“Alice, I’m sorry.”
“No. Just stay away from me.”
“Fine! Leave!” my dad responds with a gruff growl. “Go back to that house that’s burning a hole into our lives!”
“You think it’s burning a hole in our lives?”
“I told you to sell it,” my dad continues. “I told you to get rid of it and stay here.”
“I’ve been here for almost twenty years doing whatever you wanted. Following you around like some goddamn Stepford wife. I wanted to go back home, Eddie. I wanted to see my parents before they died, but I couldn’t because we always had to do what you wanted. You couldn’t give me that.”
“Then do what you want, Alice. Go back to your home.”
The silence rings inside the house again, and it isn’t just snow this time. It’s a blizzard. My parents’ angry words flurry around me like a howling wind.
So many times, I saw the end coming. The fight that became their breaking point. I always think it’s going to be the last one, but then they work through it. They talk it out. But in those moments when I think it’s over, I have this wave of relief wash over me. Like getting off a really scary rollercoaster. While on it, I feel the high of the ride. Christmas mornings, family vacations, movie nights watchingHomeward BoundorCasper. But in between those moments, the adrenaline feels too much. The fighting, the yelling, the name calling. Those drops and loops are unbearable. Then I get back on. Because my parents work through it, and the thrill of the ride starts to become appealing. I forget about all the scary parts.
The rest of our visit is filled with tense, frigid silence. I see it in the way my parents brisk past each other with a cold shoulder and how I instinctively tiptoe around the house. I spend the rest of the night in my room, picking up dirty clothes and the loose CDs scattered about in silence. The drive to the airport the next morning is just as quiet. My dad drives us, much to my surprise. He doesn’t say anything, and when we pull to the curb, he doesn’t get out of the car. He pops open the trunk from his seat and watches me lug the heavy luggage out before driving off.
My mom doesn’t react. She doesn’t huff out in anger. She doesn’t cry. Instead, she reaches for her suitcase and turns toward the airport.
When we get back home, my body moves about like it’s on autopilot. I watch my mom sit at the kitchen table, looking over a stack of mail with a blank look on her face. It seems both of our bodies have grown numb from the shock of how the new year is already starting to play out.
It starts to become almost unbearable, and I feel like I need to leave. I know I have some time before Teeny’s show, and I should at least call her to let her know I’ve made it home, but I don’t. Instead, I grab my keys and drive. I drive along the breezy coast, feeling like my feet need to keep moving. If I stay settled for too long, it’ll all catch up to me. The inevitable uprooting, the constant impermanence of my life. Anything can change in a heartbeat.
I finally stop when I pull into a parking lot on the beachfront. The one Teeny and I came to with the lifeguard tower, not realizing where the impromptu getaway would lead us. I sink into the sand, focusing on the soothing coolness, on the hazy sky painted a mural of oranges and purples and blues.
I thought when we moved to San Diego, this feeling would be more fleeting. That maybe it was more isolated to my life up north. But you can’t run from your problems. They’ll just follow you. And what if after all this, I end up back to my old life. Under the appeal of a new school, I forgot that I wouldn’t be here forever. I forgot that I’d have to say goodbye to the place that finally felt like home. I’d leave for college, and I’d miss the beach and my grandparents’ home.
And Teeny. What would I do without her? How am I supposed to go off to college for four years without her? And when I graduate, what of us then? I have no idea how to plan for a future when everything feels so unsure.
I see a couple sitting at the edge of the lifeguard tower, much like Teeny and I did. One is wearing a red lifeguard uniform while the other, a girl, dangles her feet with a large beach towel wrapped around her shoulders. They laugh at something, toss some chip crumbs at a lone seagull, and my heart twists thinking about how much I miss Teeny.
I start counting down the minutes until I see her. Until I’ll be able to hold her and kiss her. It won’t be long?—
Shit!Teeny’s show!
I dig into my pockets for my phone only to realize I’d left it at home. I rush to my car, shoving the key into the ignition to see the dash light up with the time. Four o’clock.Fuck!I was supposed to be at the gallery at two. I rush down streets, risking those yellow lights while hoping I don’t get pulled over.
When I finally pull into the parking lot of the small gallery, I spot Teeny’s dad’s car in the parking lot and exhale a sigh of relief. She’s still here. It takes a few moments, a few deep breaths before I collect myself enough to walk in without looking like a ball of anxiety. I spot Teeny right away, talking to some people, her parents standing offside sipping on some bottled water. She looks engaged in whatever conversation she’s having with a polite smile. As soon as she sees me, her smile drops.
I make it to her and wait. Wait for her to acknowledge me, to talk to me. To, hopefully, forgive me.
“Everett,” she says coolly as she finishes her conversation.
“Teeny,” I urge. “I’m so sorry. I lost track?—”
“We’ll talk later,” she says in that same distant tone I don’t like. “I have to…mingle.” She says that last word with a smirk and a hint of annoyance, even throwing a small eye roll in my direction. She doesn’t seem like she’s as mad as I thought she’d be. More like…disappointed. And it almost feels worse.
“But I’m sorry,” I say, ducking my head so only she can hear.
“I know.”
I don’t push. Instead, I stay. Somewhere she can see me, call me if she needs to, but with enough space to let her know that I’m giving her what she asked for. I see her talking to her parents, another older couple who I don’t know but seem important to her based on the way they fawn over her and gush in hushed tones. It isn’t long until the crowd dwindles down and the gallery seems to be emptying that Teeny gives me her full attention.
“My parents drove me,” she says, after she’s said her goodbyes to them. “Do you think I could get a ride home with you?”
“Sure.”
