression.”

  I should’ve known. I don’t think twice as I open my mouth to release the guttural sound.

  She giggles, and her face lights up. “Thanks, Brodee. Goodnight.”

  I tip my chin to my chest. “Night, Pete.”

  BROOKE CALLS EVERY day with more places she wants us to explore in Boston. We’ve added The Freedom Trail, Harborwalk, and some swan boats we’re supposed to ride in the public park. And now she’s dying to go to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. I’m pretty sure she has booked every weekend for the next year.

  “I started packing up my things last night and my mom started to cry.”

  “She’s not taking this move well, is she?” I ask.

  Brooke chuckles, but it’s not malicious. “Not really, but then I showed her all the cool stuff she could come and do with us, and it softened her a little bit to the idea.”

  I hear a knock at the front door.

  “There’s someone at the door, and I’m the only one home. You mind if we talk later?”

  “No, go ahead. I’ve got to do some more packing anyway. Can’t wait to see you next week!”

  “Me too. Love you, Brooke.”

  “Love you more.”

  We say our goodbyes right before I answer the door. Peyton is holding The Proposal and a popcorn bowl with some kernels and oil in it.

  “What say you?”

  My smile spreads. “As long as that popcorn is meant for me.”

  “Like I’d come empty-handed with a chick flick.”

  I let her pass by and get a hint of her coconut shampoo. I forgot how much I love coconut. She’s wearing black leggings and a sweatshirt that says, Trust people who like big butts. They cannot lie. I wonder if Tyler has seen her wear it before. It makes me think she’s wearing it in defiance, and I can’t help but feel proud. It’s so passive aggressive. And so Peyton.

  She heads for the kitchen and makes herself at home, pulling out the popcorn popper from below the stove. “Your mom here?”

  “No. She went grocery shopping, and then has some Pound class.”

  “Huh?” Peyton turns and sets up the popper on the counter.

  “I don’t know. It’s this new workout she’s trying. They use drumsticks on the ground or something.” I shrug and sit on the barstool across from her. “She loves it.”

  “Well, bummer. I know how much she loves The Proposal, too. I guess more popcorn for us.”

  I’m proud of myself. We’ve hung out several times over the last couple weeks and not once have I had the urge to kiss her. Of course, now that I’m thinking about it, it’s all I can think about. The only makeup Peyton is wearing is some pink, glossy stuff on her lips, and she’s pinned her hair back, but since it’s so short, some pieces have fallen around her freckled face. I want to remind her that she doesn’t need all that makeup to look beautiful, but I don’t. Her natural hair color is starting to peek out. Though I know it’s not very dark, it looks black compared to the whiteness of her dyed hair.

  “What?” Peyton asks me. “Do I have something on my face?” She rubs her hand under her nose and over her mouth.

  Crap. I was staring. You’re making her uncomfortable. “No. I think I just zoned out. Sorry.”

  She pours the popcorn into the popper. “Tyler called me this morning and apologized. The wedding will be here.”

  The Tool does have some common sense. Who knew? “See. I told you it would work out.”

  “I’m sorry about last night.” She’s embarrassed that I saw her chuck her phone across the room. Been there, done that. “You caught me in the heat of the moment. He really is good to me, you know.” I almost say, ‘I know,’ just as an automatic reply, but Peyton gives me a look, and I bite my tongue. It would be the blackest lie. “There are good days and bad, as I assume you and Brooke have. But isn’t that what relationships are? You have to pick your battles and compromise and find a rhythm that works f
or you. What works in one relationship doesn’t necessarily work in another.”

  But how many compromises has he made? Does the rhythm work because she doesn’t choose many battles to fight for? Is she content giving in? This is a Peyton I don’t understand.

  I nod and keep my thoughts to myself.

  “Tyler used to bring me flowers at least once a week. The first time he brought me calla lilies I finally had to tell him about my dad and the funeral. He was so mad at me for keeping that from him that summer. But, from then on, he brought every other kind of flower, but mostly tulips.” She smiles reminiscently.

  He probably did something he felt he needed to make up for with flowers, if he brought them that frequently.

  “And even though I have a car, he used to take me to class and pick me up when he could, so I wouldn’t have to worry about finding a parking spot. Ugh, parking was such a nightmare.”

  Or maybe he just wanted to know your whereabouts at all times so he took it upon himself to be your personal chauffeur.

  “And when I complained to him about my wardrobe, he helped me clean it out, and then took me shopping. He helped me pick out all new clothes, and I didn’t have to worry about a single dime. It was every girl’s dream.” She laughs. “He was like my own personal stylist.”

  All I hear is, he bought me clothes that he wanted me to wear.

  How does she not see it?

  So, you compromise your hair and body for sporadic acts of supposed kindness, the way I compromise by overlooking how Brooke eats Kit Kats and hates mornings. It’s a good thing I don’t say that out loud, no matter how much I want to.

  “It’s good you’ve been able to find a balance.” I’m so full of it and she knows it, but doesn’t say a thing. She used to call me out on all my bullcrap and force me to tell her what was really on my mind. Now she doesn’t bother. She’s too afraid of what I’ll say.

  Peyton finally turns on the popcorn popper, and halfway through The Proposal my mom gets home and plops on the couch to finish watching it with us.