“I’m not letting Brian fuck me over,” he says. “Because you know he’ll try.”
I can’t help but think that if I were in his shoes, he’d be saying Babe, chill.
“Your mom was really upset about you missing the trip,” I tell him while he waits for his email to refresh. He nods distractedly and I put down the cocktail menu. “Six, are you listening to me?” I demand. He glances up—alarmed, slightly irritated.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says as if I’m nagging, “my mom was upset. I’m here now. I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Suddenly my patience with him evaporates. I’m not sure why, but this trip matters to Beth and it’s as if we’re all failing her, even me. She wants to bring her family together, she wants to see her boys settle down, she wants Jim to pay attention to Six the way he does Josh, and it’s like herding cats…the harder she works, the more they seem to wander off in different directions, evading her.
“I want you to stop being a jerk,” I reply.
He meets my gaze at last. “What?”
“Six, take a look at your mother,” I tell him, and suddenly my throat is clogged. “Do you know how goddamned lucky you are? All she wants in the entire world is to spend time with you and make you happy. That’s it.”
I have to stop because I really am going to cry and I’m not entirely sure why. I’m far too old to still be hoping for that from my own mother.
His brow furrows. For a moment he reminds me of Josh and I feel the oddest burst of affection for that little trough between his brows. Except Six deserves to worry a little. As far as I can tell he hasn’t done nearly his share.
“Yeah,” he says, “I know. What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re taking her for granted,” I reply. “My point is that she planned this entire trip for you and Josh, and you missed most of it, and now you’re talking about leaving Kauai, and just once, you’ve got to put someone else first.”
He rolls his eyes and snatches up the cocktail menu. “I’m still here, aren’t I? It’s like you want to be mad at me about something.”
“No, I want you to stop even referencing the possibility of flying home for two days for this interview. Stop sitting there on your phone when she’s talking to you. She had cancer. She got through it. Give her some indication you’re glad she’s still around.”
His nostrils flare. He flags down the waitress. “You’re making me sound like an asshole.”
I rise from my chair. “I’m pretty sure you’re making yourself sound like an asshole.”
I wander down to the shore. The boulders and volcanic rock make wading out tricky and require constant watchfulness, but it gives me something to focus on other than Six and Josh and the fact that this whole trip seems to be getting increasingly screwed up as it goes on. And the most screwed up part of all is that I only want to be around the wrong Bailey son.
I’m still out in the water when I see Beth and Josh walking down the long path to the beach, with him hovering a little over her, making sure she’s okay on the steep bits. And for a moment my heart just swells.
I love everything about your face. My eyes travel over him as my mind spins quietly. I love your nose and your stern brows and your full lower lip that rarely moves into a smile. I love it more for the fact that it does move for me. And I love the way your eyes light up when you see me, even when you are otherwise perfectly still.
I love the way you take care of everyone, the way you always try to do the right thing.
Thank God you’re not even a possibility.
Josh gets his mom set up on a lounge chair and comes to where I stand in the water. His eyes brush over me and then jerk back up to my face, as if he forgot himself for a moment.
“Thought I’d better make sure you don’t need saving,” he says.
I grin. “I never need saving. I’m in fantastic shape.” His gaze darts, for a moment, to my hips and then away again. “How far did you and your mom go?”
He frowns. “We went up for about thirty minutes before she finally agreed it might be too much.” There’s a sort of sadness wrapped around him. I wish I knew how to cut through it. “It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow, so, uh, choose what you wear carefully. I’m guessing if the whole trail is like what I saw, we won’t reach the campsite ‘til dinner.”
I take a cautious step forward, trying to get past the rocks. Between the pulse of the waves and all the boulders, it feels like I could topple right over. “Were you under the impression I was going to show up in a ballgown and heels? I’m not Sloane.”
He gives a disgruntled laugh. “Glad you’re still managing to take potshots when she’s thousands of miles away. I just meant, like, don’t wear some stupid lacy thong that’ll ride up your ass the whole time.”
I look at him over my shoulder. “Spend a lot of time thinking about my panties, do you?”
He blinks, shocked and guilty. So guilty, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He schools his expression. “Fine. When you’re chafed, don’t come crying to me.”
“Did you really imagine that if I had chafing on my genitalia, I would come crying to you? Oh, Josh, can you take a look at my vagina?” I ask in a whispery baby voice. “It hurts so bad.”
“Jesus,” he grunts, plowing forward to where the water is deeper. “Forget I brought it up.”
“You don’t need to worry about my panties!” I shout after him. “I’m not planning on wearing any.”
He exhales then, and it’s not weary or disdainful. He sounds like he just got the wind knocked out of him. I hope he’s past the rocks, because he dives right in.
26
DREW
January 30th
I was nine when my mother announced she was leaving my father for Steven, her boss, who lived in New York City. She was full of promises about how much better our lives would be, but really it was her life she was concerned with.
I didn’t want to leave New Jersey, or my bedroom, or my school. Most of all, I did not want to leave my father. “I’d give anything to stop her,” he told me on my last night at home, “but there’s nothing I can do.”
My mother and Steven both had law degrees and money. They’d both been born in the US. There was no way my father could fight them. For the next two years, I heard my father say I’d give anything or I’ll do my best and it broke my heart every time. Because I believed him, and nothing ever came of it.
The very last time I heard that phrase was the night I called to tell him my mother was removing his visitation rights. “I’ll tell them I want to live with you,” I pled in whispers, praying I wouldn’t be overheard. “Talk to your lawyer.”
“I’d give anything to make that possible, Lina,” my father said. “I’ll do my best.”
I know now I should never have taken him at his word. I know now when someone says those things what they really mean is I’m not even going to try.
That’s how I know that when Six says he’s gonna do his best to come on the backpacking trip, it means he won’t be coming at all.