You and Me and Us

by Alison Hammer

  From the top of the steps, I can’t tell if the door to the living room is open or closed, but I take the steps down quietly just in case Dad is talking with one of his nutcases. The doors are open, but Dad is asleep on the couch, so it’s a good thing I was quiet.

  He’s been doing that a lot lately, taking naps in the afternoon like a toddler. It’s like he’s aging in reverse, on his way back to zero. I don’t want to think about zero.

  Outside, Mom is sitting on the front porch with a book in her lap, but she’s staring out in the distance, not at the pages.

  “I’m going for a walk on the beach with Beau.”

  The blank expression on her face doesn’t change—not even at the mention of Beau’s name like she’s been doing lately. I asked Dad about it when we were working on the puzzle last week, what her problem is with Beau. He just gave me a nonanswer about the past sometimes finding a way into the present, and something about displacement, where people take their issues out on the wrong people.

  “Have fun,” Mom says, suddenly breaking out into a fake smile as if she just realized I was there. If I weren’t still so mad, I might feel a little bad for her. But fourteen years of lies can’t just be forgiven.

  “I THOUGHT I was meeting you at your house?” I ask Beau as he reaches the intersection where our two streets meet.

  “You were walking too slow.”

  I shrug and keep walking past him. He waits for a minute as if he expects me to stop and wait for him, which I don’t.

  “So what’s new?” he asks, catching up. “Any more skeletons come out of the closet?”

  I stop just long enough to give him a dirty look. “You wouldn’t think it was so funny if it was your parents who had lied to you.”

  Beau shrugs and I move past him, down the old wooden stairs that lead to the beach. At the bottom, I step out of my flip-flops so I can feel the sand between my toes.

  “It wasn’t really a lie,” Beau says as he steps out of his own shoes.

  “What do you mean, it wasn’t a lie?”

  “Did you ever ask them if they were married before?”

  “I, well . . .” I can feel my face getting red. Beau is supposed to be my friend, he should be on my side. “I shouldn’t have had to.”

  Beau shrugs and starts walking toward Henderson State Park. This time, I’m the one who has to catch up to him. “You would understand if your parents had lied to you.”

  “You really want to go there?” Beau asks and I quickly back down, remembering all the spilled secrets and broken promises he had to deal with when the truth about his dad’s affair came out.

  “It’s different,” I say, still trying to defend the severity of my current situation.

  Beau’s laugh is short and sarcastic. “You’re telling me. It would have been much easier if my dad had told me about an ex-wife instead of a future one.”

  “Do you ever see him?” I ask, figuring it is okay to talk about since he was the one who brought his dad up in the first place.

  “My father?” Beau makes it sound like a dirty word. “He’s dead to me.” I stop in my tracks, not sure how he could even joke about something like that in front of me. “Sorry,” he says. “That was stupid, but I don’t want anything to do with him. When he walked out on my mom, he walked out on us, too.”

  “But you still talk to him and stuff?”

  Beau shakes his head. “He called and texted for a while, but he eventually stopped when he realized I wasn’t going to answer.”

  “When was the last time you heard from him?”

  Beau shrugs. He’s trying to play it cool, but I can tell he’s hurting, too. “A few months ago? Maybe Christmas?”

  “Whoa.” I start walking again but can’t stop thinking about his dad. How he’s still here, but not there. How unfair it is, that this is happening to my dad, and not his.

  We stop talking as we pass the restaurant 790, looking at all the happy couples and families eating and drinking, enjoying the view as if all is right with the world.

  “When I get married, I’m going to do everything differently,” Beau says. “I won’t cheat, I won’t leave. I’ll be there for my kids.”

  “I’m never getting married,” I tell him.

  “Why not?”

  I shrug. “My parents never got married; my mom says it’s old-fashioned.”

  “Some old-fashioned things are good.”

  “Why do you want to get married so bad?” It’s weird for a guy to think about this kind of stuff.

  “It’s what you’re supposed to do. Isn’t that the point of everything? To find that one person you belong to.”

  “I don’t want to belong to anyone,” I say. “I’m going to be a famous actress and run a food blog in my spare time, which I probably won’t have a lot of.”

  “You’re going to be famous?” he asks, mocking me.

  I stop and stare, daring him with my eyes to tell me that I can’t. “You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh, I believe you.”

  “Hey, Beau!” We both look up to see a girl with long blond hair and a tiny bikini waving at him. I never realized a wave could be so overtly sexual before.

  Beau smiles and nods in her direction before turning back to me.

  “Who’s that?” I ask, wondering if she was one of the girls he’s always posing with on Instagram.

  “Why? You jealous?” he asks, bumping my shoulder with his.

  “Of her?” I scoff. “Hardly.”

  He smiles, clearly thinking he’s right when he couldn’t be more wrong. “Are you still going out with that Romeo?”

  “Liam,” I tell him. “And no.”

  Not wanting to get upset all over again, I leave Beau and walk down toward the edge of the water, watching the waves wash over my feet before rushing back out to the ocean. I should have worn my bathing suit.

  “That guy’s an idiot if he let you go,” Beau says, walking up beside me.

  “He never had me,” I tell him. “We just made out a few times, it’s not a big deal.”

  “You say that a lot.”

  “What?”

  “Big deal.”

  “Well, some things are, and some things aren’t.”

  “And Romeo’s not?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “So you’re saying I have a chance?” Beau looks over at me with a mischievous smile and I can’t tell if he’s joking. I kick water in his direction to splash him in case he isn’t.

  I shake my head. “That could never happen.”

  “Why not?” he asks.

  “Because you’re my godbrother.”

  “That’s not a thing.” His tone is suddenly serious. “If you don’t think I’m attractive, you can just say so.” He strikes a pose, showing off the muscles I’ve already noticed. There’s no denying Beau is cute. “You’re blushing, Whistler.”

  He’s never called me by my last name before, but I kind of like it.

  “Am not.” I kick the water again before turning to walk back up the beach. I sit down on the sand and brush my feet off, even though they’ll just get sandy again.

  Beau falls down beside me, propping himself up on one arm. His white-blond hair is pointing in all directions and I resist the urge to reach over and smooth it down.

  “It’s nice having you down here for the whole summer again,” he says.

  I don’t agree with him, but I don’t disagree, either. I just sit there, listening to the soundtrack of the beach: waves making contact with the shore, seagulls squawking, children laughing. With the sun shining down on us, I know that most people would call this a perfect day.

  It’s definitely perfect for the cute little girl walking past us with her dad. Her blond hair is tied in uneven pigtails that her dad probably did. I can relate to that.

  I watch as the girl grabs her dad’s hand, dragging him toward the water for an adventure she doesn’t realize is a big deal. Because she probably thinks her life will be full of adventures with her d
ad. Why wouldn’t she? Life hasn’t proved her wrong yet.

  “Do you want to know the real reason I know I won’t get married?” I ask Beau once the father and his daughter are out of sight.

  “Why?”

  “Because.” I say the word slowly, building up the guts to tell him what I’ve only admitted to myself. “My dad won’t be there to walk me down the aisle.”

  Beau looks at me as though he’s considering his next words carefully. “Heavy,” he finally says.

  “Tell me about it.” If only he could see how dark my thoughts are, if he could know the things I’m embarrassed to even be thinking. Selfish things that probably make me the worst daughter in the history of daughters.

  “I know it’s stupid and selfish, but him being sick, it’s ruining my life.”

  “It’s okay to be mad about it,” Beau says. His voice is different now than it was before. He’s not joking or flirting.

  “I am mad. I’m mad at him for being sick, and that he’s not even trying to get better. I’m mad that he won’t be there to take pictures before I go to prom, that he won’t be there to see me graduate from high school or take me to college.”

  The tears that have been building up for the past month finally break free and I couldn’t stop them if I tried. “I’m mad that he won’t be there to give me advice, I’m mad that he can’t give me any advice now on how to deal with this. I’m even mad that he won’t be here to teach me how to drive. How selfish is that? And I’m really mad at myself for making this about me. I know it’s not about me.”

  “I’ll teach you how to drive,” Beau says, which gets me laughing even though I don’t want to be laughing.

  “You can’t drive yet, either.”

  “Not now,” he says. “But I’ll be sixteen before you, so by the time you’re ready, I’ll know how.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not the same.” I wipe my tears away, but new ones keep falling. This is so embarrassing. I take my glasses off and wipe them on the hem of my shirt. “I hate crying.”

  Beau pushes himself up so he’s sitting on his knees, right in front of me. “Your eyes are pretty when you cry.”

  I blush and look down at my glasses, folded in my hands.

  “It’s true,” he insists. “Most girls have ugly crying faces. But yours . . .”

  I lift my head and my eyes meet his. I want to look away, but I don’t. He doesn’t, either. And then Beau, my godbrother, leans forward and kisses me.

  His lips are softer than Liam’s, his kiss gentler. Sweeter. I don’t want to like it, but I do. And we’re not really related, our moms are just best friends. There’s nothing wrong with that.

  Beau pulls away and looks at me; there’s a little disbelief on his face and a whole lot of happiness. Life is too short to overthink things, so I lean forward and kiss him back. I open my mouth a little and Beau follows my lead.

  “Wow,” he says, when we stop to take a breath.

  “Yeah, wow.”

  He runs a finger gently down my jaw, making me shiver. “I’ve been wanting to do that for the last two years.”

  “Gross, I was twelve.” I shove him on the shoulder.

  He catches my hand and laces our fingers together. It feels nice; his hands are bigger and stronger than mine. “So what? I was thirteen.”

  “Pedophile.”

  He silences me with another kiss, and I can’t help but think that this feels right. I was so self-conscious when I was kissing Liam, trying to impress him. But Beau’s impressed no matter what I do. I relax, enjoying the way my skin tingles when it touches his, the way his heart thumps beneath my palm when I place it on his chest. He stops before I want him to and leans back, taking his phone out of his pocket.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “What does it look like?”

  He holds his phone up in front of his face, and I can tell he’s taking a picture of me.

  “My eyes are all red and puffy,” I say through a forced picture smile.

  “It’s okay, I won’t show this to anyone.”

  “Then why take it?”

  A blush creeps up the back of his neck and he gives me a small smile. “So I’ll never forget how you look right now.”

  “Can I see?” I reach for his phone, but he shakes his head and puts it back in his pocket.

  “It’s just for me.”

  I shake my head and look up at him. He’s a little blurry so I put my glasses back on. He still looks like the same Beau I’ve known my entire life. I wonder if I look any different to him. “You know we can’t tell anyone about this, right?”

  He looks disappointed. “Why not?”

  “So many reasons,” I say. “First of all—if they know, they’ll never let us be alone together.”

  “Good point,” Beau agrees. “It can be our secret.”

  “Shake on it?” I stick my hand out.

  “I’d rather kiss on it,” he says, leaning toward me again. I push him away, but my eyes keep drifting down to his lips and I change my mind. I have a feeling those lips are going to get me in a lot of trouble.

  “We should get going,” I tell him after we’ve been kissing for a while. I don’t really want to stop, but the image of my mom staring out at nothing comes creeping back in my mind. If something’s wrong, I should find out sooner rather than later.

  Beau stands up and gives me his hand. I take it and let him help me up, but when he tries to keep holding it as we start the long walk back, I pull away. It’s strange to feel uncomfortable around someone you’ve always been so comfortable with. The dynamic between us has totally changed. In a good way, I think. But still.

  “This is kind of weird.”

  “Good weird?” he asks.

  I nod. “But I still don’t want to hold your hand.”

  “Fair enough.” He smiles and sticks his hands in his pockets.

  We stop at the bottom of the stairs so I can put my shoes back on, and so he can kiss me one more time. “It’s going to be hard not doing that every time I see you.”

  I blush, wishing that I’d never kissed Liam so Beau could have been my first. Oh well. I sigh, remembering the old rhyme we used to sing as kids. First is the worst, second is the best.

  Chapter Thirty

  Alexis

  Cecelia,” I call upstairs. “We’re leaving!”

  “Coming,” she yells back down.

  She smiles at me as she comes down the stairs, looking cute in a pale blue sundress that makes her tan skin glow. Her hair is down. It looks like she straightened it and did a little braid with a red ribbon woven through it down one side.

  “You’re dressed awfully nice for a barbecue,” I say.

  “It’s the Fourth of July—and it’s just a dress.” There’s a defensive edge to her voice, and I’m about to explain that I meant it as a compliment when she tosses a zinger toward me. “It wouldn’t hurt you to put a little more effort in.”

  I don’t have to look in the mirror to know she isn’t wrong. Dark circles have taken up permanent residence under my eyes, my hair is in its natural half-wavy state, and I haven’t put an ounce of makeup on other than the day Monica was here and ruined everything.

  “You’re right,” I say.

  CeCe looks confused. “I’m what?”

  “You’re right. Go keep your dad company in the car, I’m going to freshen up.”

  “He’s in the car? We’re just going around the corner.”

  “We’re driving tonight,” I say, hoping she lets it go. I don’t want to explain how even that short distance is too far a walk for her dad. Just making it up the stairs has become such a struggle that we talked last night about setting up a bed down in the living room. But I don’t want to bring that up and risk ruining what has the potential to be a lovely night.

  “Whatever,” she says with a shrug, heading toward the door.

  “Tell him I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  She gives a half salute in response, and I rush upstairs.
I plug in my hair straightener for the second time all summer and let it heat up while I find something better to wear.

  I grab the first thing I see that will work, a long, dark blue sundress with white and beige flowers. It has two out of the three patriotic colors and a flattering cut. I slip my feet into a pair of tan sandals and go back to the bathroom.

  The horn honks, but I ignore it, digging through my makeup drawer for an eye shadow palette Becky gave me. I pick a pale shade of gray and sweep it over my eyes, then add a quick stroke of blush, thankful my skin is tan enough that I don’t need foundation. A swipe of mascara and another of lip gloss and I’m almost ready.

  I run the straightener quickly through my hair—not the way it’s supposed to be done, according to CeCe. She saw me once and cringed, taking the straightener from my hands and showing me the “right” way to do it, slowly, in small chunks.

  The horn honks again and I yell, “I’m coming!” even though I know they can’t hear me. I look in the mirror and shrug; it’s as good as it’s going to get tonight.

  “Wow,” Tommy says as I open the driver’s door.

  In the backseat, CeCe rolls her eyes.

  “I feel underdressed,” Tommy says, looking down at his light blue button-down shirt and the khaki shorts that used to be a little tight on him. Now they hang on his shrinking frame.

  “Not at all.” I pat his hand reassuringly. “CeCe just reminded me that I should put a little more effort in.”

  “I think your beauty is effortless,” he says.

  “You have to say that,” CeCe pipes in.

  “Seatbelt on,” I say, ignoring her jab.

  “We’re going, like, ten feet. I could probably beat you there if I walked.”

  “Be my guest.” I wait to back up, but she stays put and reluctantly fastens her seatbelt. She’s right that we’re practically crawling distance from Jill’s house, but sometimes it feels good to assert my parental power.

  “Seatbelt,” she parrots and I fasten mine as well, deciding this one is pretty much a draw.

  THE DRIVE OVER to Jill’s house is shorter than the chorus of a song on the radio. CeCe is out the door before the next verse starts and I shake my head, watching her run through the picket fence and inside without knocking.