Girl Out of Water(58)

I tilt my head to peek at Emery and Austin sitting next to each other, their hands splayed on the cement, their fingers centimeters from each other, and I think of my first crush—the way I was aware of every eyelash, every freckle running up and down his arms, the way he’d always brush back his shaggy hair before speaking. Every detail about him memorized in innocent, yet obsessive, infatuation.

My feelings for Lincoln are different, broader.

It’s not the way he pumps his fist every time Austin lands a trick but the fact that he triumphs in his brother’s victories.

It’s not so much his deep dimple but the way it pops out whenever he sees me.

“Watch out!” Nash shouts. I pull my arm out of the way, escaping the crush of Nash’s sneaker as he and Parker sprint around the pool, pretending to be on skateboards, calling out the names of tricks as they jump into the air with full force energy and no fear. Their gleeful shouts relax me, like a raucous thunderstorm comforts after a long drought.

“Whatchya thinking about?” Lincoln asks. We both tilt our heads toward each other. Just a few inches closer and I could brush my lips against his.

Instead, I say, “You.”

“I was thinking about me too.” He grins.

I roll my eyes. “Ha-ha.”

“You look tired.”

“What a charmer.”

“Maybe I should tuck you into bed.”

I eye him with suspicion. Is Lincoln the type of guy who thinks one quick (okay, rather long and heated) make out session equates to me jumping into bed with him? I’ve never had sex before, and although I’m not against the idea in theory, I’m sure as hell not about to after one kiss.

Lincoln, probably noticing my look of distaste, continues, “That wasn’t supposed to be a come-on. I literally want to tuck you into bed. You look like hell, surfer girl. I’m thinking you could use some sleep.”

“Really, your flattery skills are top-notch.”

“Come on.” He stands and stretches in the way that only lean, six-foot-three boys can, and then offers me his hand. “Let’s get the heathens in bed too.”

We all caravan upstairs, a weird, patchwork family. Austin brings the boys to their room and Emery slips into ours. I stand in the dark hallway with Lincoln. He takes my hand and leans close, so my back presses against the wooden edge of the doorframe. “Sweet dreams,” he says and grins as he leans in to kiss me.

I return the kiss, long and languid and warm.

As he breaks away, he whispers, “Okay, and maybe a little savory too.”

I give him a soft shove. My hand lingers on his chest. “You’re so weird.”

He grins and closes his hand around mine. “You love it.”





Thirteen


The next couple of weeks fly by with disconcerting speed. Dad landed back in Nebraska the day after the party. He might have noticed a couple red Solo cups in the backyard, but he didn’t say anything. He also didn’t mention my mom or the note I left for her in Santa Cruz, and since Dad likes hashing out feelings, I’m assuming it’s because he didn’t see her or the note. Aunt Jackie came home from the hospital a couple of days after that, and from there, time has melted by in a never-ending rotation of park visits, skateboarding, and games of Monopoly and Scrabble. And Lincoln. And Lincoln’s kisses—snuck behind trees at the park, in the living room late at night while everyone else is asleep, at the riverbed after jumping off the rope swing, in the dark outside his house after dinner with his family.

We haven’t talked about us, our relationship, or even called it a relationship. Sometimes, after spending a long day with Lincoln, my thoughts will flick to Eric, and I’ll wonder if he’s also found someone else. My communication with friends has stalled because every time I pick up my phone to message them, I see evidence of the memories they’re creating without me. Sometimes I think the day I left home that universe closed behind me, and everyone and everything there continued to exist as if I were never there in the first place. The thought makes my stomach twist, so I push it away.

Thinking about us with Lincoln makes my stomach twist too because I know it can’t last. I’m going back to Santa Cruz and staying there, and Lincoln is going to hike the PCT and then explore the rest of the world after college. Putting a name to what we have will only make me more aware that I won’t always have it.

I tell myself not to think about it because I see him at the park every day. And when I tug his hand, his lips press against mine. For now, that’s enough.

“Anise, your phone won’t shut up,” Emery says, entering the kitchen, where I’m eating a bowl of Cap’n Lucky Puffs. She’s started to warm up to me—barely—but freezer burn is better than frostbite. Her mood lifted when Aunt Jackie came home again, but she joins us at the skate park every day instead of going to see her friends. Much to the twins’ annoyance, Austin takes frequent skating breaks to hang out with her.

I’m still tempted to say something to Aunt Jackie, but I’m keeping a careful eye on Emery, and she seems a bit happier each day. We restarted our nightly binge of The Office routine, and she doesn’t even roll her eyes at me when I say, “Oh my god, you’re going to laugh so hard at this prank!”

“Can I have it?” I ask.

“It’s in the living room.”