047. Party Crashers
Celia's out at the beach when Liam and I get back to the house, but her bottle of champagne sits ominously on the kitchen counter. I put it in the cabinet, far out of sight, and help Liam unload the groceries.
"Maybe this was a bad idea," he says as he puts all the vegetables in a stack. "You saw how passive-aggressive Celia was at the store. Maybe I'm delusional, thinking we can all have a peaceful dinner."
"Not delusional. Just a little optimistic."
The back door creaks open, admitting a wave of heat and sticky ocean breeze. Brynn wrings her long white hair—darkened at the roots now—in a towel, smiling at us. "I heard we're making dinner," she says. "Can I help?"
"If you know how to cook salmon, go for it." Liam rubs the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm in over my head."
Brynn reaches for the salmon and takes it out of its plastic wrap. "Cassidy told me you probably overheard her and Nathan in the kitchen this morning, Erika," she says.
"Not words. Just their tone. They sounded angry."
She purses her lips. "Cassidy's leaving for tennis training straight from this trip. That means they've got the next three weeks to figure out their relationship."
"Why does everything think college means the end of everything?" asks Liam. He rifles through drawers for a cutting board and drops it on the counter with a decisive plop. "Allison and I aren't breaking up. Long distance isn't impossible."
Brynn shrugs. "Some people can do it. Some people can't."
She's busy chopping up the salmon and Liam's started meticulously cutting carrots. I stand awkwardly beside them, not really sure what to do. I guess I could start on the salad—at least it'll give me something to concentrate on besides this conversation.
I reach for the lettuce and find a giant bowl to put it in. Then I pull out the cucumber and grab a knife. I focus on severing them into perfect, even slices. That's what I have to worry about. Not my friends fighting or how that translates to me and Spencer, or even Celia's annoying attitude.
Unfortunately, there's only one cucumber, and soon I'm forced to tune back into Liam and Brynn's conversation. Brynn's placing her salmon chunks in a baking pan like she's a professional chef, and Liam watches over her shoulder with wide eyes.
"I didn't know you cook," he said.
"Not too much."
"Salmon seems pretty advanced."
She smiles. "It's not that hard if you put it in the oven."
The conversation's shifted from relationships—good. It's like a weight's been lifted off my shoulders. I toss the cucumbers into the lettuce and pipe up, "Brynn, Liam's trying to learn all about cooking. He's stressing about fatherhood."
"Is there something we should know? Everything good with Allison?"
Grinning, Liam says, "You're gonna have to wait a while longer for a well-bred son to carry on the Alvarado name. It's mainly just about college."
"Who's having a son?"
Allison's head pokes into the kitchen, the rest of her body out on the porch. She's even more tanned than usual, and her nose and cheeks are burnt from too much time out in the sand.
"Nothing, babe," calls Liam.
Allison steps into the house, kicking off her flip-flops. "Why don't I smell food yet? You told me you were cooking me a three-course meal."
"And a three-course meal you will get. Just as soon as Brynn gets this salmon in the oven." He hip-checks Brynn, grinning, and she rolls her eyes in return.
"Sounds like Brynn's doing the cooking and not you." But Allison's laughing, and she tugs Liam in for a quick kiss. Then she pulls the box of pasta towards her and says, "How can I help?"
It's perfectly peaceful in the kitchen, the four of us working. When I finish the salad I hop up onto the counter and watch everyone else, swinging my legs back and forth. We bicker pointlessly and make stupid jokes and feign catching the kitchen on fire. It's perfect, exactly how I imagined this vacation.
Then Allison opens the cupboard to find some bowls and I catch a glimpse of Celia's champagne. Just like that, ugly thoughts creep towards me again. Like I can't have peace of mind for more than a few minutes at a time, like my daily quota of fun has expired.
Half an hour later, everyone else begins to trek in for dinner. Spencer, Nathan, and Cassidy are soaking wet, like they went for a swim in the ocean. Celia comes inside toting a beach bag with magazines, her enormous sunglasses still perched on her nose.
"This smells absolutely delicious," she exclaims, dropping her bag in the living room. "Liam, I had no clue you could cook! Good job, hun."
Liam takes off his oven mitt, slapping it onto the counter. "You can show your appreciation by helping carry the food to the table."
Surprisingly, she obeys. Once the table's set we all sit down around it. The eight of us fit perfectly, but the way we sit doesn't quite add up. Brynn sits between Cassidy and Nathan, like she's a buffer. I sit beside Cassidy with Liam on my other side—Spencer's diagonal to me, so we don't have to talk too much. Unfortunately, that leaves Celia sitting across from me, and I get to see her glinting baby-blue eyes every time I look up.
"Did you want to get your champagne, Celia?" I ask politely, just to get her away from the table.
She folds her napkin on her lap. "Not now. Don't worry, I think there'll be an after-show."
I don't have time to process her weird phrasing because Liam begins passing around the salad. I scoop some onto my plate, careful to avoid the tomatoes, and then send it around to Cassidy.
"So how was everyone's day?" asks Allison, stabbing into her lettuce. "Super relaxing? I think we should do some more crazy stuff. Go hiking. Maybe find a bar."
"I've enjoyed relaxing so far," says Cassidy.
Nathan grabs a dinner roll from the plate in the middle of the table. "Gives you plenty of time to think, I'm sure."
The silence is heavy. I cling my fork onto my plate just to make some noise and focus extra hard on chewing. My eyes are still watery from chopping up the onions, and I swipe at them with the back of my hand.
"Everything okay, Erika?" asks Celia concernedly.
I nod. "Couldn't be better."
"Oh. I was just wondering because Spencer seemed a little cranky at the beach earlier."
"I think we're all a little snippy today," cuts in Spencer.
Liam drops his fork with a clang and rakes his hand through his hair. Clearly, his family dinner isn't going at all like he expected.
"You did really well with the veggies, Liam," pipes up Brynn. "Did you sauté them in olive oil?"
"I cooked them in a frying pan, if that's what you mean," he says. But he seems grateful for the distraction because he smiles. "Thanks."
"I think a bar sounds like a fun idea, Allison," I say. "Remember the one we went to last summer? We should go there again."
"Oh yeah," says Celia. "That's where you and Spencer made out for the first time, isn't it? Ah, bars. So romantic."
I chew so hard on my salmon that my jaw hurts.
"We had a good time," says Spencer. At least he's being diplomatic. "I think we should go back, too."
If retracting the origin steps of our relationship is his grand plan to rekindle it, it isn't working. The hammocks today were proof enough of that. It was relaxing, and I'd gotten in a good nap, but it had felt awkward. Like trying to shove a square peg into a round hole. Trying to make two things fit that didn't.
I reach for a piece of bread and butter it, letting everyone else brainstorm a day to go to the bar. Every time I open my mouth Celia finds a way to steer the conversation back to me and Spencer. I don't know why she's so obsessed with the fact that we're not working—isn't her Perfect Princess act supposed to convince us that she's trying to be our friend again?—but I don't need to egg her on.
"We also need to crash another bonfire party," says Liam. "That was fun last year, too."
"And biking on the beach!" exclaims Allison.
Gradually, happy memories replace the tension. Soon we're reminiscing about last summer—about the happy times, not the sad ones. Nobody mentions Taylor or our huge fight or the messy aftermath. Just the fun memories in the photo album back home.
I head into the living room to pluck my Polaroid camera off the couch. Then I stand at the head of the table and take photos. Soon people realize what I'm doing and they pose, grinning or sticking out their tongues, slinging their arms around each other. We're happy. A family.
A dysfunctional, overdramatic family, but a family nonetheless. I love these people with all my heart.
The meal turns happy after that. I dig into my salmon once again, scooping the last bit of pasta from the baking dish onto my plate, and start in on that. Liam steals a bite and chews slowly. "It's good," he says. "Needs more seasoning."
"Oh, you're an expert chef now?" laughs Brynn.
He loops his arm around Allison's shoulders. "Just give me my big white hat now."
"I would love to. Then you can open up your own restaurant and get sued for giving people food poisoning."
Liam opens his mouth, likely armed with some type of witty comeback, but is interrupted by the doorbell ringing. We all freeze, forks in various positions, and turn our heads to the door.
"Anyone expecting company?" asks Spencer.
"Anyone order any food?" asks Liam. "If so, I'll kick your ass. I spent hours on this gourmet meal."
"Nobody ordered food, Liam," says Cassidy. "Your precious meal is safe."
I'm too curious about the door to wonder why Cassidy's acting so cranky. I'm the first one to stand, setting my napkin down next to my plate. Nobody comes with me, but I feel their eyes following me.
I turn the bolt on the door and inch it open. What I see on the other side makes my heart stand still.
First I notice the shoes—the white tennis shoes, and the tanned, muscled legs leading up to the navy Aquino High basketball shorts. There's a black suitcase with the handle up, and a hand's gripping it so tight the knuckles are white. A white t-shirt, too tight for him, presses against his chest. Then the broad shoulders and the neck and the jaw, so sharp it can cut me. And the eyes. The pitch black eyes, staring straight into mine, unblinking.
Taylor Cunningham is standing at our front door.
My hand drops from the knob, falling limply at my side. I can't find words. My throat is dry, cracked. I can barely even breathe.
"Who is it?" calls Allison from the dining room.
Taylor kicks the door gently, swinging it open more. I step aside and he wordlessly crosses the threshold, setting his suitcase beside the stairs. Then he shuts the door behind him and runs a hand through his hair. He's gotten a haircut—it looks good on him. He looks better than he ever did before, if that's possible. Like the image I kept of him in my head was distorted, like I'd made him uglier on purpose to rationalize the awful things he'd done.
"Hey," he finally says, quietly. So only I can hear.
I suck in my cheeks. My next breath is cold. I feel like I have to cough.
He kicks off his shoes and they join the haphazard pile by the door. Brynn has a strict no-shoes-in-the-house policy, and he's abiding like he lives here. Then he digs his hands in his pocket and heads into the kitchen, towards the dining room, without another word. I follow behind him like I'm his kite string, just along for the ride.
The second he comes into view the conversation in the dining room deadens.
"Oh, my God," says Celia.
Brynn is the first to stand. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Taylor opens his mouth and then shuts it again. I've never seen him at a loss for words.
"How'd you even know we were here?" demands Spencer. "What, you're stalking us again? What else is new?"
"I'm not stalking you." Taylor's voice is low, like he's trying to calm a rabid animal. "I came here to apologize."
"You drove five hours just to say you're sorry?" I find, with my friends beside me, I can finally speak again. "That explains why you brought a suitcase."
"You think you're staying here?" asks Liam.
I survey the stunned expressions on everyone's faces and see the varying levels of shock and anger. Then there's Allison, almost completely concealed from view by Liam. She's got her chin in her hands, and she's not mad. She's thinking. Plotting. I know what she's going to say before she's even decided herself.
"He can stay," she says.
"I'm sorry, but shouldn't this be a group decision?" asks Brynn. "I refuse to sleep under the same roof as him. We can't trust him."
"You can't trust Celia either, and she's here." Taylor waves dismissively in Celia's direction, and she rolls her eyes. The distaste between them is palpable. I guess their relationship did more than just fizzle—it exploded by the looks of it.
"He's not staying," says Spencer. "He's just going to manipulate us all again."
"Or are you just threatened that he and Erika are going to get back together?" asks Celia.
"Look Celia, you've been mouthing off all day and I'm over it. Why don't you just shut up? If you have something to say that will actually add to the conversation, you can talk. Until then, stay silent and eat your salmon."
Celia mushes her lips together and obediently lifts her fork, but there's still a spark in her eyes.
"Guys, I know I'm asking for a lot," says Taylor. "But the whole gang's here and I'm sure you're all trying to forget about last summer. So am I."
"This is about way more than last summer," I say. "This is about what you did to us all senior year."
"Erika, come on. I've apologized over and over again. I don't know what else to say."
"Some things can't be fixed, Taylor."
He's staring at me again. Intently. I hate that he can make me squirm just by looking at me.
"Nobody wants you here, Taylor," says Cassidy. "I think you just need to leave."
"I want him here," says Allison.
"Allison, what's your problem?" asks Brynn. "Why are you suddenly on his side?"
"Yeah," says Liam. "An explanation would be great right about now."
Allison exhales, twisting her fingers together. "This isn't exactly the best time to tell you guys," she says. "Especially not in front of Taylor. I wanted to talk to him separately. But basically, I'm going to try to find my birth parents this summer and I think Taylor can help."
"You think Taylor can help?" asks Liam. "He'll lie to your face."
"No," says Taylor quietly. "I'll help. Maybe it'll help me earn back some of your trust. It'll let me put together puzzle pieces about my own family, too."
"See?" Allison extends an arm, like she's showing off a prize on a game show. "It's settled. He'll help."
The table is silent, thinking. Weighing if this is important enough to Allison to validate the rest of our suffering.
"I agree with Allison," I say finally. "This means a lot to her. And Taylor's hurt me the most—I think my opinion should carry a lot of weight in this decision."
"Your decisions where Taylor's concerned aren't always the brightest," says Cassidy.
I know Cassidy's right. But this time's different—I'm not letting my feelings for Taylor cloud my judgment. There's no feelings left to tangle up. But if I'm the reason why Allison can't find her birth parents—if my hesitation about being around Taylor causes Allison to miss out on crucial information—I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.
"I mean it," I say. "I think he should stay."
"Well I'm not sharing a room with him," says Liam.
"I'll sleep on the couch." Taylor's eyes have softened. "If you all give me a chance, it would really mean a lot."
"Yeah, we've heard that before." Brynn crosses her arms, chin jutted out. "You can stay, but don't think for a second any of us trust you. We're keeping an eye on you."
"Fine. Now can I eat? It's been a long drive."
We look awkwardly around the table, at the eight chairs and place settings. Taylor's jaw tightens, and he goes into the kitchen to get a plate. Then, without another word, he fills it with salad and some salmon and retreats to one of the barstools.
I watch him as I finish eating, his large frame hunched over a plate. I wonder what he's thinking. If he's truly regretful. I almost feel bad for him, eating over there all alone. Then I realize: Taylor Cunningham is the enemy. Just because I made this sacrifice for my sister doesn't mean I can let him into my life again.
I've made that mistake before—too many times. I won't let it happen again.