046. Trouble in Paradise
The next day I have some semblance of a normal vacation.
By the time I'm downstairs in the kitchen eating breakfast, Celia is already fully dressed and ready to leave. She chirps to anyone that would listen that she's heading to the mall. No one, not even Allison, wants to go with her. So she leaves alone with a toss of her hair, and I'm left with my real friends.
I peel a banana and sit at a barstool to eat it, swiveling back and forth. Nathan is at the stove making eggs, streaming music from his phone. It's peaceful. Almost like nothing can go wrong ever again.
"Want some?" asks Nathan, spooning the eggs from the frying pan onto some glass plates.
I pick a long string off my banana. "I'm good for now. Thanks."
"Pretty awesome basketball game last night, huh?"
"Yeah." I hadn't paid attention at all. "Apparently it was a pretty big deal."
He grins, pulling forks out of the drawer. "For me. Huge upset."
I nod and the conversation fizzles. Nathan and I aren't exactly good friends. He's super sweet and I love him with Cassidy, but we haven't had too much one-on-one time to bond. He's not like the rest of the guys in the group.
As if on cue, Spencer and Cassidy come into the kitchen together, laughing. Spencer grabs a plate of eggs and climbs into the barstool beside mine, but Cassidy tugs Nathan away. They slip around the corner and I take another bite into my banana, watching the spot where they disappeared.
"Seems like everyone's having a pretty chill day today," says Spencer, stabbing at his eggs. His hair is still wet from a shower, and water droplets stain his gray shirt black. "Why don't we go outside and sit in the hammock? Hang out some?"
Just like last summer. Is that what he's trying to do? Recreate our happiest moments so maybe we'll start feeling that way again?
"That sounds good," I say. I want to feel that happy again, desperately. "Most everyone's still sleeping."
"Liam's snoring like he's possessed. Dude's gonna wake up with a killer headache."
I chew the inside of my cheek but don't comment. Part of me wants to say serves him right, but another part of me pities him. Liam's trying really hard to be a better person. He's just losing traction on a slippery slope.
Voices in the hallway raise. I recognize Cassidy's snap and Nathan's deeper, biting reply. Spencer glances sideways at me and I shrug.
"Since when are they having problems?" he asks.
"I didn't know they were. It's probably about college."
"The fact that they'll be on opposite sides of the country?"
"Maybe. I don't know." I really don't want to have this conversation right now. At least Cassidy and Nathan are talking through their problems—Spencer and I are ignoring our long-distance future. That's almost worse.
I expect Spencer to say something about us. That'd be the responsible thing to do, and ever since he's started prepping for college he's tried to be grown-up. But he just scoops up his last bite of eggs and says, "Hurry up and finish that. It's super sunny out."
I almost take a super small bite of banana just to spite him—his tone was a little too bossy for my liking—but ignore the urge. This vacation is about getting along. I'm not planning on starting any petty drama.
Just as Spencer and I are about to head outside, Cassidy and Nathan come back into the kitchen. Nathan picks up his plate and takes a giant bite of egg while Cassidy watches with her arms crossed. Her high cheekbones look even more pronounced than usual.
"Come on," I tell Spencer, tossing my banana peel in the trash. "Let's go outside."
Cassidy and I make eye contact as I turn towards the patio door. I want to ask questions, but her expression pleads with me not to.
Last summer, Spencer and I had a special hammock. It was the one closest to the boardwalk, the one that offered the best view of the sunset. We spent so much time there I'd gotten indentions in my thighs from the netting. It had been so easy to talk to him then, about absolutely nothing. I'd been so in love. That was before things had gotten complicated.
Senior year had twisted and shaped and scarred me like nothing else. I'm a different person now. Spencer is, too. Maybe that's why it doesn't feel the same when he pulls me into the hammock beside him, as I snuggle into the crook of him arm. His body heat only adds to the mugginess outside. His fingers are already sweating, curling into mine.
"Well this seems familiar," he says, swinging us.
I shut my eyes, feel sunlight beating onto the lids, try to transport myself back one year. It's impossible. "I guess," I say.
"What do you mean, 'you guess'?"
I don't know how to say it without pissing him off. "A lot of stuff has changed. Nothing feels like it did last summer."
"That's a good thing, isn't it?"
"I guess."
There I go again. I guess. I'm never indecisive about anything. Before now, "I guess" wasn't even in my vocabulary. But now? It's a staple.
Spencer's lips fold into a frown—I feel the muscles moving, pressed against my head. Liam passes us with a volleyball and salutes us with a smirk before jogging down the boardwalk, probably to catch up with the rest of our friends. Our hammock keeps swinging, back forth back forth, and the silence presses on me more heavily than the heat.
"So, you're leaving for California after we get home, aren't you?"
It's a desperate grab for conversation, but it works. Spencer kicks off the hammock on a new bout of swinging and says, "Yeah. You should come with me. At least until I move into my dorm."
"Maybe I will."
I make the mistake of looking up at him. His eyebrows are furrowed, his blue eyes stormy like they always are when he's confused or upset. "Why don't you seem excited about anything?"
"What do you mean?"
"You look like you couldn't care less about this beach trip. The hammock isn't cheering you up. You seem like you don't even want to be spending time with me right now."
Why do you have to overanalyze everything I say? The words are at the tip of my tongue. But I know as soon as they leave my mouth he'll snap back, and then we'll start arguing, and a fight is the last thing I need. So I force a smile and say, "I'm sorry. This house just trips me up."
"I know. Me too. But it's just a house. What matters is that we're all here and together and happy."
"You're right." I think it's the first thing I've said all morning that I've meant.
I roll over, resting my cheek against his chest. His heartbeat pulses and I smooth down his shirt around it with the very tips of my fingers. His hand comes up and strokes my hair, tucking it behind my ears, toying with it. Every brush alleviates some of the tension until it's almost completely disappeared.
I shut my eyes again. Now there's just ocean waves and our friends' laughter from the beach and the rocking of the hammock. And Spencer's fingers, now dancing on my back, tracing patterns. I take a deep breath, and when I exhale, I smile.
*
When I wake up, someone's swinging violently on the hammock next to us. Someone laughs and I crack and eye open. Liam's laying back on the other hammock, arms behind his head, carrying on a lively conversation with Spencer.
"Jeez, you're finally awake," he says when I open my other eye. "You know you snore when you sleep?"
I rub the corner of my eye. "Shut up."
"Don't worry, I'm sure Spencer thinks it's cute."
"You can't say anything, man," says Spencer. "I've been sharing a room with you the last few nights and you snore so loud it keeps me up."
I sit up in the hammock and it sways. "Where's everyone else?"
"Still down by the beach," says Liam. "Listen, I was going to cook us all a nice dinner. Like a toast to a fun vacation."
"You can cook?"
"Erika, I'm Liam Alvarado. I'm good at everything I try."
"So you've never actually cooked before."
He rakes his hand through his hair. "I've made basic stuff—quesadillas, grilled cheese. And chicken nuggets—the kind shaped like dinosaurs, you know?"
"So we'll be eating off the kids' menu tonight," pipes up Spencer. "Sounds great."
"No. I'm making a real dinner. I'm living on my own in just a few months—I have to learn how to fend for myself. Anyway, Erika, I was wondering if you wanted to run to the grocery store with me? Buy whatever we'll need to cook?"
"Yeah, sure." Sweat clings to the back of my t-shirt. I've had enough of the heat—air conditioning will be welcome. "Spencer, want to come?"
"I'm going down to the beach. Have fun and don't burn the house down when you guys get back."
Liam punches his shoulder. I roll my eyes, wondering if I imagined the condescending tone. Paired with the kids' menu comment, it seems like Spencer doesn't think we're capable of much of anything.
Twenty minutes later, Liam and I are standing in the entrance of the nearest grocery store. He's got a hastily scribbled shopping list in one hand and I'm pushing a cart, squinting to read the signs pointing us towards different aisles.
"So I'm starting us off with a light salad," says Liam. "We're gonna need lettuce. And tomatoes and cucumber and I guess whatever else you put on a salad?"
"Veggies are this way."
I steer the cart and he tags along like a loyal puppy, right at my heels. As I pluck some iceberg lettuce from the shelf he crosses his arms and asks, "How's Spencer doing?"
"What do you mean? Weren't you just talking to him?"
He picks up a tomato and inspects it for bruises before tossing it into the cart. "No, I mean you and Spencer. Don't tell me I imagined all that awkwardness."
"Okay first of all, produce goes in plastic bags. The carts are nasty." I plop the tomato in a bag and then set it back in the cart. "Second of all, yeah. Spencer and I are having problems."
Might as well admit it. Everyone seems to have supersonic radar detecting it.
He turns towards the cucumbers, nodding sagely. As I read the next few items on his list I ask, "You ever wonder how many of us are going to make it?"
"Like, if any of us are going to die? That's kinda morbid."
"No, I mean relationships. Me and Spencer. You and Allison. Cassidy and Nathan, and Brynn and Sophie. We're all going our separate ways."
"I've got my bets on who isn't going to last, and you and Spencer are at the top of the list. No offense babe, but your breakup's been a long time coming."
I don't say anything. He gently steers the cart in the direction of the bread to pick out some dinner rolls. "I never thought you and Spencer fit together. You've never really fit with anyone."
"Thanks?"
He grins, and his dimples poke out. "It's a compliment. You haven't met anyone good enough for you yet. Or maybe it's just cause you have bad taste."
"Okay, I've exclusively dated your best friends. So if I have bad taste, you have equally bad taste."
We're talking about the same person, dancing around his name. Too afraid to say it. Liam caves first.
"You ever wonder how he's doing?" he asks, dropping the bread into the cart. "Taylor? I heard he's taking a gap year."
"I don't think college life really suits him." I exhale. "But yeah, I've been thinking about him. Probably a little too much."
"As in you still have feelings for him?"
"Hell no." The next item on the list is pasta. I scan the confusing signage and blindly walk further into the store, passing a mom and her two crying kids. "But once upon a time, he was really important to me. I cared about him. I mean, he's the first person I had sex with. Isn't that a scientific thing? That you get emotionally attached to that person or something?"
Liam snorts. "I don't believe in that crap. I don't even think about the first person I had sex with."
"Which was...?"
He shrugs. "Nobody important. Back to you. You think you're ever gonna see him again?"
"Probably not. If I do, it'll just be in passing. When we're both back in town. At the coffee shop, maybe at The Cold Front." I stop the cart abruptly. "Here's the pasta."
Liam grabs two boxes of elbow pasta without second thought. He doesn't seem invested in grocery shopping anymore. I have to remind him that we're getting marinara sauce next, waving the list in front of his face.
"So what made you want to do this fancy dinner?" I ask.
"Like I said. I gotta learn how to cook. Can't you just see me at thirty-five, kids screaming at me to make them dinner, me standing with a pot in one hand totally clueless, staring at the directions on the flap of boxed mac and cheese?"
I have to smile at the image. "Your kids are gonna be lucky they have you. Even if you serve them burnt food."
"Well, I mean obviously. It's my responsibility to pass on these amazing genes. Which is why I'll only reproduce with the best of the best. Which is why I only date the hottest, smartest, sexiest people I know."
"Ew. That's my sister you're talking about."
He scratches the back of his neck. "You're right. Delicate subject. What's next? I'm doing a side of vegetable skillet."
"A side of vegetable skillet? What does that even mean?"
"It means I'm putting a bunch of vegetables in a pan on the stove. I thought that was basic cooking terminology. What should I put in? Onions? Squash? Is that the gross green stuff, or is that zucchini?"
"Liam, slow down. Just get some basic stuff. Broccoli, cauliflower, carrots. Okay?"
"Fine. I just want this dinner to be perfect. With college...it just feels like nothing's going to be the same soon. I want to do something special for all my friends, all in one spot. Except Celia just has to be there."
"That is unfortunate." We have to double back to the produce so I zip the cart along the now well-known route, pausing to grab some of my favorite crackers from an end-cap.
"Good thing I brought my fake," continues Liam. "I'll get some booze and then I won't even think about Celia."
"Liam, no. Alcohol plus you cooking equals fire."
"I'll drink it after the meal."
My knuckles turn white as I grip the cart extra-tight. One moment Liam's deep and smart and caring and my very best friend. The next he's back on this getting-drunk train again. I don't want to see him go down this path again—can't have him wind up in the hospital with needles in his arms and dark shadows under his eyes like last semester.
"We still have beer at the house," I say. It isn't a lie, but what I say next is. "And Spencer got some Bacardi last time he was at the store. We don't need to buy anything."
He won't be too mad when he searches the kitchen and doesn't find anything. Just a little disappointed. Then we'll compliment his cooking and Allison will lure him upstairs and he'll forget all about it.
He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Are we almost done with the list?"
"Yeah. Just some milk and salmon and olive oil and—"
Liam slams to a stop and I almost run the cart into his ankles. Walking in front of us—closer, closer, about to pass us—is Celia. She's talking on the phone and in her other hand is holding a bottle of her favorite champagne. When she sees us, she hangs up and smiles.
"Just grabbing this," she chirps. "I heard we're in for a superb evening."
"Yes, I'm cooking," says Liam. "I'd have someone taste test your food first."
She giggles. "Are you threatening to poison me?"
"No. Just saying. My hand may slip. You may find your fish severely undercooked."
"Good thing I don't mind my meat raw. Anyways, cheers! I think we're all in for a treat."
Then, with a final devilish smiles, she slips past us and turns the corner.
"Did she just?" asks Liam, turning around to stare after her.
I grab his elbow and tug him forward. "Come on. Let's go buy your undercooked salmon. Ignore her."
But I can't possibly practice what I preach. As Liam debates between different kinds of prepackaged fish, I find myself turning circles, waiting for Celia to creep back up to us again. Between the smile and the ominous hints of a toast, I can't help but be paranoid. She has to know something we don't.
The only question is if it's just Celia being petty old Celia again, or if it's something huge. Game-changing. And knowing my luck, it probably is.
A/N: I am so sorry for the gap in updates! Hopefully now I'll be updating consistently again. After today, Paper Flowers updates will be every Wednesday & Sunday. You can pre-read chapters on my website.