All We Once Had

Piper

Bright and early, I stagger into the kitchen in desperate need of a Red Bull and a few more hours of sleep, to find a strange man standing at the coffee maker. He’s not a bad-looking man—attractive in a The Hangover–era Bradley Cooper way—but still.

A strange man.

He gives me a lazy shrug and a sheepish grin, then musses his already-mussed hair.

I watch, stone-faced, as he pours coffee into my sister’s favorite mug—not that this interloper would know the distinction.

It’s black with little white planets sketched over its surface, and it says I NEED MY SPACE! Which, yes, Tati almost always does.

The shower in her bathroom cranks on. I linger near the stove, wondering if she knows that the dude she apparently spent the night with is moving around our kitchen with the ease of someone who’s been here a dozen times, filching a splash of creamer from the fridge, snagging a spoon from the flatware drawer, swirling it languidly through his coffee.

Well.

I go about my business because I’ll be late for work if I idle any longer. Hopefully Tati’s enjoying her shower while I awkwardly maneuver around this person who I have to assume is a one-night stand.

He leans against the counter, sipping from her mug while I pour Cheerios into a plastic baggie. He says, “You must be her sister.”

I take a pear from the fruit bowl, trying to determine whether he’s somehow so familiar with Tati that a mere pronoun will do, or he’s forgotten her name.

“I am. And you’re…?”

He gives my question a few seconds of thought before landing on, “A friend.”

He doesn’t offer his name, and I don’t inquire.

He won’t be back. Tati likes sharp, well-groomed suitors who stand up straight, enunciate, and have jobs that serve the community: child welfare lawyers and ER doctors and firefighters.

The last man she dated was a police officer, well respected in our little town.

That relationship ended a week ago, and it ended badly.

This dude looks like a weathered fraternity brother with his disheveled hair, yesterday’s wrinkled button-down (popped collar and rolled sleeves, naturally), and mirrored aviators hooked to his breast pocket.

His face is tan, his teeth are bright white, his smile so carefree that I wonder again where Tati met him, what she saw in him, and why she let him stay all night—definitely not her usual protocol.

“I’m Piper,” I say to fill the quiet, pulling my sun-bleached curls into a topknot.

Blithely, like a stoned surfer, he says, “Cool.”

Down the hall, the water shuts off. That’s my cue to go. Hard pass on sticking around to watch my sister interact with her random bedmate.

I nod once. “I need to get to work. So…”

“So, I’ll see you around.”

Highly unlikely.

I grab a Red Bull from the fridge, then take my breakfast to go, making sure to let the door to our apartment slam on my way out.

***

My sister doesn’t approve of my summer job. But she doesn’t approve of the majority of my choices, so at least there’s consistency.

Since school let out last week, I’ve been working at the Sugar Bay Marine Conservation Park, which—no offense to Disney World—is absolutely the most magical place on Earth.

We have dolphins and seals and sea turtles and rays, and these are not animals who were kidnapped from their natural habitats.

They’re animals who’ve been injured, usually due to shitty human behavior, and are being rehabilitated for release back into the wild or cared for permanently because release isn’t safe for them.

I work in Guest Experience, which means I do a bunch of grunt work deemed undesirable by the employees with college degrees.

I earn pennies, practically, but it doesn’t matter.

I love being at the park, even when it’s ninety-seven degrees and sticky-sweaty-humid, even when I’m emptying trash bins and hosing out stinky fish buckets, even when I’m stuck in the admin building stuffing envelopes for some huge PR mailing.

My parents helped open the Sugar Bay Marine Conservation Park almost thirty-five years ago, shortly before Tati was born.

They were marine biologists and ardent ocean conservationists.

The director of the park, a meek, altruistic man nicknamed Turtle (because he’s passionate about them and kind of looks like one), mentored them both and still speaks warmly of them.

When I applied for a summer job, he disregarded the must be enrolled in a college program requirement and brought me on as an intern to the interns.

I’ve been coming to the park all my life, first with my parents, then on my own, and now as a staff member. It’s a safe haven. The place where I feel most like myself.

I spend the better part of the morning scrubbing and sweating and directing guests to restrooms and water fountains, encouraging them to Have a sunny day!

, the catchphrase Turtle urges employees to use on the regular.

My smiles come more easily here than anywhere else, and before long, I’ve forgotten about my encounter with the kitchen intruder.

I’ve forgotten about Tati, who more often than not feels like a tyrannical roommate instead of my sister and guardian.

And I’ve almost forgotten about Gabi, my estranged best friend.

It guts me, thinking of her that way.

I shake off the bitterness I’ve felt every time Gabi has wandered into my mind since our friendship fell apart nine days ago, and take the Cobb salad I bought at one of the park’s snack huts to the dolphin enclosure for lunch, since now there’s a break between shows.

I haven’t met any new friend prospects since I started my job—not that Gabi’s friendship is replaceable.

It’s been her and me since fourth grade, an inseparable, impenetrable pair.

I’ve never needed anyone else—never even wanted anyone else.

But now I’m truly on my own. My sister is more my keeper than my confidant, and my fellow park employees are all in college or older.

Forging bonds is hard for me, especially now that I’ve seen how swiftly a friendship can crumble.

And so I’ll dine with the dolphins.

I clamber up the grandstand to one of its highest benches, then sit and pull out my phone.

Maybe Gabi has seen the light and sent a text groveling for forgiveness.

She hasn’t, but my sister’s sent three messages in the last hour: Your bathroom’s a mess!

and Chicken lettuce wraps for dinner? and Don’t forget to drop the mail in the outgoing box.

Whoops—I definitely forgot.

I pocket my phone without responding, then devour my salad while watching our trio—Luke, Leia, and Han—swim and jump and play. They seem so happy and carefree; lately, I’ve been envious of their companionship.

As I collect my trash, I spot Turtle climbing the steps. He’s jutting out his chin, his expression curious but cautious. When he reaches me, he sits. “How’s your first week been?”

“Awesome,” I say, hoping he hasn’t tracked me down because I screwed something up.

“You’re a hard worker,” he says, to my relief. “A lot of the staff has said so.”

“Really?”

He nods. His face is lined and sun-spotted. He’s as old as my mom’s parents—Dad’s died before I was born—lifelong New Yorkers who, in the wake of losing their daughter, became rather aloof. It’s been years since they’ve visited Tati and me in Florida.

“I’m not surprised,” Turtle says. “Your mama and daddy were hard workers too. So’s your sister. Determined as all get-out.”

“Determined,” I say, wrinkling my nose. “That’s one way to describe Tati.”

He laughs, his green eyes glinting. He’s been a surrogate uncle to my sister and me since our parents passed, checking in on us from time to time, sharing wisdom and stories about my mom and dad.

He and his wife, Brenda, invite us for a Thanksgiving feast every year.

Tati has a lot of respect for Turtle, which is why she agreed to let me work at the park despite the meager compensation. Her words, not mine.

“You’re off at two?” he asks.

“Yep.”

“Swing by my office before you go. I’ve got your first week’s pay.”

The Sugar Bay Marine Conservation Park is a utopia.

Thriving animals, joyful guests, and fresh air, a slice of Florida that reminds me more of my parents than any other place on Earth.

In a quiet area of the property, near the manta ray exhibit, is a medallion embedded in the concrete path: IN MEMORY OF TWO BELOVED COFOUNDERS AND CONSERVATIONISTS, STEPHEN AND CONSTANCE NIXON.

The letters are worn a shiny copper color by the countless shoes that’ve passed over it during the last seven years.

Turtle had the memorial installed after my parents’ deaths, a tribute I get to witness every time I walk by.

It still makes me teary when I let it. Not only is the park a link to my past, but spending my days here gives me glimpses of what my dream—a degree, a future, in marine biology—might be like.

The pay, scant only by my sister’s snooty standards, is the cherry on top.

I grin at Turtle. “I’ll see you at two.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “We’re happy to have you, Piper. Keep up the good work.”

***

After my shift at the park, I check in with Tati because she’ll have a meltdown if I don’t.

Our phone call involves way more hassling than I’ve got the energy for, and I bite my tongue, literally, to keep from retorting.

The last thing I need is to have an argument on a public sidewalk.

“Clean your bathroom before I get home,” are her parting words, and then the line goes dead.

She’s so lovely.

I stop by the bank, where, instead of depositing my paycheck, as my sister demanded during our call, I cash it. Turtle’s giving me six hours a day, five days a week, which has amounted to close to three hundred dollars after taxes.

A windfall.

It’s hot, so I stop at Clementine’s, a shop with amazing donuts and smoothies only a few doors down from the bank.

I treat myself to a Sunrise Acai Bowl, and I’m reveling in my first sweet spoonful as I push through the swinging door, heading toward the picnic tables outside, and nearly collide with Gabi.

She’s trying to get inside, so I step—stumble—out of the way.

She’s alone, thank god.

She gives me a long, cold look. Heart hammering, I think of this movie she and I watched about Jack Frost when we were kids.

When he touched things—a window, a pond, a meadow—crystalline ice flowed from his fingertips, trickling over surfaces, overlaying them with frost. Her stare has the same effect. My insides have frozen over.

She steps around me, then away, like I’m infectious.

I should’ve avoided Clementine’s. Gabi loves it as much as I do.

My parents brought us in the earliest days of our friendship, after Gabi moved to Sugar Bay, way back when we were nine.

Not even a year later, her parents took over the tradition, treating us on Sunday mornings after sleepless sleepovers, maintaining a sliver of stability in my suddenly upside-down world.

I haven’t seen Gabi in more than a week, since the Saturday following the final day of our junior year at Sugar Bay High.

Her parents took her younger brother camping for the weekend, so Gabi invited a bunch of people over.

It was fun until it wasn’t. I drank too much, went swimming in my bra and underwear, and ended up pressed against Gabi’s boyfriend, Damon.

In Gabi’s bedroom. Wearing only my damp underclothes.

Gabi walked in at that moment—the pressed against moment.

She didn’t take it well.

Still in the entryway, dizzy on my feet, I watch her glide to the counter and ask for a smoothie. Her minidress is white cotton, pretty against her brown skin. Her legs go on forever. On her feet are my shoes—espadrilles she borrowed for last weekend’s party.

I think an uncharitable word—bitch—because how dare she?

I duck out of Clementine’s holding my bowl of blended tropical fruit in shaking hands, blinking back tears.

I don’t need Gabi.

I don’t need anyone.

I walk until I’ve regained a fragile hold on my emotions.

That’s when I catch my distorted reflection in a hair salon’s front window.

Blue Sugar Bay Marine Conservation Park T-shirt, denim cutoffs, and white Vans purchased specifically for my new job.

My hair’s slipping out of its knot. Wispy blond coils frame my face like a halo.

I’m no angel.

Gabi will attest to that.

Inside the salon, a stylist wearing head-to-toe black is sweeping shorn hair into a pile. She looks bored. I push through the door, and the bell above it jingles. She looks up.

“Do you have availability?” I ask. “Like, right now?”

She smiles and points to her chair. “Have a seat.”