Lengths (8 page)

“You don’t happen to have any you’d like to share, do you?” I make a kissy face at her and she tries to hide her smile by shaking her head.

She tugs out a little chip hanging on a cord from under her yellow sundress. “Deo, you know I’m sober now. Six months in a week.”

I lay back on my pillow and sigh. “When did we all get so fucking mature and boring?”

“Not
we
,” she corrects. “
I
got mature and grew up. You’re still a little boy who wants to get high and surf and do nothing with your life.” There isn’t a single ounce of malice in her words. Cara is like a surf-bunny Buddha. I irritate her sometimes, but she kind of respects that I do my thing.

Unless my thing is begging her to come over and then being a whiny little bitch who wants to be entertained.

“I don’t do nothing.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “Actually, there’s something we could do right now. C’mon, Sunshine. Nothing lifts the mood like an orgasm.”

She twists the cap back on the nailpolish and looks at me closely. “I don’t sleep with broken-hearted guys. It’s too pathetic.”

“I’m not broken-hearted,” I insist. “I’m just in a slump. Which I’d have such an easier time getting out of if you’d take off that dress. I feel like I have to wear sunglasses when I look at it.”

“Wow, you’re so charming, how could I even consider saying no?” she asks dryly. “Look, we’ve been buds forever, Deo, and I treasure that. And when we were more than buds? That was also awesome. But times are changing. We’re growing up. Well, some of us are.” She puts her hands up to her face. I look at her with confusion. She picks up the bottle of nailpolish and holds it like she’s on a cheesy advertisement poster. I wrinkle my forehead. “Deo! You noticed the color of my dress, but not
this
?”

I sit up against the headboard and look at her hands. Among the silver sparkling rings is a particular one with a deep green gemstone on her all-important left ring finger. “Uh, is that supposed to be an engagement ring?”

She throws her hands in the air. “It
is
an engagement ring. I didn’t want a blood diamond, so we opted for a fair trade stone.” She looks down at it, her face droopy with disappointment, and I feel like a huge jerk-off.

“Hey, it’s really nice,” I say. She doesn’t look up. “Sunshine?” She glances at me. “Seriously. It’s beautiful. And I’m happy for you. I’m happy you’re sober, I’m happy the pottery thing is taking off, and I’m happy for the lucky bastard who conned you into marrying him. Tell that fucking punk I’ll beat his face in if he doesn’t treat you right.”

She falls onto me, her warm, sun-dried sheet smell surrounding me as she hugs tight. “Thank you. So much. I wanted to tell you a hundred times, but I thought you might be upset.” She pulls back and looks at me, those blue eyes shiny with tears.

I snort. “Upset? Me? I love you, kid. I want to see you happy. If this fair-trade-ring-buying douchehole makes you happy, you have my blessing. C’mon, you know all that.”

She twists the ring on her finger. “I really am happy, Deo. And I wish…” She looks up and licks her lips. “I wish you could find someone for yourself. I know what we had was just fun. But I really think you’re amazing. And I know the right person is out there for you. Somewhere. I know she’s going to make you so happy. Maybe it’s this girl, right now.”

I chuckle and take her small freckled hands in mine. “You’re sweet, babe. But this girl? She’s not…this girl isn’t the one for me. We’re, like, from two different worlds, you know? She’s got complications I’m not about to get involved in.”

She raises her light eyebrows high.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” A knowing smile quirks on the side of her mouth.

“What?” I demand again.

“Nothing! It’s just that you always take the easy way out, Deo. I mean, I know you never really thought you and I would get serious, but you’ve been calling me for, what, two years for booty calls? And you had to have had fifty girls you were interested in all that time. It was always the same damn thing. One, two, maybe three dates, then things were ‘too complicated.’ I think it’s code.” She flicks her hair again like a damn know-it-all.

“Code for what?” I tuck my arms behind my head and look at my old friend and former fuck-buddy, the now-engaged Cara. Unreal.

“Code for ‘maybe I like this girl.’ Code for ‘things are getting real, so maybe I’ll pull back like an enormous pussy.’” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Ooh, did you just pull out the ‘p’ word? Your feminist teachers would blow a gasket,” I say to dodge the point she’s trying to make, but that I don’t want to hear.

“Desperate times call for desperate language,” she sighs. “Look, I know you better than a lot of people. And I care about you. I really do. I’ve never seen you mourn a girl this long. Maybe it’s a sign.”

“A sign?” I watch her gather her little embroidered bag and slide into her sandals.

“A sign that times are changing, Deo. And maybe it’s time for you to grow up and face those changes.” She leans over and brushes my hair back, kissing me on the forehead. I inhale and drink in her clean, sweet smell. “I want happiness for you.”

I grab her hand and kiss her knuckles. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy, Sunshine. See you around?”

“Of course.” She pauses at the doorway. “Can I send you an invite to the wedding? I don’t want it to be weird for you, but it breaks my heart to think of doing this without you there.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I say, and I drink in her bright smile before she darts out the door.

Cara is getting married. She’s actually getting married.

It wasn’t all that long ago she and I met at the skatepark, when she was just a scraped-kneed tomboy with moves every one of us guys secretly lusted after. And when she grew into those long legs and big blue eyes, I was right there to snatch her up and into my bed. It was always just fun and easiness with Cara, the sweet, sunny kid who never wanted anything more than friendship and sex. So why is her engagement shaking my world?

I pace out to the living-room and see my grandfather with a line of beer cans on the table next to him, watching a John Wayne marathon.

“What’s up, old man?” I ask, falling onto the couch.

“That pretty redhead left in a hurry. You two on the outs?” my grandpa asks, watching the Duke draw his gun and try to talk the shaky-handed bad guy out of a duel that would definitely end with the big man’s victory over his puny nemesis.

“Sunshine is getting married,” I say blandly.

My grandpa nods his tanned, wrinkled head. “Well, that’s what happens. You regret that it wasn’t you that scooped her up?”

I crack a pistachio from the bowl he always keeps by his armchair and throw it in my mouth. “Nah. I mean, she’s amazing, but it was always just friendship between us, you know? It’s just fucking with my mind that she’s engaged.”

“That’s the circle of life, kid. I was a piece-of-shit layabout before I met your grandmother. Goddamn, that woman was a sexy piece of ass,” he says, while his eyes get this faraway look.

“Ugh, c’mon! I know you loved her, er, in every way. But seriously? She was my grandma, dude.” I glance up at the pictures in their old wooden frames on top of his enormous TV. Gross as it might be for me to say it, my grandma was one hell of a knockout. And when she died, it gutted my grandfather for a few long, scary months. Which is a huge part of the reason I moved in and never left. “So, how did you know?” I ask.

“Know what?” His old, gnarled hands scoop up a bunch of pistachios, spread them on the worn arm of his recliner, and he starts cracking and eating.

“How did you know Gram was the one? How did you know you guys would be together for sixty years?” It shocked me right up to the end, how much my grandparents loved each other. You’d think my dad, growing up in a house with the two of them, would have had the whole happily-ever-after business down.

Grandpa laughs and cracks another pistachio. “She was a ball-breaker, and that’s how I knew. I was a good lookin’ kid. A lot like you. I had ‘em fallin’ at my feet, running after me and beggin’ me to come keep them company in bed. Not your grandma.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Holy shit, that woman had me confused. One date I’d think it was forever. The next time we were together, I was pretty sure one of us was going to get arrested for homicide. But, in the end, she was worth all that work. No one before me ever bothered to chip through and see what was really in her heart. And her heart…” His eyes go glassy with tears, and I look right at the pistachio shells in the bowl like I’ve never seen anything so fucking interesting in my life. “You know how much I loved that woman’s tits and ass, Deo. But her heart? My God, I’ve never met someone who felt every damn thing with so much passion. I thank God every single day that I got to have a woman like that in my life. One in a hundred million, your grandmother.”

There’s nothing I can say to him. I’m all embarrassingly choked up, because it’s the fucking most amazing shit I’ve ever heard in my life, and I want it. What they had, I want that. I want it as much as I never, ever want what my parents have.

After a few minutes of watching John Wayne blow the bad guys away, My grandpa adds, “What the fuck are you still doing here? Your mom thinks you’re going to that awful dinner she’s cooking. Probably all rabbit food and shit.”

“I’m not really in the mood,” I say, settling back in my recliner.

“Fuck what you’re in the mood for. When my mother invited me to dinner, I went to fucking dinner. I feel for you, cause your mother cooks some weird shit, but you get up and go. That woman suffers enough being hooked up with my piece-of-shit son.” My grandpa chucks a few pistachio shells at me.

The guilt gets under my skin and spurs me to action. “Alright, alright. Stop with the violence, old man.” I get up and stalk to my room. It’s fruity as hell, but my mom likes when I dress up for this crap. I pull on a semi-clean, only partially wrinkled button-down and shorts that are stain and rip free. I head to the bathroom and take note that I should shave my scruff, but don’t bother. My hair is messed up as hell from salt water and grease, but I don’t worry about it much. I know hipsters who’d sell their manpurses to get the look from their expensive-ass hair products that I’m naturally able to rock.

I look good enough for Rocko and Mom, that’s sure as shit.

I consider trying to see if I can score some weed before I get to my mother’s, but after hanging with Cara, it makes me feel like a scumbag, so I say goodbye to my grandpa and just drive straight there. I hope my mom’s got some good booze, cause the fruity wine she loves isn’t gonna cut it tonight.

I come to her little cottage, which looks like it puked up an acre of herbs, a couple thousand little windchimes, and tons of hummingbird feeders. I duck under all the crap and walk in, following the trippy world music to the back patio, where I can see the flames from her firepit already licking high.

I sneak up on her and throw my arms around her waist. “Hey, Mom. Whatcha make me for dinner?”

She whirls around, and instead of the happy smile that’s kind of my birthright as her only kid, I get a shocked sputter. “Deo! You’re here.” Her eyes dart back and forth.

“Gee, Mom. It’s awesome to see you, too. You could at least pretend to be happy I dragged my ass over here.” Maybe she actually wanted a sexy-time one-on-one thing with Rocko. I should have ignored my grandpa. Goddamn that old fucking codger and his romantic stories and guilt plays.

And then I hear a laugh I know so well, it rips all the air out of my lungs.

“Whit is here?” It’s not a real fucking question. Of course she’s here; I can hear her laugh. The real question is,
why
is she here?

“I didn’t think you were coming, honey,” my mom rasps in a low whisper. All of her silver bracelets clank up and down her arms as she throws them up. “Why do you never return my calls?”

“Sorry,” I hiss. “I had no idea I needed to RSVP to dinner at my mom’s house.”

Before our little conversation can turn into a full-fledged double-sided tantrum, Rocko comes from the herb garden  on the side of the house with a huge handful of tarragon.

“We got it, babe! You had a bumper crop this year. This risotto is going to kick…Deo! Deo. I had no idea you’d be here.” He and my mother exchange a panicked look and Whit, unaware of the drama, comes running down the path.

“I have the mint! Do you mind if I take some home? It’s my favorite…Deo!” She stops short and clutches the mint to her chest.

She looks so fucking beautiful, my heart definitely stops for a few dangerous seconds. It’s not the pinup look from that night at the tattoo parlor. It’s more like her laid-back beach vibe, but amped up. She has on this tiny dress, the same color blue as the ocean on a clear day. It’s short and soft and makes her look like she’s all long, tanned legs and smooth arms. Her dark hair shines and there’s a thick red headband in it, which makes her look kind of young and incredibly sexy all at once.

“I, um, I was just here to drop off some…stuff. For mom. I wasn’t staying,” I stumble.

Mom looks like she wants to protest, but Rocko puts a hand on her arm.

“Yeah, so, nice seeing you guys. Bye.” I give a nonchalant wave and turn on my heel, shocked by how my traitor wuss body is going fucking nuts over seeing her again. What the hell is wrong with me?

I’m all the way out to my Jeep when Whit’s voice calls my name. “Deo! Wait!”

I stop, turn, and stick my hands deep in my pockets to keep from grabbing her and dragging her to my Jeep, shoving that sweet little blue dress off her body and showing her exactly how much I missed her confusing, stubborn, stupid, sexy ass.

“Sorry, Whit. I didn’t mean to crash the party. I honestly thought it was just my mom and Rocko here. I didn’t even want to come. My grandpa made me feel guilty.” I’m rambling. I’m stealing time so I can look at her, be near her for a few more seconds before I go through another period of who-knows-how-long missing her like hell.

“It’s okay. Really. I, uh, was going to call you. I mean, I wanted to, but I couldn’t.” She tugs that bottom lip in and nibbles.