Float, page 30
“Stand still for a second,” Lena murmured, holding up her phone. “Just—checking”—the flash went off—“my email.”
I huffed.
“At least you’re dry,” Alissa offered.
It was a nice consolation. Besides, I’d worn worse that summer. At least Chloe was too bougie for polyester—I was rocking 100 percent cotton.
With my wet clothes tucked away in a plastic shopping bag under my arm, I left Alissa and Lena to fight over the sink and padded back into the living room. Blake was rolling out a sleeping bag next to the couch I’d claimed. He’d changed into a clean pair of pajamas—sweats and a long-sleeved shirt—and by the look of his wet hair, he’d showered too.
“Where’d Jesse go?” I asked.
Blake shook out his pillow.
“He’s upstairs, grabbing a few more blankets. Should I flip my sleeping bag around? Jesse’s gonna be on the floor over there, and he kicks in his sleep, so I’m kind of scared he’s going to break my nose in the middle of the night. But his morning breath is honestly worse than a kick to the face, so—”
“I love you.”
Oh dear God, I thought in horror. That was me. I said that. Why in the ever-loving fuck was I so bad at timing these things?
Blake’s mouth twisted into a frown, and he set his hands on his hips.
“Damn it,” he grumbled.
And now it’s worse. My shoulders slumped and I clapped a hand over my eyes, wishing there was some kind of eject button that would catapult me out of the Hamiltons’ living room.
“I did not mean to just blurt that—”
“I wanted to say it first.”
My breath whooshed out of my body. I let out a half laugh, half croak of relief. Then I lurched forward and punched Blake in the arm. I tried to scowl and look reprimanding, but I was pretty sure I was laughing.
“You—big—idiot. I got all nervous!”
Blake darted forward and kissed the tip of my nose, wrapping his arms around mine before I could sock him again.
“I’m sorry, Waverly,” he said, laughing against my forehead. “Obviously, I love you too. But I had this big plan and—ugh. This living room is, like, the least romantic place on earth.”
“Porta potty,” I mumbled into his shirt.
“This living room is the second least romantic place on earth,” he corrected.
I pulled back my head so I could meet his eyes. Electric blue. All lit up with joy.
“You love me,” I teased.
He nodded vehemently.
“I do. Waverly, you—”
“Bro! Feel this blanket!” Jesse shouted as he stomped down the stairs, the upper half of his body completely hidden behind the massive stack of blankets piled in his arms. “It’s the softest fucking blanket I’ve ever felt in my life.”
Blake sighed and squeezed his eyes shut.
“It was going to be so romantic,” he murmured.
I shrugged. “I think it was pretty romantic. You. Me. Mood lighting from the storm. These awful pajamas. Jesse. What more could I ask for?”
Jesse dropped the pile of blankets beside us. “Are we gonna watch a movie or what? Because I haven’t seen Mamma Mia! in ages. That’s my vote.”
Jesse was quickly overruled by Lena, who wanted to watch The Godfather and was perhaps the most gifted rock paper scissors player I’d ever witnessed.
Chloe and George hovered for a while, seemingly concerned that we would soon trade our cookies and classic cinema for some edgier teenage behavior. But eventually they determined that we were, in fact, just a bunch of dorks having a nice, wholesome night in and that George’s good whiskey was not in any danger.
“Good night!” Chloe called as the two of them headed upstairs. “See you all in the morning. Do you guys like French toast? Scrambled eggs? I’ll just do both—”
George put a hand on her back and gave her a firm push up the stairs.
“Night, kids!” he shouted.
I’d never had a sleepover before. It was nice. Even if the movie wasn’t exactly my cup of tea—I liked that Lena knew every line and did a pretty solid Sicilian accent. I liked Chloe’s cookies. I liked sitting on the couch next to my boyfriend, who loved me, and whom I loved.
I tried not to think about tomorrow and my dad’s impending arrival.
The present was too good to waste.
And later, in the dark, with the rain thrumming on the roof and Lena’s steady snoring like surround-sound ambient noise, I rolled onto my side so I could look over the edge of the couch cushions. Blake was on his back, the top of his sleeping bag pulled up to his chest so his arms were free. And, without a word, I stretched my hand down just as he lifted his up to meet mine.
We locked fingers and held on tight.
Chapter 25
I dreamed that the storm came early. I dreamed that the public pool overflowed, and the Fletcher twins drifted past me on the flooded street on their surfboards, and that Dad called to tell me that every flight in and out of Holden was cancelled indefinitely.
It was a really, really good dream.
But I woke up to the muted blue glow of morning light streaming into the Hamiltons’ living room, the gentle (and-not-so-gentle) snores of my friends the only sound. It was peaceful, until I realized that the rain wasn’t coming down anymore.
Mother Nature wasn’t going to save me.
I felt a sense of impending doom as Rachel and I pulled into the airport terminal in her neon-green Volkswagen. It was strange to be back here, where my summer had begun, and even stranger to be watching it all from Rachel’s perspective.
Dad was one of the only people standing on the platform outside of the arrivals gate. He was in his usual attire—glasses, button-down shirt, khakis, hiking boots—and had the straps of his enormous camping backpack braced over his shoulders. There were half-moon stains under his armpits and two spots of pink high on his cheeks that told me he was flustered and out of his element. It was the most I’d related to my father in a long time. I wondered if I’d looked this awkward and terrified the afternoon that Rachel had picked me up.
Rachel rolled up to the curb carefully, determined not to hit it, and rolled my window down.
“Jeffery,” she called out, “you need a haircut.”
Dad looked mildly offended. “Well, it’s good to see you too.”
His disheveled brown curls—so identical to Rachel’s—were a little unruly, but I was used to that. Dad was the kind of person who got so absorbed in his research that he forgot to do simple, human things like eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner and getting his hair trimmed.
“Hi, Dad,” I said, popping open my door to step out. I realized, a beat too late, that I’d forgotten to plaster on the smile I’d rehearsed. But Dad pulled me into a quick hug without missing a beat, then held me at arm’s length so he could examine me for damage.
“Waverly,” he said on a sigh. “You’re sunburned. I knew you’d be sunburned.”
“It’s not even bad,” I murmured.
“She’s fine,” Rachel called as she slipped out of the driver’s side and came around to swoop in and distract her brother with a hug so tight he grunted. “A little sun never hurt anybody.”
“Well, that’s just not true,” Dad said. “Oh—and I have your phone, Waverly. It’s in my bag.”
I popped the trunk and helped Dad heave his backpack into it, determined to get away from the airport as quickly as possible. The longer we were here, the longer I had to envision myself hurtling through the air at three hundred miles an hour away from all the people I gave shits about. And I wasn’t prepared to cry this early in the morning.
Dad sat shotgun for the drive back to Rachel’s house. I fidgeted in my seat. He’d been in Holden all of ten minutes, and already, I felt unsettled. Restless. Hyperaware of how I was holding myself and what came out of my mouth.
“Waverly picked up a job at the bookstore in town,” Rachel said, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror briefly. I caught the flicker of worry. She’d noticed I’d gone quiet. “She’ll have to point it out to you when we drive by.”
I did. Dad said, “Ah.” I knew his tone well. He was unimpressed.
Back at Rachel’s house, Dad examined the cluttered bookshelves and bountiful decorative pillows and scattered art supplies with the same level of enthusiasm. I knew, of course, that he’d always been baffled by Rachel’s life choices. Her career, her personal style, the unashamed and outgoing energy with which she moved through the world. But Rachel was successful. Rachel was talented and bright and loved by the people she knew in this town. The only reason my dad didn’t see it was because her name wasn’t in the bylines of any major research journals.
Dad would never be satisfied with my success unless it looked like his.
“Well, what should we do for lunch?” Rachel asked.
This tropical storm wouldn’t save me. But maybe I could save me.
“I think,” I began, then caught myself. “Actually, no. I know I want to stay.”
“Sure, we can eat here.”
“No. I mean in Holden.”
She and my father both stilled, and I saw the moment that they caught on. Rachel pressed one palm to her chest, right at the base of her throat. I thought I saw her eyes well up. Dad, for his part, just let out a long and weary sigh.
“The tickets really aren’t flexible, Waverly. I already changed the date—”
“I want to stay longer than another week,” I interrupted. “Like, the whole school year.”
Dad did the worst thing he could’ve done.
He laughed.
“Jeff,” Rachel said, her voice surprisingly stern. “Hear her out.”
I shot her a thankful look. With one little nod, she told me everything. That she was proud of me. That I was welcome to stay. That she would let me try out a million different hobbies and part-time jobs and never once make a comment about how it would look on a college app or resumé.
“I like who I am here, Dad,” I said, my voice cracking. “I didn’t realize how miserable I was in Fairbanks until I got here. And I love you and I love Mom, I do—I’m not trying to ditch you guys. But I feel like I just get in your way.”
“That’s absurd, Waverly,” Dad said with a huff. “When have I ever said you get in my way? Is that what you think this summer was about? Because your mother and I have always made a point of including you in what we do—”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t,” I blurted. “Maybe you should let me do my own thing.”
“We’ve tried that. Your mother and I have always supported your extracurriculars, Waverly. We took turns shuttling you around when you had debate meets and volleyball games, but you quit both of those. I told you I’d help you get into that marine biology program in Marlin Bay. We’ve paid years of Huntington tuition . . .” He trailed off, shaking his head again. “And you want to get a degree from a public high school in Holden? What a waste of all that time, all that money. And what will you say on your college applications? How will you explain this?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, hugging my arms tight across my chest. “But it’s not like I’m getting into an Ivy League, anyway. I’m not like you and Mom. I’m not smart.” The words sounded wrong, so I frowned and tried again. “I am smart, just—just in a different way. I’m just not good at the things you’re good at, and I haven’t tried enough things or gotten enough practice to figure out what I am good at.”
Dad shook his head. It seemed I’d stunned him into silence.
“Let me stay,” I whispered. “Please.”
Rachel’s eyes were wide and imploring. Dad’s mouth was a terse, flat line.
“It just isn’t practical, Waverly,” he said.
The words were like a door slamming shut in my face.
We ate at the restaurant at Holden Point—the one where I’d had my first meal with Rachel, Chloe, and George—in miserable silence. I ordered a milkshake but lost my appetite a few sips in when Dad slid my cell phone across the table.
“You’ll have to charge it,” he said.
I stared into the void of the dark screen for the remainder of the meal.
“At least come and see the mural, Jeff,” Rachel said when the check came. “You flew all the way out here. It’s not quite done, and the unveiling ceremony is not for another week, technically, but it’s going to be so crowded and pretentious, anyway. And since the two of you won’t be here . . .”
The knife in my chest twisted again.
“We’ll see the mural,” Dad said. “We have time.”
“Can we invite everyone else too?” I asked.
Dad frowned. “Who else is there?”
“Her friends,” Rachel said sharply. “The neighbors’ son, his best friend, and her co-workers from the bookstore in town. They’re great kids. And they’re all pretty broken up to see her go.”
I felt Dad’s eyes on me, but I couldn’t look at him.
I’ll never forgive you for this, I thought.
I hoped his big, brilliant brain was capable of telepathy.
Blake, Jesse, Alissa, and Lena were still at the Hamiltons’ house, their sleeping bags rolled up and tucked out of the way while they sat on the living room floor together, the loose wrappings and leftovers of a burrito lunch scattered on the coffee table.
“Do you guys want to come to Marlin Bay to see my aunt’s mural?” I asked.
There was a great deal of muttering and looking for shoes and jackets and wallets and Jesse’s car keys, which had somehow migrated out of the back pocket of his jeans and onto the top of the Hamiltons’ microwave. He couldn’t offer an explanation for this phenomenon, but Lena assured us that it happened all the time and was no cause for concern.
Outside, the pavement was still wet and glistening. I tipped my head up and prayed the clouded sky would crack open again and drench us all.
Dad introduced himself to my friends as Dr. Jeffery Lyons, Ph.D., which only added to my humiliation and hostile feelings.
“Waverly, why don’t you ride with the kids,” Rachel said, directing me to follow my friends into Jesse’s Jeep while she shepherded Dad to her Volkswagen.
Blake called shotgun, so I was relegated to the backseat—which was fine with me, because that meant Blake had the responsibility of selecting the music, and I got to stare out the window while I secretly catalogued the songs he chose. He was surprisingly big on Coldplay. It could’ve been a pretentious thing, if it wasn’t for the fact that I caught him mouthing along like the big nerd he was.
We reached the hospital just as the clouds cracked open to reveal a sliver of blue and streaks of glorious, buttery sunlight. This sight—when paired with the Coldplay—was an almost tear-jerking thing. Jesse pulled into a parking spot on the far side of the lot, where there were plenty of open spaces for Rachel and my dad to squeeze in beside us.
The air in Marlin Bay was a little warmer than in Holden. I tipped my face up to the sky, letting the sunlight warm my skin as we all walked toward the alley between the two halves of the hospital. It dawned on me that Blake and I were returning to the scene of the crime—our first kiss. It seemed a little silly that the memory of it could make my entire face flush with heat, given that we’d progressed well beyond the nervousness and uncertainty of a first kiss. I’d told the boy I loved him. You’d think I could walk through a parking lot with him without turning into a puddle.
But this wasn’t just any parking lot. It was the place where I’d had my first kiss. The place where my aunt had worked all summer. The place where a very young Blake had learned what it meant to lose a mother.
It was a very important parking lot.
I stopped for a moment. Felt the wind on my face. Took a deep breath. Smelled the ocean. Sometimes—when we’re very lucky—we realize we’re somewhere we’ll always remember while we’re still standing there.
The others walked on, laughing and chattering. Blake was the only one who noticed that I’d come to a complete halt in the middle of the parking lot. He circled around to face me, eyebrows pinched in question.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded. “Just being sentimental. Give me a minute.”
Blake rolled his eyes but stepped forward so he could hook one of his pinkie fingers around mine. I exhaled a shaky breath and gave his finger a squeeze.
“This is the most emotional I’ve ever seen anyone get about a painting of sea life,” he said.
“It’s the parking lot, actually.”
Blake glanced around and shrugged. “I’ve seen nicer.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to stop joking around and let me be dramatic about this. Instead, he beat me to it.
“Waverly,” Blake said again, putting his hands on my shoulders.
Our eyes met. And I don’t know how else to describe the feeling in my stomach, but it was like the sudden gut-deep panic you feel when you’re in an airplane that suddenly drops in altitude. The floor and your seat seem to go out from underneath you. You think you might scream. You’re definitely crying.
I cupped Blake’s face in my hands. Then, because I needed to break the tension building in my chest, I smooshed his lips together so he looked like a fish.
“Why?” Blake asked, voice distorted and tone withered.
“Just trying to commit the moment to memory,” I said. “All right. I’m done.”
Blake nodded, like we’d just completed some kind of business transaction, and took my hand in his as we turned to follow the others. I looked up and locked eyes with Dad, who was staring at us like we were some kind of new and strange wildlife. It was, briefly, the most awkward thing I’d ever experienced. But then I decided that I couldn’t afford to be embarrassed, because I only had so many hours left to hold Blake’s hand.
The parking spots between the two halves of the hospital were roped off and cluttered with stacks of white plastic chairs and collapsible tables that’d been draped in tarps and weighed down with sandbags, to shelter them from the storm.
