"There's more to life than chasing ghosts,
But then hindsight's 20/20."
- "The Beach is For Lovers (Not Lonely Losers)," Neck Deep (2015)
Jordan
"Will you relax?" I grumble to Alex as we climb the steps of the Bennetts' porch. "You're Alejandro Molina; everyone loves you."
He looks as if he's on the verge of throwing up—has been ever since we arrived in Lily's new hometown. I, on the other hand, have taken the time to soak in Pismo Beach.
With mountains to the east and the ocean to the west, it's a charming place—right up Lily's alley. She lives on a street of big, nearly identical houses that face away from the bluffs and ocean directly behind them.
It wasn't hard to find the Bennetts' place, even without their house number or Google Maps. Like their neighbors' houses, it's a two-story Mediterranean with white brick, a brown roof, and big, curved windows. But their lawn is a little greener, their flowers are a little brighter, and every aspect of their exterior is unmistakably cozy.
"Wow..." Alex's eyes take in the lavish suburb that surrounds us, obviously noticing how large the houses are now that we're out of the car. "I know Lily's parents are lawyers, but...I keep forgetting that she's..."
He trails off, so I finish his sentence with something that I know will creep him out.
"One of us?"
"...One of us..."
He echoes me with an expression of faint realization, but we're interrupted before the implication can sink in like I intended it to.
"What are you two knuckleheads doing here so early? We don't eat until five."
The words sound like Lily's, but the voice coming through the digital doorbell isn't hers. I won't lie and pretend that I haven't imagined meeting Joseph Bennett again, but this definitely isn't how I pictured our reunion starting.
Alex's eyes almost buck out of his head, and, even though I'm a little startled as well, I cross my arms, look into the camera, and respond for the both of us.
"Early is on time, on time is late."
That's his motto, after all. He doesn't say anything in response, and, after a few seconds pass, the polished wood door swings open. The figure standing there is characteristically tall, somehow managing to be an intimidating presence while wearing a "Daddio of the Patio" apron. Copper brown hair, a matching beard, tan skin, freckles, and crow's feet in the corner of blue eyes—that's Joseph Bennett for sure.
He closes his eyes for a moment, obviously recognizing who we are, but I know Lily has briefed him to keep our past under wraps. I lift my eyebrows at him in the moment of silence that follows, and Alex is the one to break it.
"Hi, Mr. Bennett." He holds out his hand for him to shake. "I'm Alejan—"
"I know who you are," Joseph interrupts, running a hand down his face. Alex freezes in response, but Joseph's eyes were on me when he delivered that line.
"O-oh."
Alex draws his hand back, wounded, and Joseph glances at the bottle in my arm.
"What kind of champagne is that?"
"Dom," I answer instantly, lifting it but not bothering with the details of how I got my hands on it. It's his favorite, and we both know that, but he refuses to let that show. Slowly, he retreats from his protective stance in the door, adjusts his apron, and allows us entry into the foyer.
"...Come in."
I go first, carelessly handing Joseph the champagne, while Alex slinks behind me with wide eyes. We enter the living room and are greeted with blue walls, cozy ocean decor, and the smell of a million different dishes cooking at once from the nearby kitchen. I know I'm entering enemy territory, but I'm not scared. I'm here as an invader, not a prisoner. They know that.
Joseph leads us further into the living room, where the kitchen is to our right. Mrs. Bennett is in front of the stove, and, when she catches sight of us, her spoon nearly leaps out of her hand. Joseph exhales to show solidarity before gesturing to Alex and I like we're game show prizes.
"Lisa, these are Lily's...friends."
"...Right," she answers flatly, and I suddenly wonder how much Lily had to bother them before they quit shooting down the idea of us being here. But Lisa has more grace with the beautiful and charming Alex here by my side, stopping her work to cross the kitchen and greet us.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Mrs. Bennett. Your home is gorgeous—I see why Lily likes being here so much."
Alex presents her with the bouquet he spent hours panicking over—a seasonal arrangement with yellow chrysanthemums, orange asters, and maroon roses. She looks genuinely pleased as she takes it, and I know he's already won her over less than ten words into their first conversation.
"Every time I hear 'Mrs. Bennett,' I get war flashbacks to my mother-in-law." She shifts the bouquet to the crook of her elbow, shaking his hand with an amused smile. "Call me Mom or Lisa—I don't care which."
Her eyes turn to me hesitantly, and, if her skin wasn't dark brown, I'm sure she'd be paling a little. We haven't been adversaries forever—things between us didn't take a turn for the worse until I hit high school. And before that, she was my Mom. Not Lauren Dawson.
But so many things ruined so many parts of our relationship, and I doubt we'll ever get it back.
"...Happy Thanksgiving," she says, gaze avoiding mine as she shakes my hand.
Her words are so hollow, so clearly unrepresentative of what she's thinking, that even Alex notices. He glances between us for a moment, clearly confused, before he finally pipes up to break the tension.
"How can I help?"
"Oh—I actually...wasn't expecting you to ask that." Lisa snaps out of it, looking up at us in the same way that Lily has to. "Well...you got here really early, and family hasn't even showed up, so...there's a lot."
She takes him by the shoulder, leading him into the kitchen, and he mouths a few choice words at me over his shoulder as he goes.
I ignore him, putting my hands behind my back and going back into the living room. I have no desire to touch a kitchen appliance or utensil in my time on Earth, but Alex prides himself on being a man of the present rather than the past. He was raised by his mother, who socialized him with a unique mixture of femininity and masculinity in every aspect of his personality. As a result, he's never cared about any kind of gender roles; it's probably why Lily likes him so much.
Where is Lily, anyway?
I sit on a white couch amongst various blue pillows, looking out of the windows at the rose bushes in the back yard and the beach behind them. An orange and white cat is curled up on the coffee table, but it decides to interrupt its rest and hiss at me.
"Sid, be nice," Lily groans like an exasperated parent behind me, and, when I turn around, I realize that she was setting the table in the dining room the whole time.
She hugs me when I stand to greet her, then pulling away with a face of slight confusion.
"Wait...I hear Alex, but—where's Asher?"
I frown at the question, not catching her drift. As far as I'm aware, she barely knows Asher and talks to him even less, so why is he even on her mind? This better not be going where I think it's going.
"What the hell do you mean 'where's Asher'?" I say carefully, not wanting to let my undercurrent of suspicion show.
"I ran into him while I was hiking last week; he told me that he wasn't flying home for the break." She doesn't pick up on my hostility, words calming me a little. "I just thought that you would bring him. I know you don't live really together any more, but you can't just...leave him there alone. Not on Thanksgiving."
"Oh," I sigh in relief, no longer having to force the neutral expression on my face. "No, I didn't leave him there. I just flew him home instead."
"You what?" she answers instantly, eyebrows lowering in disbelief, and I shrug.
"I bought him a plane ticket to Minnesota and threatened to kick his ass if he didn't take it. He's at home now."
"Wow." Lily steps back, puckering her lips and shifting them to the side. "That was...uncharacteristically nice of you."
"Don't start with me," I butt in, before she can make this something it's not. "I just didn't want him bored and bothering me through the whole break."
"Whatever you say," she half-sings, shifting her weight from foot to foot in a cute little dance of happiness. "I like Ash. And I think you two could be friends if you weren't so mean to him—he even looks like you."
"Another white man with brown hair and blue eyes? How rare." I turn up my sarcasm, dismissing her last assertion even though its validity secretly creeps me out as well. "Maybe we can start a club for people like us. The invitation list would be really small, though...only your father. Oh wait—and mine. And his father, and his father's father—"
"Oh, shut up," she snaps, lifting her eyes to me again. "I'm assuming Alex is in the kitchen, right?"
"Of course."
"Well...I better get in there before he burns something down trying to be helpful." She smiles fondly, shaking her head and turning over her shoulder. "Also...my dad wants to see you."
I look after her for an explanation, but she's already walking away with Sid on her heels.
Two and a half years later, here we are again.
Once I finally open the sliding glass door, Joseph is...deep frying????...the turkey underneath a wisteria-covered pergola. We always roast the turkey back home, but I guess he couldn't possibly adhere to any of his family's traditions.
Even though it's late November, the balmy weather, rainforest of plants, and wind chimes remind me of mild summer days in the Hamptons. And, as I approach, I can't hold back a little smile when I see Lily's new garden in the corner.
"What do you want?"
My words are cold and robotic, but it doesn't phase him. Joseph puts down his phone, lifting his eyes to mine with the slightest trace of a smile.
"Good to finally see you too, Jojo."
For a split second, my face falters in embarrassment at the nickname. But, as fast as I can, I pull myself together and cement my defenses.
"Yeah, right. I know you never expected to set eyes on me again—not after you burned off without even bothering to tell me."
A pause dampens the air, and I see him exhale deeply as his gaze sweeps down.
"You're right. And I'm sorry."
"Wh—what?"
It's my turn to freeze, my heart slowing in pure confusion. I expected him to accost me from the second I stepped outside, to tell me to get out of his family's life forever. So why is he...apologizing? If I know anything about Jared Dawson and Joseph Bennett, it's that they're never, ever wrong.
"I wouldn't have let Lily invite you if I didn't want to talk to you again. If I didn't want to see you after...everything." His eyes hold mine, even when I want so desperately to scoff and look away. "When I make a mistake, then I own up to it. And I made a mistake when I left you."
There's a feeling of abject...nothingness in response to his words, leaving me completely disoriented without my anger to guide me. But, before I can right myself, it's followed by a grueling crack deep, deep inside of me that forces a cringe. And I suddenly feel so vulnerable, so out of place—like a child wearing his father's shoes.
I swallow hard, crossing my arms and backing up a step.
"Oh yeah? Well...what made you realize that? Because you certainly didn't seem to care when it mattered."
"I always knew. But I had just gone through the worst six months I've ever had. I was fighting with the love of my life for the first time, I fell out with your father, and then...my own daughter didn't want the life I had given her any more. It...put me into auto-pilot for at least a year after that."
A chill goes up my spine, but I stay silent in response. Why won't he match me? Why is he suddenly too good to get on my level and just argue? He blinks away the moisture in his eyes and checks the fryer again, finally giving me a respite from his pitying gaze.
"It took me some time to start regretting the path I chose—tearing up everything from the roots and starting over. And just a few weeks ago, I finally realized that I don't hate New York—I don't hate your father—more than I care about you."
My breath catches several times as the back of my eyes start to burn, and I curse internally.
"Well I survived. I kept living without you."
"I know you did." His shoulders raise a little as he closes his eyes. "But I also know that you're worse for it."
"You don't know anything about me."
"Yes. I. Do."
His voice darkens abruptly from his sentimental murmur, actually catching me off guard. He's normally so serene, so good natured, that I forgot how scary he can be. But hearing him speak like that, watching blue eyes blaze holes through me, triggers the fight-or-flight response in the back of my head. He reminds me of my father.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice." He turns around to gather himself after seeing me flinch, but he keeps speaking. "You think that you control your own actions, but I grew up with the person you're becoming. I know who you used to be—you're not that kid any more. You're a clone."
"Tch—of who?"
"You know who."
His answer is short but telling as he turns around, raising goosebumps on my skin.
He's right; I'm not the person I used to be. I was a sensitive kid—it's part of why Lily and I were so close in the first place. But crying over dead birds on the street or hiding behind an adult's leg when meeting someone new were luxuries only Lily could afford when we got a bit older. I knew she'd never grow out of her introversion and empathy, so I did it for the both of us.
"People change," I say quietly, arms still crossed. "We have to."
Joseph checks the fryer one last time, then taking a few steps over to a table and picking up what I'm sure is a much-needed glass of wine. He sits in one of the many matching patio chairs interwoven between flower pots and greenery, resting his ankle on his knee and leveling his gaze at me.
It's an invitation for me to sit as well, but I don't take it.
"I tried, Jordan. I hope you know that. I knew he'd poison you—like his father poisoned him."
Joseph grimaces a little at his words, making my heart weep even more in my chest.
"I tried to teach you how to be versatile—how to not just be strong, but also in tune with your emotions. That not everything is a competition, that not every relationship is about power or domination. I hoped I could change you before it was too late. And I'm terrified that I failed."
I know he tried, and I remember everything he told me. But I can't be that man and a Dawson at the same time—at least not in my father's eyes. And the moment that Joseph left, he took my choices with him.
I wish things were different so I could be who he wants me to be, but they're not. I am who I am because I have to be that person. No amount of hoping in the world can change that.
"To this day, I still wish I could've done more," he murmurs, shaking his head gently when he rises. "I don't want to give up on you, Jordan. You're one of my own—I don't think I ever could. But when it comes to Lillian, something has to give. You have to let her go so you can focus on yourself."
He almost rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder, but I step back.
"You lost your right to tell me about myself the second you stepped on that plane to California," I snap, turning over my shoulder so he can't see the infernal tears starting to spill from my eyes. "I love your daughter, and it's as simple as that. I don't care if you believe me or not."
"Jordan," he chides softly, voice so infuriatingly patient that I have to bite my lip to keep myself from sobbing. "We both know that you're not happy with the person you see in the mirror. And I think you realize that having Lillian won't change that. You just have to admit it."
No. No, no, no.
I inhale, childishly covering my eyes with an involuntary shudder. I wish I could run away and hide like I did when I was little—crawl into a dark and secluded corner where I can sob without fear of the repercussions. And I wish my response came out confident and self-assured, but it's just the opposite: small, unsure, and trembling on the waves of my emotion.
"I can do two things at once."
"Maybe you can, but you shouldn't. You can't pour from an empty cup—love someone without loving yourself first." His hand finally finds my shoulder, giving it a protective squeeze. "Lily loves you. Lisa and I love you. But all the love in the world won't fix you from the outside."
I don't have any bitter retorts to mask my despair anymore. This is so...so ridiculous. Why would anyone love me just...because? Without getting anything out of it? I'm not Alex or Lily—I'm not drop-dead gorgeous, or destined to save the world, or the kind of person that people flock to from a mile away. I'm not even nice. How naive do you have to be to think that I deserve unconditional love?
My breath audibly shakes as the tears keep coming, so Joseph leads me to a chair and pushes me down. He then opens the refrigerator in the outdoor kitchen and comes out with a bottle of water, handing it to me.
"Come on, drink up. Or you'll run out of tears."
"Seriously?" I mutter, recognizing the irony as I take it.
Now that I think about it, I spent the majority of my childhood in tears. He always used to tell me that I'd run out of them if I didn't have any water—a stupid lie to get me to drink and calm down. But it worked, and he'd have me laughing before I could even remember what I was upset about.
I touch the cold bottle to my feverish face before opening it, and Joseph sits down next to me.
"I know that you want Lillian—that you think having her back will somehow fix everything that went wrong. But, truthfully, I think you may have already lost her. And if you're relying on her to change yourself, then you'll be stranded if things don't go according to plan."
I stay silent again, making him lower his head at me.
"I know that may be hard to accept. But Jordan—we'll take care of you even if you aren't attached to our daughter. We're your family."
"Family doesn't mean anything to my father unless it's official," I say plainly, eyes on the dark wood of the patio, and Joseph tuts quietly at the mention of my father.
"You're gonna be living on the opposite side of the country for at least three more years. And if he has a problem with anything I said today, then he can get on his G5, fly over here, and take it up with me."
I almost smile at his contempt, but I cover it with a sip from my water bottle.
What I love and hate most about Joseph Bennett are the same thing—his idealism. He's a great storybook ending: he married the love of his life, had two perfect children, and, as the irrelevant third child of four, has the freedom to do what he wants when he wants to do it.
But that kind of life isn't a reality for me. Sure, I may be in California right now, but what happens when my time at Stanford is up? My father controls my entire livelihood: my trust, my position, and my future all lie in his hands. And, if he gives the word, I could feel the consequences of his disapproval for the rest of my existence. Joseph can urge me to be a better person all he wants, but it's just not feasible. I operate the way I do for a reason—a reason that I can't escape or go around.
And if I can't do things his way, then I'll do them my way.
~ 💔~
"They banned me from the kitchen."
Alex sinks down next to me on the couch, face blank with embarrassment. I can't help but chuckle when I look up from Lily's copy of Silent Spring, admittedly charmed that he's finally found something he isn't good at.
"You think it has anything to do with you turning their cutting board into a surgery table?" I lift my eyebrows at the pink bandaid around his right pointer finger. "I could've told you that you aren't cut out for the kitchen."
After washing the tears from my face and finishing my water, I stayed in the living room to lick my Joseph-inflicted wounds. It's not like I'm really in the right headspace to watch Alex become the golden idol of the Bennett family, anyway.
He was the nervous one on the way here, but all of his concern was extremely unfounded. Lisa and Joseph think he's the most amazing thing since sliced bread (and he is), but that's yet another advantage that he has on me. Even Lily's stupid cat loves him, currently crawling into his lap and plopping down happily.
"Of course I'm not cut out for the kitchen; I've never had to be."
Alex runs his hand down Sid's back while taking out his phone, and I lower the book again.
"What are you doing?"
"Signing up for cooking classes."
He continues typing, and I roll my eyes before returning to the text. The thought of him learning to cook would be amusing if it didn't mean so much more than that. Alex never pursues any skill at which he isn't an automatic prodigy, and the fact that he's willing to face a learning curve to impress Lily and her parents is unsettling, to say the least.
This situation slips further and further out of my control with each day that passes. Both Alex and Lily are changing in ways that I didn't anticipate, doing things that I didn't account for. But I don't have to worry—not when Alex handed me a trump card on a silver platter.
We sit in silence for a few more minutes, and Joseph comes through the sliding door as soon as the clock hits 3:00 PM. I purposefully force my nose deeper into the book, but he comes to stand in front of us anyway.
"I have to run to the store because someone—" he shoots a glare at Alex, "bled all over our onions. Who wants to come with me?"
Alex and I just stare at him, not saying a word, and he scoffs.
"No volunteers, huh?"
More silence.
"Okay. I'll pick myself, then." His eyes tick between us as if he even has to think about his choice. "Eenee, meenie, miney—Alejandro."
"Wait, what—"
The beginnings of Alex's protest are cut off when Joseph grabs the front of his Balmain turtleneck and yoinks him off of the couch. He's actually taller than us, and Alex looks up at him before turning his terrified face to mine.
"I'm sure Jordan wants to come, too. Right?"
"Not particularly."
I smirk, turning a page and ignoring his twin telepathy screaming in the back of my mind.
"Well look who just ran out of options." Joseph twirls the keys to his Porsche around his pointer finger before jerking his head in the direction of the garage door. "Come on—I'm not gonna murder you."
"Oh God," Alex murmurs underneath his breath, but he's in the convertible and pulling out of the driveway in a matter of minutes.
"Huh. That'll be an interesting story when they get back home."
Lily's behind me before I realize it, resting her hands on the back of the couch.
"I sure hope so." I finally close the book, rising to return it to the shelf. "Wait—when did you change?"
"Oh—I snuck upstairs after patching Alex up." She looks down at her clothes. "It's different from what you're used to seeing me in, but...I definitely like it better."
For almost sixteen Thanksgivings at her grandparents' house, she was forced into pantyhose and frilly dresses—painted, pressed, and primped into a china doll for everyone else. I know how unhappy it made her, how much she wished she could run around with the boys when she had to stay put and stay perfect.
But, wearing a yellow lantern-sleeve sweater, loose black shorts, heeled sandals, and her characteristic gold hoops, she seems comfortable. And, although I can't say exactly how or why, she looks like...herself.
She ignores my staring, looking at the ocean through the large living room windows.
"Do you want to go down? Take a walk before everyone gets here?"
"You and your walks," I muse quietly, even though I'm already halfway through the door.
We head outside, descend the wooden staircase that winds down the bluffs, and finally hit the sand. After I roll up my pants and place my shoes next to hers, we walk barefoot down the coast.
"Remember Thanksgiving at your Nanas?" I pipe up suddenly, breaking the long silence we've been in. "Our parents would drag us all the way to the Hamptons for it every year. I used to wish that the Molinas celebrated Thanksgiving so I could go to their place."
"I'm glad they never did. What kind of traitor would leave me and Zach alone with Nana for a whole day? On a holiday?" She exhales through her teeth, obviously reminiscing about how wound-up the homemaker gets when she has guests. "I do miss the lemon meringue pie, though. And the times we'd sneak out to go surfing. That's about it."
"Do you still do it? Surfing, I mean?" I ask, tossing my head in the direction of the ocean.
"Yeah. Water's freezing, though. Full wetsuit at all times." She pauses, almost guiltily. "You should come in the summer. We'll go then."
I don't even get a chance to respond before she speaks again.
"What about you? Do you still surf? Play piano? God, I've known you for so long, but...I feel like I have no idea what you're like anymore."
I watch our feet strike the sand, gaze lingering on her perfect legs, before responding.
"I haven't really surfed that much since you left; it's no fun alone. And I quit playing contest piano at the beginning of senior year, but I still play for fun." I shrug. "I'm still me, though. Two years couldn't change that."
I see her gaze soften before she looks away, knowing I've struck a chord. I'm sure she feels guilty about the two years of radio silence on her end—why else would she be so open to letting me in again? Like Joseph, I do admire her heart. And how easy it is to live inside of it once again.
"We should turn back." She stops walking, delicately lifting a pointed foot before using it to spin herself around. "Alex and Dad should be back soon, and everyone'll start showing up right after that."
I turn as well, matching her pace within seconds. A moment of silence falls, but I don't fill it—my expertise on her body language tells me she's not done speaking.
"Jordan—"
She pauses, looking up at me as if she's pondering her next words.
"I like Alex. A lot. And I'm not completely sure what that means for me right now, but I am sure that there's no point in pretending I don't anymore."
I think my face changes—a beat of uncontrolled hurt flashing across my features even though this is far from the most shocking thing I've heard. But she doesn't catch it, her gaze shooting away the moment she stops speaking.
"I just wanted to tell you ahead of time because..."
She trails off once more, and I finally catch eye contact with her again.
"Because what?"
I know.
"That I was thinking about being...more than friends with him. I know you and I are cool again, and that it's really between me and him, but I didn't know if—you know—after everything that happened—"
"Do what you want, Birdie," I interrupt, charmed to no end. "He's been salivating over you since move-in day; it's about time you threw him a bone. You like each other. I like both of you. It's fine."
She gradually stops walking, studying me, and I turn to face her when I stop as well. Maybe she doesn't believe me—it's written all over her face—but there's no way she knows what to be suspicious of.
"Thank you."
Her voice is soft, barely audible to me over the sound of the waves crashing.
Flip-flop.
My heart turns over in my chest, but I keep my voice and face steady and give her a nonchalant "for what?"
"I know it's hard for you. Me and him." She closes the gap between us. "But you'd still let us be together, be happy, even if it hurts you. You really have grown up...whether you think you have or not."
And then she hugs me, slender arms tight around my body. I squeeze her back, not able to comprehend my emotions. That's strange. With my father's direction, I've learned how to make my emotions a science: how to decode what I'm feeling, why I'm feeling it, and what needs to be done to either turn it off or into something that's beneficial to me.
But I can't figure out why I'm not ecstatic at her trust of me. She's waltzing right into my trap, giving Alex a try that's doomed to fail as I poison them against each other on the side. She's doing exactly what I wanted her to, so why do her words make me wish I really was different?
Why does it hurt so bad?