Girl Out of Water(50)

My mouth drops open, probably exposing chocolate-coated teeth because I enjoy embarrassing myself. “Moving every six months? Seriously?”

“Seattle, Atlanta,” Lincoln counts off the cities on his fingers as he names them, “Detroit, Vegas, St. Louis, Tucson, Boston, oh—and Baton Rouge. That was a good one. Awesome Cajun food. And that was all before middle school. Dad homeschooled us in the beginning, but he couldn’t keep up as we got older, so when I started seventh grade, we took it down to one move a year tops.”

I can’t imagine moving even once as a kid, much less dozens of times. The idea of starting over like that, pulling up roots again and again, having to make new friends sounds exhausting and terrifying. “Did you hate it?” I ask.

“No.” He pauses. “I think it’s hard to hate what you’re used to. I mean, it’s the only life I’ve ever known. And I love new places. So I never had a reason to hate it.”

“So, like…” I pull apart another cookie. “If you move that often…is anywhere really home?”

“Look.” Lincoln nudges me, then nods at Parker and Nash. They’re trying to ride on the same skateboard, balancing by holding each other, giggling and falling and trying again. “Home isn’t a place. It’s people. And I’ve always been with my people.”

The words should comfort me, but most of my people are in Santa Cruz. If I’m not with them, where am I? Who am I?

“You okay?” Lincoln asks, his voice gentle.

I pluck a piece of grass from the yard and shred it into tiny strips. “Yeah.” I clear my throat, then shove his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go play basketball.”

I jump up from the grass and head toward the hoop before Lincoln can push further. I remember what I told Emery—“It’s okay to be not okay.”

But as the words echo in my mind, I think maybe I was wrong.

? ? ?

After everyone has left and the kids have gone to sleep, I head to the kitchen for a glass of water. Someone is already in there—Dad’s alone and talking tensely on the phone. I watch him pace from the doorway. He’s saying something about “Wasn’t in the plans,” and “Someone will have to deal with this,” and then “Fine, fine” before hanging up.

He does not look happy.

“Uh, Dad?” I ask. “Everything okay in here?”

His startles, then sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It’s strange to see him stressed. When I was really young Dad was constantly frazzled by the single parent thing, but he’s been a pillar for years now. “Everything will be okay,” he says, “but my guys screwed up big time on that three-story oceanside project, and I’ve got to fly home to fix it.”

My mind spins. Back home. Back to Santa Cruz. Back to surfing, back to Tess, back to…Eric. Eric, who seems so far away, it’s as if he’s in not another state but another plane of time. I can’t even remember the last conversation I had with him. Distance has chipped away at our communication. I glance out the kitchen window at where I was sitting with Lincoln earlier this evening. His image is so much clearer than the one of the guy I left at home. Home is fading—has faded enough my constant want for home suddenly turns into a painful need.

“Anise,” Dad says.

“What?”

“You can’t come with me. You know that, right? Jacks just got home, and she can’t walk. I hate to leave you like this, but I have to. We can’t afford to lose this job. I’ll call one of Jacks’s friends to ask for help while I’m gone.”

My stomach drops. “Why can’t one of her friends come and take care of everything? I need a break. I need—” I struggle to keep my voice steady. “I need to see my friends. I’ll come back. I mean, you’re going home. I should get to go too. It’s only fair, right?”

“Anise, I’m sorry, but no,” Dad says, his voice quiet. “Even ignoring flight costs, Jackie’s friends have jobs. I’m not going to ask them to take off work when you’re here and capable. And think about her feelings. You don’t want to make her feel like an obligation, a burden.”

I’m not going home yet. The thought hits hard and something cracks.

“But she is a burden. And she knows it.” The words are harsh. I wince as they come out.

Dad looks angry, but he takes a quick breath, and his words come out gentle. “No, she’s not. She’s family, not a burden. Family isn’t a burden. It’s a gift.”

He’s right. I look down. “I’m sorry. I know.”

“I wouldn’t be going back to Santa Cruz unless I absolutely had to. Aunt Jackie needs all the support she can get, and that includes emotional support, and I’m depending on you for that. Not to mention, if you haven’t noticed, the kids are attached to you. Don’t you want to be here for them? Wouldn’t you want them to be there for us if we needed them?”

I want to say I care about surfing and my friends and reclaiming home before it’s no longer mine to claim. But then I think about how upset Emery has been, about when Nash fell into the pool. These kids do need me, and I’m not going to be like my mom. I’m not going to be the fuck-up who leaves town when someone needs her because what I want matters more.

“Okay,” I finally say. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Again.”