Girl Out of Water(44)

“Yeah, what are we going to do?” Parker asks, jerking me back to here.

I know Dad’s original idea was to visit Aunt Jackie, then take the kids to the park for grilling and marshmallows and firecrackers, but the forecast promises at least another day of torrential rain, which means no grilling, no firecrackers, no celebration.

But I don’t have the heart to tell them that, especially without a backup plan in mind, so instead I shift on the couch and say, “It’s a surprise. I’ll let you guys know tomorrow,” because it’s a better answer than, “Absolutely nothing.”

? ? ?

As predicted, it rained all day on the fourth. We spent the whole afternoon inside with Aunt Jackie at the hospital. We played cards and ate apple pie, but being at the hospital on a holiday was still kind of depressing.

Later that night, alone in my room, I scrolled through my phone. There were a handful of texts from my friends, but I was drawn to the photos of the fireworks and ocean and crackling fires, and picture after picture of my friends smiling without me. It was our last Fourth of July all together, but we weren’t all together. I wanted to text my friends back but couldn’t bring myself to ask how their celebration was when mine was so bleak in comparison. Anyway, with the time difference, they were probably still celebrating and too busy to check their phones.

At least today, on the fifth, I wake up to a sky sunny and blue enough to belong on a cruise brochure. The kids and I get dressed in record time and trek to the park, the air deliciously temperate after all of that rain. As we journey, we toss the uneaten bag of marshmallows back and forth, picking one out and popping it into our mouths before passing the bag onto the next person. When we get to the park, I’m surprised to find Austin at the front entrance, skating back and forth, silver chains glinting in the sun. His gaze locks in on Emery as we approach.

I glance at Emery. She gives me the go away look. Austin seems like a good kid, and I’m happy she’s willing to talk with anyone, even if it’s not me, so I tell Parker and Nash, “Race you to the skate park!”

The boys need zero motivation for competition and they’re extra energized with marshmallow sugar, so they burst off down the path. I follow behind at a slower pace, passing Austin and giving him a nod and a smile. When I make it to the first bend in the trail, I turn to see Austin pass what looks like a CD case to Emery. As I keep watching, Emery glances up at me, and I expect a glare and maybe even a fuck off, but instead she smiles at me. A real smile. An Emery smile.

It’s like I just nailed a perfect ride.

I smile back, then jump on my board, intent on showing my cousins who really skates best in this family.

? ? ?

The boys beat me to the park, but I don’t mind their mocking because Lincoln is here. My stomach does its twisting and fluttering act, especially when I think about the muscles hiding under his flannel shirt. But then I stiffen—because Lincoln isn’t alone.

Three other people surround him, all of whom look vaguely familiar, like maybe I saw them here another day but wasn’t quite paying attention. My stomach continues to twist, but this time with anxiety. I’m used to meeting new people. On the beach, there are always tourists to give directions to, annuals to party with, and visiting surfers to meet. But the thing is, I was always meeting new people on my turf. Now, for the first time in my life, I’m the intruder. It was easy making friends with Lincoln because he basically did all the work for me, but the idea of meeting three new people at once is intimidating. And I don’t like to think of myself as being easily intimidated.

My pulse races as I take in the three strangers, especially the girl in a magenta romper, popping small ollies while talking to Lincoln. It’s obvious this is her environment, not mine.

My mom would know exactly what to do in this situation; she always knows how to make herself comfortable somewhere new. A few weeks after my thirteenth birthday, she swept into town after being gone for more than a year and a half, at the time her longest absence ever, and my emotions were at a full boil. I was cold, angry, harsh. And yet, she was impossible to resist, wearing me down, tempting me with giddiness and promises of adventure.

One Saturday morning she coaxed me into an old convertible and drove us down miles and miles of coastal roads, roof down, wind whipping through our hair. We stopped to grab greasy fries from one of the unhealthy fast food places Dad hates, picked wildflowers off the highway median, ran through the dunes, not caring as we tracked sand back into the car.

Later that evening we ended up wandering some unfamiliar beach, our hair twisted into dozens of tiny braids from one of the overpriced tourist booths, and we came across this small wedding party. The ceremony was long over, music pumping, bonfires crackling, and food and alcohol flowing. She insisted we go, and I insisted we didn’t. She insisted until I gave in, and by the end of the night, we were taking pictures with the happy couple and playing bocce ball with some of the bridal party.

If my mom were here, she would know what to do.

But she isn’t here. She’s never here when I need her, which is why I’ve learned not to need her. I’ll avoid the situation and hang out with Parker and Nash. But before I can nudge them toward a different part of the park, Lincoln waves me over. “Yo, Anise! Come here!”

Fuck.

Okay. I can do this. I’m a confident, capable person, and these are Lincoln’s friends, not bullies from a cliché movie. Maybe we’ll all become best friends. Maybe I’ll post photos with high saturation to show I’m having a good summer too. “You guys okay?” I ask Parker and Nash. They nod, Parker already tugging Nash toward his favorite set of low rails.