He just looked at me for a moment, a flat expression on his face. ‘Auden,’ he said finally, ‘this isn’t something you need to worry about, all right? Heidi and I will work it out.’
In other words, back off. And he was right. This was his house, I was a guest here. It was presumptuous to show up and just assume I knew better, based on only a few hours. ‘Right,’ I said, balling up my napkin. ‘Of course.’
‘All right,’ he said, his voice relaxed again. ‘So… I’m going to head upstairs, get back to it. I’d like to finish this chapter tonight. You’ll be okay on your own?’
It wasn’t even really a question, only phrased to sound like one. Funny how intonation could do so much, change even what something was at its core. ‘Sure,’ I said. ‘Go ahead. I’ll be fine.’
Chapter THREE
I wasn’t fine, though. I was bored, and Thisbe was still hollering. I unpacked my clothes, tried to crack my future Econ 101 textbook, and cleaned out all the messages on my phone. All of which took about forty minutes. At that point, with the baby still crying – still crying! – I finally grabbed a jacket, pulled my hair back, and went out for a walk.
At first, I wasn’t planning to go to the Tip, whatever or wherever it was. I just wanted some air, a break from the noise, and a chance to process whatever it was that had happened between my dad and me earlier that evening. But after I walked in the opposite direction from the boardwalk for about a block, the sidewalk ended in a culde-sac, a bunch of parked cars crowded along the edges. A path was visible off to one side, and I could see light in the distance. Probably a mistake, I thought, but then I thought of Hollis in that picture frame, and followed it anyway.
It wound through some beach grass and over a couple of dunes, then opened up to a wide swath of sand. From the look of it, it had once been all beach, until erosion or a storm or both created a peninsula of sorts, where now a bunch of people were gathered, some sitting on driftwood that was piled up in makeshift benches, others standing around a firepit where a good-size blaze was going. A large truck was parked off to one side, a keg in the bed, and I recognized the tall, skinny guy from the bike shop sitting beside it. When he saw me, he looked surprised, then glanced over at the fire. Sure enough, the guy who’d called out to me was there, in a red windbreaker, holding a plastic cup. He was talking to two girls – the redhead from earlier and a shorter girl with black hair, braided into pigtails – gesturing widely with his free hand.
‘On your right!’ I heard someone yell from behind me, and then there was a whizzing sound. I turned, only to see the short, stocky guy I’d seen earlier coming at me fast on a bike, pedaling wildly. I jumped out of the way just as he blasted by, rounding the dune and shooting onto the flatter sand of the beach. I was still trying to catch my breath when I heard the clatter of pedals, and two more bikes emerged from the dark of the path, the riders – a blond guy, and a girl with short, cropped hair – laughing and talking with each other as they zoomed past. Jesus, I thought, stepping back again, only to feel myself collide squarely with something. Or someone.
When I turned, I found myself facing a tall guy with longish dark hair pulled back at his neck, wearing a worn blue hoodie and jeans. He glanced at me quickly – his eyes were green, and deep set – barely seeming to register my face.
‘Sorry,’ I said, although it wasn’t my fault: he was the one creeping up behind. But he just nodded, as if I’d owed him this, and continued to the beach, sliding his hands in his pockets.
I hardly needed another sign that it was time to turn back. As I went to do just that, though, I heard a voice from behind me. ‘See? I knew you couldn’t resist me!’
I turned, and there was the guy from the boardwalk, still holding his cup. The redhead and the girl with pigtails were now standing by the keg, watching disapprovingly as he walked toward me. I was suddenly nervous, not sure how to respond, but then I had a flash of my mom at our kitchen table, surrounded by all those graduate students. Maybe I didn’t know what I would say. But I knew my mother, and her techniques, by heart.
‘I can resist you,’ I told him.
‘Well, of course you would think that. I haven’t begun my offensive yet,’ he said.
‘Your offensive?’ I asked.
He grinned. His smile – bright, wide, verging on goofy – was his best trait, and he knew it. ‘I’m Jake. Let me get you a beer.’
Huh, I thought. This wasn’t so hard after all.
‘I’ll get it myself,’ I told him. ‘Just point the way.’
What’s your problem?
I didn’t know how to answer this. Not when Jake first asked it, as I pulled away from him, gathering my shirt around me, and stumbled over the dunes back to the path. And not as I walked back up my dad’s street, trying to shake the sand out of my hair. My lips felt full and rubbed raw, the closure of my bra, hurriedly snapped, digging into the skin of my back as I let myself in the side door, shutting it behind me.
I crept upstairs, down the dark hallway, glad to hear nothing but my own footsteps. Finally, Thisbe was asleep. After a long, hot shower, I put on some yoga pants and a tank top, then settled into my room, opening my Econ textbook again. But even as I tried to focus on the words, the events of the night came rushing back to me: my dad’s sharp tone, Jake’s easy smile, our fumbled, hurried connection behind the dunes, and how it suddenly all felt so weird and wrong, not like me at all. Maybe my mom could play the aloof, selfish bitch. But that was what I’d been doing: playing. Until the game was up. I was a smart girl. Why had I done something so stupid?