Riptides (Lengths) (4 page)

“What if it goes to blows?” I ask. “Remember the last time they had a little friendly competition? Deo and Ryan both walked away scuffed up. Not to mention the girls flipped out——”

Grandpa holds his hand up to silence me. “Let it go.”

I clamp my mouth shut and am fully prepared to witness some serious heat stroke and vomit when Maren pads down across the back lawn. “Cohen, babe, do you remember what passage the rabbi wanted to use in the——what the hell is going on here?”

Cohen spins around and Maren’s soft blue eyes, wide and full of fury, are trained on him. She rushes to Deo and Ryan, plants her hands on her hips, and yells, “Stop it! You two are
not
doing this again! I swear I’ll have Hattie and Whit out here so fast your heads will spin!”

Deo drops chest-down onto the dirt and Ryan follows, letting out a long groan of relief. They lie side by side, dripping with sweat and panting hard. Maren gives them a disgusted look and turns to Cohen.

“Are you kidding me? You’re standing here
watching
this?” she demands, pointing at the guys, now writhing on the ground whimpering.

“They’re big boys, honey,” Cohen says, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist. “They can take care of themselves.”

She bats his arm away and shakes her head. “Days before the wedding, Cohen. Days. What if they both had black eyes in our wedding photos? What if they got heat stroke——”

“I tried to point that out,” Grandpa says like he’s some old angel in the corner instead of the devil prodding them to keep at it.

Maren isn’t fooled for a second.

“Grandpa, really? These idiots I can understand. But you? You should have stopped this. You should have——” Maren’s voice cuts off and she throws her hands up over her face. There are a few seconds of eerie silence before her sob stutters out, bouncing her shoulders up and down, and every single one of us jumps into panicked action.

Deo and Ryan heave themselves up, clearly using every spare ounce of strength.

“Maren, doll, please don’t cry,” Deo begs, clutching his stomach and breathing deep through his nose. “You’re right. You’re totally right. It was bullshit. We’re idiots.”

“…just one day…so stressful…and I can’t…I can’t…what if it doesn’t…” Maren is crying hard, and her words are just a jumble. We look around like the band of half-wit idiots we are, not one of us able to make eye contact. Every sob, every word from Maren further solidifies what selfish dicks we’ve been.

“Maren! Mare!” Whit bursts out of the house and Deo’s eyes go wide, like he knows damn well he’s in for it. She walks toward our little group and when she sees Maren’s face, picks up her stride. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asks, running her hand over Maren’s dark curls.

I couldn’t catch more than a word or two here and there, but Whit bends her head to Maren’s face and listens hard, her forehead wrinkled. She nods, hugs Maren tighter, and then, when Maren goes quiet, leads her back into the house.

“Oh shit,” Deo says, the burn of Whit’s flaming eyes still smoldering on his skin, I’m sure.

We all wait in choked silence until Whit comes flying back out a few minutes later, looking twice as pissed as she did before, Hattie and Genevieve hot on her heels. Rage radiates in waves off the three of them. I back away as Deo, Ryan, and Adam get scolded and shamed. The girls are like furies, fingers pointed, voices raised to a primal screech, fisted hands on hips, feet spread wide. I back away, one step at a time, but Cece and Lydia corner me before I can make my escape.

“What the hell, Enzo?” Cece asks. “Maren is in there having a nervous breakdown. What did our asshole brother do now?” She looks at the girls, practically glowing from their rage, and turns her head to one side. “Damn. I wish I was a photographer. It’s like watching a volcano explode.”

“Ryan and Deo got into it over bocce ball. One thing led to another, and they were in a push-up competition.” Damn, it sounds so freaking stupid, but stupid or not, this wedding is driving this group of women to crazy places I can’t even hope or want to understand. “They wouldn’t stop, and they were in pretty bad shape by the time Maren got out here.”

Lydia snorts and rolls her eyes. “This is exactly why I can’t date guys my age. A woman needs to be with a man at
least
ten years older than she is just to have a chance at leveling the playing field when it comes to maturity.”

“So says the woman who’s forty-something boyfriend threw a hissy fit and smashed his douchey Ray Bans because his BMW got a scratch on the bumper,” Cece murmurs to me.

I try to cover up my laugh by taking a sip of my beer. “Look, it’s none of my business, but I think Maren freaked out. I get it. It’s her big day. But, c’mon. They were just messing around.” I can tell by the way Cece and Lydia stare over my shoulder that I’m in deep shit.

I turn and see Cohen, his face purple, his fists clenched. “You don’t fucking get it, man!” He gets in my face, and I know this is about way more than what I just said, but I let him have it out. “Maren’s happiness means everything to me! Everything. And I would take a knife in the gut before I’d see her upset for a second. I should have stopped them. I should have been thinking about her.”

“You are, man. You always are,” I assure him. My brother’s scowl falls, and he’s instantly left looking tired and beat-down. “I’ve never seen two people take care of each other the way you and Maren do. She knows that. It’s just that it’s real stressful right now.”

Cohen seems to calm down. He rubs the back of his neck.

“Listen to Enzo,” Lydia says in that matter-of-fact big sister voice that sets us all on edge. Especially because she’s usually right. “Maren needs you to go inside and calm her down. Do what it takes.” She raises an eyebrow when he stares on her. “Well? Go. Now. Don’t let this spiral out of control even more.” She shoos him to the house and Cece and I grin at her. “What?”

“Sometimes you being the bossiest person alive is actually a really good thing.
That’s all,” I say and wink at Cece.

“Agreed.” Cece glances down at her watch. “Shit. I left taco shells in the oven. I have to go check on them.”

She runs back to the house and Lydia and I watch the scene below. Adam, Deo, Grandpa, and Ryan all hang their heads, but the girls look like they’re done with their tirade.

“Times like these must make you happy you’re single,” Lydia observes.

“Who says I am?” I take another pull of the warmed dredges of my beer and watch Lydia grab two fresh cold ones. She hands one to me.

“Spill?” She cracks hers open and gulps it down. It makes me laugh, since she’s usually sipping all dainty on some snooty glass of wine that costs what I make in a month.

“You guys will meet her soon,” I promise, liking that I have a little bit of a mystery tucked away for all of them.

“Ugh. Sunday dinner? Enzo, remember what happened when Cohen brought Maren to Sunday dinner for introductions? Nana kept pinching her and telling her what nice birthing hips she had.”

We both chuckle at the memory. “Nah. Not Sunday dinner. The wedding.”

Lydia’s eyebrows crash down over her eyes. “The wedding? You’re going to introduce us all to your new girl at the wedding? You realize that this craziness is only going to get more intense the closer we get to the big day. You sure your girl can handle it?”

“Oh, I’m sure.” I can’t help the stupid grin that spreads over my whole face. “This girl——she isn’t like anyone I’ve ever been with before. There’s something about her that…you’ll see. You’ll like her.”

Lydia’s purposefully bland face lets me know that she doubts it. “Really? You thought I’d like the exotic dancer too.”

“Hey. You and Cece are always going on and on about women’s lib and all that, and here you are, judging my ex based on her profession.” I tsk my tongue and drink long and hard enough to get a nice cool buzz going.

“Wrong. I’m just identifying her based on her profession because, frankly, that was the most interesting thing about her. She was barely literate and had zero opinions that made any sense. Talking to her was
painful
. And, trust me, I’m not blaming her profession for that. A good chunk of my graduating class put themselves through law school stripping, and they weren’t idiots.” Lydia glanced down into her beer with this contemplative look. “I’m glad you want us all to meet her. I’m excited for you.”

“You pulling my leg?” I ask, but Lydia shakes her head.

“No. I’m serious. You deserve someone you’re proud of. Someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved. Don’t ever stick around with anyone who puts you on the backburner, okay?” It’s weird as hell hearing my fearless sister get all soft and gooey, and I don’t like it. For many reasons.

But the reason that sticks out most is balding with the beginning of a potbelly and a way of snapping at Lydia that never sat well with me. I guess I always just assumed she could handle herself——handle anything. That’s who she is. Now I wonder how much is a put-on for all of us.

“You need me to go toe-to-toe with your old-ass boyfriend? Don’t think I won’t fight him because he’s elderly. I have no morals when it comes to defending my family’s honor.” 

I half-expect her to snap at me and march back into the house, but she just gives me a sad smile. “Trust me. Richard isn’t worth your time or energy. And I’m just fine. I have my eyes wide open, Enzo. Some people get true love with all the bells and whistles. Some people get security and companionship. That’s enough for me.” She drowns the rest of her beer in a few desperate gulps and glances back at the house. “I’d better go help mom.”

She squeezes my arm, and I’m shocked to realize how small and frail my big, bad sister’s hand is. When did she stop being the annoying older sister who could trap me in a headlock and drag me around the house while she found Mom so she could tattle?

I think about what she said, about true love versus security, and I say a low prayer of thanks that I got a chance at both. I say a follow-up prayer that I don’t somehow fuck it all up.

SIX

Jess is snuggled in my arms, my freshly washed sheets tangled around our legs. I guess I’ll need to wash them again, but I know I’m not gonna want to lose the scent of her.

“Mmm,” she sighs, inching closer. “That was——”

“Amazing? Mind-blowing? Out of control?” I supply.

She tilts her delicate face up and a smile spreads across those plush lips. The same ones that were doing some very naughty things to me mere minutes ago. “Pretty good,” she says as she stretches.

“Pretty good? Pretty good, huh?” I run my fingers over her exposed ribs, and she buckles over, laughing hard.

“Stop!” she squeals, then glances at the gold watch that’s always secured around her wrist.

“A watch?” I frown, tugging at her arm. “Don’t you have a phone? What do you need this for?”

“Are you hating on my watch?” she asks, a giggle erupting from her lips. I duck my head down and catch her mouth, pressing my lips to hers until that giggle turns into a moan.

Just when I’m sure she’s going to let me do everything my perverted mind has been imagining, she pulls back and checks the watch again. This time her moan turns to a frustrated groan.

At least she sounds honestly frustrated. That makes me feel good. And gives me incentive to try harder to keep her in bed. My hand slides under the crumpled folds of the sheet, and my fingers brush over her warm skin.

“Enzo, I really have to go. I do. I’m late already, and I have a delivery——”

“Who even wears a watch anymore?” I ask, grabbing her hands and holding her arms locked over her head. “All it’s doing is causing us trouble. I need to remember to hide it next time you come by.”

Her eyes startle wide. “No.” The word cuts out sharp and fast. “I mean, it’s special.”

I let her arms go and we both look at the watch, which is pretty ordinary looking to me. She runs her fingers over the bubbled glass face lovingly. “It was my grandmother’s. She left it to my mother when she passed. And my mother gave it to me before she…” She swallows hard and tears shimmer at the corners of her eyes. “Damn, I’m sorry. It makes me emotional. Stupid. It’s been years.”

“Your mother passed?” I ask, curling her into my arms. My heart breaks watching her face shadow with a sadness that I thank God I haven’t had to experience yet. I wish I could pull the pain out of Jess’s body and hold it myself. It kills me to think of her hurting.

She nods and brushes her dark hair, damp with the tears she couldn’t hold in, back from her cheeks. “I was in eleventh grade. My father had been out of the picture for years.” She shrugs, and I run my hands up and down the delicate bumps of her spine. “It was just…it was a really lost time in my life. Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly found my way after.”

“I’m sorry I never got to meet your mother, but I can tell you that she’d be proud as hell of who you’ve become.”

She looks up at me, her face stricken, and tries to sit up so fast, she bumps her head on the headboard. The sheet slithers down off her body and leaves her gorgeous tits exposed. I grab her close, rubbing her head, glad as hell I get to call this perfect woman mine.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, Jess. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I get that it must be hard for you. I get that.” I press her hair aside, looking for a bump, but it seems okay to me. I kiss it anyway, taking a deep breath of that clean green apple scent.

She shakes against me and whispers, “Sometimes I don’t think she’d be very proud of the way I’ve lived my life at all.”

I feel a sting in my throat. “What? What are you talking about? I was impressed with the fact that you had a PoliSci degree before I knew you did it all on your own. If you think for a second your mother would be upset that you gave a career up to open a bakery, you’re completely wrong. Also, even if she
was
pissed at first, one bite of your death by chocolate cupcake, and she’d be totally convinced you were born to bake.” I smile at her, and her face crumples.

“Thank you, Enzo,” she says, her voice shaking and her eyes focused on her trembling hands. “I’ve never met anyone who believed in me the way you do.”

“Then you’ve been around some crazy assholes your whole life, babe,” I tell her. “There’s nothing about you that doesn’t amaze me.”

“I have to tell you something,” she says. She licks her lips and nods, like she’s telling herself that she has to go through with this. I sit quietly. “I had a boyfriend in high school. I dated him the year before Mom died, and his family pretty much took me in after. They were
so
wonderful. They really treated me like one of their own. And they just kind of assumed he and I would be together for the long haul, you know?” She takes a deep breath, and I nod, waiting for her to go on.

But I think I can see where this is going. She’s going to trust me to share the weight of one more loss. Tell me how she didn’t just lose her mother, but this second family. I wonder what happened when high school ended and she and the guy eventually broke it off? I remember being torn up when Lydia and her
long-term high school boyfriend, Jarvis, broke up. He taught me how to skateboard. Bought me my first BMX bike. Slipped me my first
Playboy
after my bar mitzvah. I loved that guy like a brother. I think I cried more than Lydia when things went south between them.

“So when he joined the service, I just——” Her phone rings, and we both jump. She grabs it off the side table by the bed and bites her lip. “Shit. I’ll be, like, one second, okay? Wait for me?”

“Of course.” I get out of bed and love the way her eyes follow me around the room as I pull on boxer briefs and a beat-up pair of jeans.

The fact that her eyes are practically undressing me where I stand lets me know she’ll be ready to go again once she’s off the phone. I brew some coffee for her, because my girl’s gonna need a shot of caffeine to keep up with what I have planned for us.

To say I’m disappointed when she rushes from my room, fully dressed, is a massive understatement. But I curb my feelings and turn to the cabinet and find a travel mug, dump her coffee——black, two sugars——in and hold it out to her. I’m not about to give her shit. If she needs to go, I’ll be happy to wait for her to get back.

“Enzo, it’s a customer. I’m almost late for a delivery and she’ll have my head if I screw this up,” she explains as she takes the cup and comes up on her toes to kiss my cheek. “Thank you so much. I don’t want to go——”

“Forget it,” I interrupt. “If I hadn’t asked you to make the cake for Cohen and Maren, you wouldn’t be this backed up. So it’s my fault. It’s all good. You can tie me to the bed and make me pay for it later.”

She nuzzles her nose into my neck and laughs. “That sounds perfect.” She steps back, her brows furrowed. “But, seriously, Enzo, we need to talk. I need to finish telling you…everything. It’s so important. And I really should have told you sooner. I feel so stupid for not telling you sooner.”

I gather her into my arms and kiss her softly. “No rush, doll. We have all the time in the world. Whatever you need. Whenever you’re ready, I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you, Jess.”

She deepens the kiss, then rips her mouth away and flees out of my apartment like she’s got the devil at her heels. I sip my coffee in my silent kitchen as the echo of the slamming front door reverberates through me, unable to shrug off this persistent doubt that twists low and hard in my gut.

I can’t put my finger on what it is or is about, so I finally just stop trying.

***

My mother has called a mandatory Rodriguez family meeting. I’ve got a few hours to kill while Jess is at the bakery, so I head over. At the very least my family is good lowbrow side entertainment: like a poorly funded, semi-pathetic travelling circus. Mom’s pretending her little meeting has something to do with the wedding and what we all have to do to pull it off without a hitch. I think the real reason is because she’s going into nervous breakdown mode over Cohen getting married and “leaving” her and my father for good.

Lydia was supposed to get the stellar career and become a respected pillar of the community.

Cece was going to bury her nose in books forever and will probably still be racking up degrees when our grandkids were ready for college.

I think my parents expect me to join a rodeo or start dealing blackjack at a seedy casino…something unreliable with a tang of shamefulness.

Genie was always our wildcard: the fact that she got married to an immigrant to help him secure a green card and then fell madly in love with him doesn’t surprise me at all. Just like it wouldn’t have surprised me if she chose a different ridiculous movie plot to base her life around: falling for a guy she heard on some crazy radio dating show and met up with on the top of the Empire State Building, saving some guy from getting run over by a train and then pretending to be his fiancée while he wallowed in a coma, or maybe celebrating her first awesome promotion by having unprotected sex with a loser nerd she decided to stick with once she had their baby.

The bottom line is, Genie was going to shock us all, no questions.

But Cohen? It’s always been my brother whose shoulders were piled high with all the ancestral Rodriguez stress.

Dad had been taking him to work since he could toddle, no matter what other cool shit was going on in the neighborhood. Cohen missed many a sweet swell or a long, pointless summer bike ride so he could help unload side tables or inventory massive, dusty rolls of rugs.

I, on the other hand, just had to adjust my whine to a high enough pitch to send a shiver up and down my father’s spine. My whining worked like an epic symphony of nails on a chalkboard, and my father would yank Cohen out the door by the arm, telling my mother I was
perezoso
.

Since laziness is still the cardinal sin in the Rodriguez household, that word was more chilling than a whole string of crazy Spanglish expletives.

Long hours of doing whatever the hell I wanted without my father double-checking tally-marks over my shoulder or forcing me to unload delivery trucks in the stifling furniture store warehouse gave me a decent reason to grow a tough skin. I let his remarks roll off my back, and the only thing I regret is that Cohen still bears the brunt of the family’s wacked out expectations.

“It’s just that you and Maren got the LA store in working order. I know your new firm appreciates having the Rodriguez accounts. That was no small thing, Cohen. No small feat. Why would you give up now, right at the height of your game?” He bangs his soup spoon on the table like a gavel.

Mom frowns and clucks her tongue at him as she puts wine glasses out and hurries back to the kitchen. Lydia sighs.

“Papi, it’s not like the furniture business has a peak. People will always need bedroom sets. Cohen can do this when he’s an old, old man. Plus that, Cohen’s accounting firm is amazing. Someone else will take over, so it’s not like you’re going to be left high and dry.” Lydia glances at Cohen with so much pity, it’s clear she can actually picture him still working there as a graying, bitter version of our father.

“I agree with Lydia,” our mother chimes in, setting a massive pot of soup in the center of the table. Cece comes behind her with the bread bowls, and I jump up and get the wine. Holy shit, we’re gonna need the wine.

Plus the mezcal my father keeps locked in his study for especially shitty bunk bed sales quarters or whatever.

“Dinah, how can you even say that?” Dad’s moustache quivers with derision. “You know how long I had to work, how many hours I had to put in to keep things competitive. Why slow down now? Why let some outsider, some
forastero
, take things over? I don’t like it. Not at all.”

Cohen glances over his shoulder at the front door and sighs. Maren is doing something crazy with her veil or her shoes and dye or who knows what, so she’ll be late to this charming little soiree. I’m sure my brother wants this particular portion of the family entertainment over with before she gets back and has to squirm through every word.

Or, worse yet, has to look back and forth, totally lost, as my parents switch languages and jabber in Spanish while Cohen glowers, way too irritated to translate.

“I appreciate all the work you put into the place, Dad. I really do. And I was glad that I could keep working with you even while I did my own thing. It was a good transition. One of the things that makes you a great businessman is that you’re always looking forward.” Cohen takes a deep breath and eyes the wine I uncorked with a desperate glance. “And that’s what going back to diversify my degree is all about. I’ve explained that to you over and over. I’ll be making new connections. Getting things going from a perspective we never thought about before. And this move is what needs to happen if Maren is going to get the licensing she needs to do speech pathology.”

“
El casado quiere casa, y costal para la plaza
,” Mom says, tucking a strand of hair back in her bun. “They need to make their own decisions now that they’ll be married. Remember how it was when we were young,
mi amor.
Cohen and Maren need to make their own way.” She takes a deep breath and folds her hands together hard, like she’s trying so damn hard to accept it.

“
La sangre pesa mas que el agua
,”
Dad mumbles into his——beef only——
albondigas
soup.