by Xavier Neal
“Still interested?”
“Definitely.”
I take his information, ensure him a call, and allow Oliver to lead us away from him down the beach.
While my free fingers fly across, the keys, not wanting to lose the first respectable talent I’ve seen all day, Oliver grumbles, “We’re going to be late.”
“It’s a beach concert. No one will notice.”
“I hate being late.”
“Why?”
“Because when you make a commitment, you should honor it. Completely.”
Ignoring his tantrum, which I am sure has more to do with me spending the last fifteen minutes chatting with Malibu Ken than it does being a few minutes late, I stop at one of the vendors who has set himself up on the beach selling bracelets.
“Oooo,” I squeak, leaning over to admire the selection. “Look at these bracelets!”
Oliver huffs his irritation, “London we’re-”
“Already late, so what’s the harm in a being a little more?”
My response is met with a glare.
He has to learn to loosen up a bit more if we’re going to keep this going. I’ve already had to adjust to waking up at five in the morning when he has to work, rather than going to sleep at that time. Not to mention scrubbing out my cappuccino cup after every use and air drying my favorite bras in more “respectable” places than his patio chair. Occasionally, he should be reminded not everything ticks in harmony with his OCD.
I tuck my phone into the pocket of my sunset orange maxi summer dress and pick up the braided bracelet that has an oval shaped, red gem in the middle.
“That’s a sunstone. It spent hours absorbing the light and energy before being placed in the hand-crafted jewelry. It’s known to bring a calming sensation to the human body as well as the soul,” the shirtless vendor explains.
Oliver argues, “That’s bullshit.”
My free hand drops onto my hip. “How do you know?”
“Because it’s a scam ,” he snips. “That’s just some bullshit story he made up to sell his half assed hobby to tourists.”
I hum and turn back to the vendor who looks almost as annoyed as Oliver. “I’ll take two.”
Oliver’s over exaggerated heavy sigh beside me only spreads my smile more. “Seriously?”
The vendor replies, “That’ll be twenty even.”
Pulling out the cash from my pocket, I hand it to him, and grab an identical bracelet to the one I’ve already got in my hands.
“Thank you,” the man politely states. “May you both have a peaceful evening.”
“You too.”
After we’ve made it a few feet away, I stop again. This receives me another glare of disapproval. “What now, Sunshine?”
I wiggle on the bracelet and hold the other one out. “Put it on.”
Oliver’s solid frame stiffens. “Absolutely not.”
“Put it on.”
He shakes his head quickly. “No.”
“I want you to wear it.”
“There’s no way in hell I’m going to wear that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Because….” His voice trails off, clearly looking to buy time while searching for the right wording. “Because it’s…it’s….” He folds his arms across his chest. “It’s tacky. It’s gaudy. It’s an eyesore.”
“Funny. People have said the same thing about me.”
Oliver’s shoulders drop. “Sunshine -”
“You know what I see? It’s unique . It’s got character . It came with a story . It came with the potential to heal if you let it, or at the very least be a conversation starter.” The wind kicks up in agreement, blowing my straightened hair into my face. I push it away yet embrace the feeling of the ocean breeze circling us. “You know why else I bought it?”
“Why?” he quietly questions.
“Because he had the balls to go for it!” I announce on a joyful giggle. “He believed in himself enough to get up, get his ass on this beach, and confront the crowd. Face the fear of failure. Face the fear of judgement, the same judgment you maliciously threw in his face. He had the guts to go for what he wanted to do, even if it was something as small as selling hippie jewelry. I support people who have the courage to be themselves and live the life they want. It’s not easy…even when it looks like it is.”
Silence slips between the two of us at the same time another gust of wind blows past.
Coming from a household where I spent most of my childhood and adolescence being who my father wanted me to be, and then having to prove I was just as beautiful as my sisters with my freckled skin and wild hair, I have nothing but respect for people who can stand up proudly for who they are or want to be. I may be that woman now , but it was a journey. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to Oliver. He seems so well put together, yet needs the reassurance it’s alright if he’s not. That it’s alright if who he is isn’t what everyone expects. Maybe that’s why I’m in his life, and maybe he’s in mine to remind me I can be loved for who I truly am, not just what I can do for someone.
All of a sudden, Oliver extends his wrist for me. When I don’t immediately respond, he warmly encourages, “Go ahead. Put it on.”
I allow myself to smile brightly during the process. “And you’ll wear this at work too, right?”
His face frowns. “Don’t push your luck, Sunshine.”
We exchange a small chuckle, a soft kiss, and then proceed hand in hand towards where the musical festival is happening. The live music grows louder, and my body thoughtlessly responds to it. Sliding in front of Oliver, I grab both his hands, and tempt him to join me with seductive moves.
As soon as we’re exactly where he wants, he slides his hands to the small of my back and moves with me. Heavy drums of various kinds pound the air. My head tips back while my heartbeat finds the rhythm anxious to be in sync with it. Oliver’s hips grind against mine and his grip gets tighter. Like he wants to be attached to this moment, this memory…to me, for much longer than a song.
When I lift my head back up, I notice there isn’t an ounce of tension in his body. The harmony thrumming through his eyes is what I constantly long for. I want him to know he’s always safe with me. I want him to feel free to express his other emotions besides fear and envy. I want him to truly believe that just being him, my sweet cowboy nerd is enough. His hands roam up my back pushing me forward. Our foreheads touch, and our intertwined frames continue their erotic exchange.
Around the time the first band announces this will be their final song, Oliver flags down one of the beer girls walking around.
“Two please,” he requests politely.
The brunette pulls them out from her case. “The last two I’ve got on me. Lucky you.”
He gives her thirty bucks and insists she keeps the change.
She turns on her heels, prepared to walk away, yet stops and turns back around. “You look really familiar….Have we met?”
Oliver offers me one of the bottles, hiding the disappointment most people wouldn’t even know was there. He simply shakes his head.
She hums to herself but wags a finger at him. “You look a lot like my boss. Not my big boss, but the boss that’s here with me. You could almost be twins.”
Ah. And the look of sadness is explained.
He offers her a smile rather than a retort.
“You two enjoy the concert. Flag me down if you want another bottle. It’s the best beer you’re gonna get on this beach.”
Oliver nods. “I don’t doubt it.”
Once the brunette is a considerable distance away from us, I ask, “How many times have you met her?”
“Dani?” He pulls his key ring that contains a bottle opener from his plaid shorts pocket. “Let’s see….Over the past three years….Seven times?”
I momentarily continue to watch her until she stops at her booth quite a distance from us. “And she still can’t remember who yo
u are?”
He shrugs, pops the top off my beer, and says, “People rarely do. Why would she be an exception?”
“Because you’re her boss’ older brother!”
He gives me another defeated shrug.
The small ache in my chest grows. “Why don’t we go over there? Why don’t we mingle with him? Why don’t we-”
“No.” Oliver cuts me off and has a swig of his beer.
His stubborn nature smashes into mine. “I’m gonna need a little explanation here. You took the day off. Made sure it was on my calendar, Az’s calendar to remind me, and my assistant’s. We drove five hours last night after you got off of work through all sorts of shitty traffic so we could beat most of the crowd flooding in. Then , you bitched and moaned about being late, but we’re not even going to let him know we’re here? Why?”
“Because this isn’t about me , London,” he croaks. “This is about being here for him . This is about supporting my brothers. This is about being here if they need me. If they need that little extra foundation to stand on. This is their moment or in this case specifically Blake’s. This isn’t the time to be petty or pissed that no one remembers who I am. This is a time to be proud of him. To be proud of the man he’s turning into. I may not be close to Blake, but never doubt I’m thankful he found something and someone who brings him real happiness.”
Instinctively, I wind myself around him, and rest my head against his hard body.
He tucks me closer and plants a small kiss on my forehead.
We sway together for a few moments before I confess, “You know I’m not close to my sisters at all.”
Oliver drops his attention down to me.
“We’re talking polar opposite sides of the globe is still too close to them for comfort.”
He chuckles a little, and I rearrange myself in his arms.
“They’re dreadful people. Always have been. They used to do things like play hide and go seek, but then trap me in the closet. They used to whisper hateful shit like, how they wished I was never born and how no one would ever love someone who looked like me.”
His mouth twitches like the words are on the tip of his tongue, but too soon to say.
“I’m the only daughter my father is actually close to. As much as I love my dad, I know the whole Little L persona was built in fear of losing another one. Their mothers trained them to hate him unless a dollar sign was attached. He didn’t want that with me. ‘Little L’ went everywhere with her father. Did everything . Was ‘picture perfect’ ready at the drop of a dime. It only made my sisters resent me more….” I have a small sip of my beer. “What’s wild is, I didn’t care about having my picture taken or being featured in a halftime show. I didn’t care about the dinner or celebrity playdates I had. The moments I loved most with my dad were the mornings we’d sneak off while Mom was still sleeping to watch the sunrise. We’d watch, and he’d talk to me like a normal dad instead of a character created for the world to watch. He’d confess he wished he was closer to my sisters, but thankful he at least had me. That he’d always have me. He used to tell me some day….someday they’d love me just like he did.”
Oliver quietly states, “They should .”
I whisper back trying to hide the pain. “They won’t .”
An unexpected wave of sadness drowns my ability to speak.
They may be wretched women. The kind who have reserved front row seats for their descent into hell, but they’re still my siblings. I still want them to love me rather than loathe me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from them. A bit of love and acceptance. A little kindness rather than rejection. I’d kill for an inkling of the affection Oliver extends to his brothers even when it’s done from a distance.
The tears clogging my vocal chords get pushed down further. “Wanna build a sandcastle?”
Oliver gives me the comforting smile I not only want, but actually need. “I’m warning you now I’m very particular about the shape. I hate the basic bucket look. It lacks ingenuity.”
Slipping our hands together I tug him towards the wetter sand by the ocean. “You’re gonna suck all the fun out of this, aren’t you?”
“It’s my specialty.”
When our feet finally reach the cooler surface, I kick a hunk his way. He groans and shakes his leg, hoping to free it from the gritty imprisoner. As soon as he’s clean enough to his own standards, I kick another hunk at him and laugh once more at his disgust. Oliver starts to gripe, but stops when more is flung his direction.
He begins to grin against his own volition. “Now would be a good time to run, Sunshine.”
I have a sip of my beer before I challenge, “Bring it on, Hot Stuff.”
Oliver doesn’t hesitate to lunge for me. He clutches me around the waist with his beer free arm and carries me towards the water. I kick and wiggle, yet my body barely budges. My squeals and squeaks get loud in protest of the pending punishment. On a chuckle he holds me in place as the water rushes to my legs soaking the entire bottom half of my dress.
The chilly water continuously drenching my lower half results in more of my screams and laughter. “You’re an asshole!”
“That isn’t very kind.”
“You’re not being kind!”
“This is your fault.” He smirks. “Next time you better think twice about picking on someone double your size.”
I playfully glare, hike up the end of my wet dress, and use my foot to splash him.
His jaw drops in shock except this time I start to scurry away down the wet sand beach before he can catch me.
For longer than I figure he would, he chases me, pretending he can’t keep up when he gets too close. Our laughter fills the evening air along with childish taunts. Eventually, he abandons his empty beer bottle in a nearby trash, captures me completely, and holds me close. Our damp bodies stick together in the water as we resume slow dancing to the music that’s much further away than it originally was.
These are the moments that make having to be apart for so long absolutely worth it. I’ve never had a reason to come back to town so frequently. Never really had a reason to reference it as home like I do now. And I’m glad that I have that. I’m beginning to enjoy the return home as much as I enjoy running away from it. If that isn’t a beautiful balance, then I don’t know what is.
I try to stop staring at my phone in hopes it will ring or vibrate.
It’s not that London doesn’t care. I know she cares. I know she would be here to celebrate my birthday if she had the option.
My eyes steal another glance of the black screen.
Okay, so I don’t know that she would. It’s just what I believe. She may not be a fan of “typical girlfriend duties”, like accompanying me to drinks at a colleague’s house, but she wouldn’t let her own hang ups about nomenclature stand in the way of being here if she had a choice.
“Oliver Lincoln Shaw, you might wanna grab a piece of that coffee cake now or forever hold your peace,” Mama playfully fusses as she sits down in her seat at the opposite end of the wooden table from me.
I give her a short shrug. “It’s fine, Mama. Not really hungry.”
“Or happy ,” Pop inserts.
“Come on, Pop,” Blake invades the conversation at the same time he enters the room. “It’s Oliver. He’s never happy.”
Not usually at gatherings like this. Not when we’re all together and the blatant truth about being the odd man out punches me in the chest repeatedly. Even on my own birthday I manage to not feel included.
Mama reaches up and snatches the plate out of his hand.
“Mama!”
“You can’t be nice to your brother on his birthday, you can’t eat his cake,” she scolds. “The rules are simple Blake Jenkins. They haven’t change even if you have.”
He groans and flops down into the seat beside her.
Blake has changed. Ford was right. Between his new job position and his girlfriend, he does more than whine about his appearance or brag about the women
he’s bagged. He talks about music now. Appreciates the classics. We even had an enjoyable ten-minute talk about Bach before my nephews dragged him away to play kickball. Sadly, that’s the longest conversation we’ve had without erupting into an argument in years.
“Come on, Mama. It was a joke . Besides he’s not complaining.”
“Oliver could have three broken ribs and a swollen nut sack and he wouldn’t complain to you,” Pop announces, lifting his beer.
“Even if you of all people could relate to the latter,” Mama points out.