A Love Hate Thing

by Whitney D. Grandison

  “And why am I suddenly this pure guy to you?”

  “Because I’ve seen you with Jordy, with my mom, with Erica. You’re not that guy, and I was wrong to assume you were.”

  “Like I said, I don’t belong here. I know how to survive Lindenwood. I’m going back.”

  “To die?” I asked.

  Tyson covered his face with his hands, his shoulders rising and falling as he sighed. “Maybe that’s my fate.”

  “Stop it!” I snapped. This wasn’t a stranger or a thug; this was my childhood friend. Someone I’d cared about greatly. The Tyson from back then was gentle, quiet, and harmless. I refused to believe that, during the decade we’d been apart, he’d become a monster like the reputation of his town and home hinted. “You are not a bad person.”

  “Maybe I am!” he yelled, startling me. “Maybe you are all wrong about me. I’m sick of you all trying to make me out to be this good kid. Prophet, Lydia, Pops—her.” His voice broke at the last mention. “I’m just like them.”

  “No you’re not.” I didn’t know who exactly he was talking about, but from what I’d seen of him in my home, around my friends, he was a good kid.

  “I’ve done things, Nandy. Things she never knew. Things that got her killed.” He was shaking, and I forced myself to stay in my position, sensing he wasn’t the type that reacted well to affection. “You wanna know why I was so sad all the time? I didn’t have a dad like Parker. Mine was overworked and never satisfied. He beat the shit out of my mom and I never did anything to stop it. Sometimes he’d hit me, and I’d have to wear long sleeves to school.

  “That was when I started going away with Pops while he cleaned lawns in Pacific Hills. That’s when we met. Pops told me to keep quiet. He knew how angry Tyson could get, and he knew how he was no match. Tyson once beat him up, too.”

  It all fell into place. Tyson was his father, his adversary, and the reason he denounced his given name.

  “I can barely remember a time when she was happy with him.” Tyson cleared his throat and found a moment to think before speaking again. “I hated him, for so long I fucking hated him. I hated myself, because I wasn’t good enough to protect her. She liked that I was going away with Pops during the day, and she liked the way I described you.”

  He’d told his mother about me?

  “She did?” I asked.

  “She would tease me about my crush, and I would act all hard, as if you had the cooties.” He offered a quick smile before getting back to his story. “For a while, it was like things were okay. I would go with Pops, and she would stay home and try to make Tyson happy. But then one day I came home and she had a black eye. The next time Pops came around trying to take me with him, I refused. I couldn’t be too far away from my mother, especially when I wasn’t sure if any moment was going to be her last.

  “I started hanging out with the boys in my neighborhood. Prophet was a teenager, but he basically taught us everything he knew about how to survive. I did some things to make money—things that would’ve disappointed my mother.”

  “Selling drugs?”

  Tyson shook his head. “Something else.” He stared down at the Persian rug, face impassive. “I wanted to save up enough to take her away or send her away. She used to tell me all the time that I deserved a good life.”

  “You do.”

  Tyson brought his attention to me, appearing irritated. “I hated when she said that shit. Why did I deserve a good life above her? I was becoming just like the boys she didn’t want me hanging with, and she was just this good person.”

  “You were doing what you had to do to get out of there,” I reasoned.

  “It’s what killed her!” he shouted, appearing hopeless. He stood from the chair and started pacing. “One day we stayed up talking about going away and never coming back. She said she was sick of living in fear, and she didn’t want me to waste away. I told her I had money, and she didn’t question where it came from. Prophet gave me a gun in case Tyson tried something. I kept it in my drawer.”

  He stared at nothing in the distance as the rest of the story was left hanging in the air.

  “One night I came home from Prophet’s house, and I heard her crying. He was beating her and dragging her through the house. He’d heard us talking, and he was confronting her. I tried to stop him, but he pulled out a gun—my gun.” Tyson bowed his head. “He shot her. He shot me. He shot himself, and I watched her die.”

  Despite my attempts, tears leaked from my eyes, and I had to wipe them away more than once.

  “I killed my mother, Nandy. If it wasn’t for me—”

  “No.” I sniffled, realizing the facts, as ugly as they were. He had severe survivor’s guilt. “It’s not your fault. You had no idea that would happen. And you tried to save her, but your father got the better of you.”

  “If I hadn’t put the idea in her head—”

  “She needed a reason to leave, and you helped her. None of it is your fault.” I stood and crossed the room to stand in front of him. “There was nothing you could do. Your father almost got you, but he didn’t. Going back and becoming a real criminal would be letting him win and letting your mother down. You got a second chance, and that’s what matters.”

  “Why not her?” he demanded. “Why me and not her?”

  “Life is unfair, and blaming yourself and hating God is not going to bring her back. It’s not your fault, and it’s not on God—it was your father.”

  Tyson wasn’t convinced. “She was all that I had. He took her from me. What do I have now? This fucking town? You didn’t even want me here until I threw this at you. I have to go back, because at least they accept me and understand.”

  “Dying isn’t the way,” I said. “I messed up. I’m sorry for stereotyping you from the beginning. I feel like such a dickhead for it. I was wrong. You were my best friend, and I’m sorry. Don’t go.” I wiped away tears as I pleaded with him. “Going back isn’t going to solve anything. Your mother was right—you deserve a good life. Let it be here. Okay, yeah, you’re going to have to get used to some overly surgically enhanced Pacific wives whispering about you, and a lot of drunk girls throwing themselves at you, but it’s not so bad.”

  My words managed to get a laugh out of Tyson as he calmed down. “Fuck, that sounds terrible.”

  “It is, and I hate every bit of the drama and gossip, but you know what, there’s heart here, there’s character here. Not all of us are so bad.”

  Tyson softened up just a little. “You really mean it?”

  I wanted to touch him, to hug and hold him, but I was afraid he’d push me away. “Yeah, I do. I’m not that girl who judges people. The way I’ve been acting toward you isn’t me, and I’m sorry. I got paranoid and stuck-up. I promise you, if you stay, you’ll see the real, nice Nandy that I am.”

  Tyson sighed, walked to the fireplace and rested against the mantel. “I don’t know, Nandy. I think about it all the time. I don’t sleep without seeing her face. You can say it’s not my fault, but I have to live with the fact that my scheme got my mom killed. I have to think about how she died by my gun. It ain’t easy.”

  After all that he’d gone through, that was an understatement. On the outside, Tyson seemed so strong and intimidating, but on the inside, he was broken, hurting deeply. My heart ached for him, and I feared being in a new place wasn’t enough. “I know it’s been rough, but maybe you should see a therapist, to help you cope.”

  “Now you sound like Misty.” Tyson waved me off. “Been there, done that.”

  “You just went through hell, and if you think you can manage the trauma on your own, you’re so wrong. Shayne saw a therapist after her parents got divorced, and she hated it at first, but she said the best part about it was having someone willing to listen. What happened won’t go away, but it’ll be easier to live your life if you talk to someone.”

 
Tyson slowly nodded. “Lydia wants me to write about it, to release the energy and transform it onto paper.”

  “You’re in summer school anyway. Why not, right?”

  He shrugged and sat back down in the leather chair. “This isn’t going to be easy. Six months is a long time to fester in guilt and memories.”

  “You’re not alone. You have my family, and you have me.”

  Tyson folded his hands and became quiet, seeming to ruminate on my words.

  My cell phone vibrated and I dug it out of my pocket to find a text from Chad. I chewed my lip, feeling like it so wasn’t the time to talk to my boyfriend.

  Chad: You free?

  Me: No, w/ Ty

  Chad: Tonite then?

  Me: We’ll see

  Chad: My parents are gone ;)

  I looked up and found Tyson studying me.

  “So, despite the decade, you remember me and our childhood?” he asked.

  “Of course I do. As crazy as it sounds...I missed you.” I wouldn’t allow myself to be completely vulnerable, but that I would admit.

  Tyson smiled just a little. “I missed you, too.”

  Emotion singed in my chest and I blinked to conceal this fact. “You don’t have to say it because I did.”

  “I know that. I say what I mean. I was dealing with a lot of shit back then, and coming here, being with you, it was my escape. The one good thing I had besides my mom. I never forgot that. You were my Neverland.”

  Tears pooled in my eyes and I had to look away. For a second, I was seven years old again and my heart was clenching at his words. At one time, Tyson was my everything, and now he’d come back.

  “You were my first kiss.” And crush. And heartache when he’d disappeared.

  “And now you’ve had plenty more.”

  I felt myself blush. “You must’ve heard about me and Warhol.”

  Tyson didn’t deny it.

  “That was a middle school thing. Once I got to high school it was all about Chad.”

  This caused Tyson to snort. “Yes, and how are things with the redheaded fuck boy?”

  I scowled, disliking the nickname. “Chad’s amazing. I love him. We’ve been together since freshman year.”

  “Oh yeah, I got that feeling last night, hearing all about your relationship.” His sarcasm was palpable.

  “Sometimes he’s an ass, but he’s not entirely bad.”

  “Hmmph, I guess he’s worth the shit, then, huh?”

  It felt like I could tell him about all the good things Chad had done for me, and Tyson would still look unimpressed. It didn’t matter, though. I got what Chad and I had. It didn’t matter if anyone else did. Erica thought Chad had too many asshole moments, Shayne didn’t think we had enough spice, and Edi just thought Chad was tedioso. All of them were admittedly no experts on love or relationships. My parents liked Chad just fine, and his parents loved me. We were fine.

  “Whatever,” I said, getting past it. “Bottom line, I’m sorry for coming off like a whiny rich girl.”

  Tyson lifted a brow as if to challenge my statement. “Like?”

  “Okay, that’s well deserved. But, are you good? Will you stay?”

  Tyson shoved his hands into his pockets, tilting his head to the side. “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “You’ve gotta give me a list of who I can’t hang out with.”

  * * *

  After we got back from the model home, I went up to my room and lay out on my balcony, enjoying the warm sun against the bare skin of my back. Chad hated the idea of my sunbathing topless out in the open, but I loved the feel of the sun on my skin and the smell of my mother’s roses from down below by our back patio.

  For Chad’s sake, I lay on my stomach as I texted back and forth with Shayne, setting up a beach date.

  Knocking caught my attention and I looked over, discovering the sound coming from inside my room on my bedroom door.

  “Come in,” I said loudly.

  The door opened and Tyson entered carrying a book. He joined me on the balcony, briefly looking out at our backyard before kneeling down to my level and handing me the book.

  “It’s one of my mother’s favorites. It talks about Africa, and it’s not as thick as Roots. Maybe you’ll like it,” he said.

  Taking the book in my hand, I read its title. The Color Purple. If his mother loved it, then I would read it. “Great, I’ll start it right now. Thanks.”

  Tyson stood up. “I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.”

  He rose to go, and I fiddled with the book, feeling the urge to let him know once more. “Tyson.”

  He turned back to me.

  “Ty,” I restated, “I know you don’t believe in God because of what happened. But maybe living here with us and being here this summer will help you start to believe in something.”

  Tyson peered out at the sky, watching nothing in particular. “Maybe.”

  11 | Trice

  It was noon and I was starving. Going down to the kitchen, I discovered Nandy at the island, chopping a cucumber with a big knife. She was doing it all wrong, making her slices too thick.

  “Hey,” she greeted me. “I’m heading to the beach with Shayne, figured I’d pack a salad.”

  I went behind her and took her hand to show her the proper way to get the slices just right.

  “Okay, we get it, you’re such a good cook, Master Chef.” Nandy pretended to sound exasperated.

  “Cucumbers taste better as hints,” I told her.

  “Where’d you learn to cook, your mom?”

  “Yeah, she didn’t want me being the type of guy who expected his girl to cook all the time.” Not that Asiah had ever wanted to cook anyway. Her mother had really been the best in the kitchen.

  “That sounds perfect. The only hot thing I can cook is toast. Thank God for takeout. Even Chad’s family has a personal chef.”

  Life in Pacific Hills would take a lot of getting used to. Country clubs, chefs, and model homes. This wasn’t my world.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, and I recognized Shayne’s voice.

  “Ugh, Nandy, Bryce is so becoming a problem for me. I get that we’re neighbors, but it’s just not going to happen. I mean, he has a beard, and I so do not do beards. I just keep imagining how weird it’d feel between my legs.” Shayne came into the room as she finished talking. Once she noticed me, she bore a look of surprise but not a hint of embarrassment.

  “Hey, Tricey,” she said with a flirtatious smile.

  O-kay, it was time to go.

  “Hey, Shayne,” said Nandy. “I see Bryce hasn’t given up, or shaved, for that matter.”

  Shayne barely acknowledged Nandy’s comment as she was busy staring at me. “You know, this is kinda cute. You two almost look like a couple.” She gave Nandy a smile. “Hard to believe you’re dating Captain Douchebag.” She gave me a once-over. “And you’re all alone.”

  “Hey,” Nandy snapped. “Chad’s not a douchebag. He’s the sweetest guy I know.”

  I stepped from behind Nandy, agreeing to disagree on the status of her boyfriend.

  Nandy peered at the clock on the wall before placing a lid on her Tupperware. “Let’s get going, Shayne. I want to find a good spot before it’s too crowded.”

  Shayne pouted. “Can we just wait a sec? Travis is out there with Matt.”

  “He bothering you?” I asked.

  For a second I thought they were a perfect match. Travis had a knack for saying whatever the hell came to his mind, and Shayne was right behind him.

  “She’s afraid she’s going to end up in his bed,” Nandy informed me with a tired expression on her face.

  “What?” Shayne frowned. “You know his reputation. The old guidance counselor totally slept with him and went insane.”
/>   “That’s a rumor.”

  “Then why did she get divorced after she started giving Travis private sessions?”

  Nandy opened her mouth but quickly shut it. “I don’t know, but I’m sure it’s a coincidence.”

  These kids were all fucking nuts.

  I headed outside anyway, wondering if Travis had been bothering Shayne. At the party the previous evening, he’d been buzzing around and making good with everyone. No one seemed to have an issue with Travis. From the smile on his face and the way he greeted everyone, it was clear he was highly liked—that, and he was a floater.

  Travis was out front with Matt, unloading a surfboard from the back of a Jeep Wrangler. He noticed as I approached and greeted me with a handshake, locking our fingers for a moment before letting go.

  “’Sup?” he asked.

  I lifted my chin. “What’s up with you and Shayne?”

  Travis looked to Matt, who shrugged. “Mancini? Nothing, you interested?”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Shayne’s been ducking Travis since freshman year.” Matt clued me in. “The girl’s an obvious beauty, but Trav’s been good about it.”

  Travis’s gaze flickered to the Smiths’ house. “We just got back from surfing. We’re about to hit the Crab Shack, you interested?”

  I was hungry. “Sure.”

  Together we all got in Matt’s Wrangler and took off for the Shack. From the first three songs that played on the radio, it was obvious Matt had a thing for country, something that was even less tolerable than Nandy’s taste in music.

  The Crab Shack was on the boardwalk, and, according to Matt, it was a hub for the local teens, offering more than just seafood, including varieties of burgers, pizza, tacos, and chicken. It even had an outdoor seating area for those who wanted to soak in the sun with their meals while they got a good view of the ocean.

  The place was obviously popular, because I spotted Chad, Warhol, Ashley, and a few of Chad’s friends sitting at a table outside.

  “Fucking great,” Travis muttered as we got out of the Wrangler.