Henry
I wait a few days before putting Piper’s number to use.
She doesn’t want to set up my dad and her sister, and that’s cool.
But I haven’t had a second away from Davis since our fishing excursion.
He’s talked me into hanging out at the beach, followed me into the Towers’ gym, treated me to a matinee of a new spy thriller, and dragged me to Blitz Brews the last couple of nights, where he left me at the bar while he walked the floor, spewing merriment all over his patrons.
I like Mateo—he keeps the conversation and soda coming. But I don’t want to spend all summer bellied up to a bar, watching an acquaintance pull beers and mix mai tais.
Last night, I got sucked into another of Whitney’s tearful text vortexes. When I told her I had to get to bed, she called my mom, who was cramming for a test. Mom, in turn, called me.
“Handle your business, Henry,” she said firmly, but with sympathy. “If you want her to leave you alone, you have to say those words to her. Otherwise, you’re stringing her along.” Then she told me I was her whole heart and that she had to get back to studying.
I do want Whitney to leave me alone. I want that more than anything.
And I get what my mom means about leading her on.
Still, saying Don’t contact me ever again to a girl who’s hanging on by a fraying thread feels wildly cruel.
I ended up texting Silas, who’s in the same social circle as Whitney and is the more sensitive of my running buddies. I asked him to check in on her.
Take her to get coffee or something? She’s having a hell of a time. She could use a friend.
He replied quickly and asked for no explanation, which is probably why he and I get along so well: No problem, dude.
I give up on sleep just before sunrise, haul my ass out of bed, and run four miles down the beach and four miles back.
Afterward, I take a cold shower because Florida is hot as shit even before the sun’s fully up.
I’m not being particularly quiet, but there are no signs of life from Dad’s room.
Peering through the doorway, I find him sprawled out on his mattress, mouth open as he breathes raspily.
I text Piper: Want to grab breakfast?
It takes her a minute to respond, time I spend hoping Davis doesn’t roll out of bed before I can bail.
Then: Okay.
A few minutes later, I’m knocking on the door to her place.
She answers, wearing a dress that’s the same blue as her eyes. Its straps are thin and its hem is high. I’m into it.
“Let’s go,” she hisses, grabbing my arm and giving it a tug.
I stagger forward as a voice calls, “Piper! Hang on!”
She groans, turning back reluctantly.
A woman steps into the hallway. Her hair’s blond, and she’s wearing dressy pants and a silky blouse that’s buttoned up to her throat. It’s Saturday morning, so that’s kind of weird. She’s got a dusting of freckles across her nose, like Piper.
This must be Tati.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks.
“Breakfast,” Piper says.
“You’ve cleaned your room?”
“I’ll do it when I get back.”
“What about your essays?”
“What about them?”
Tati’s mouth becomes a thin line. “Have you reached out to Gabi?”
“No.”
“You need to. Today.”
“I will not,” Piper says, fists clenched at her sides.
“Piper—”
She’s shrinking, a lot like she did that night at the Blitz Brews when the dipshit in the dirty hat harassed her. She must have an internal well of audacity, though, because she lifts her chin and says, “Gabi can go to hell.”
“When will you—” Tati starts, her voice laced with exasperation. She drops suddenly off when she notices me. “Who’s this?” she asks, tipping her chin in my direction.
Piper sighs. “Henry. He’s visiting his dad, who lives in the east tower. He’s polite and responsible, and we’re going to get breakfast, as I said. Henry, this is my sister, Tati. You know, the one I told you about?” She says this last part with gleeful malice, like Tati ought to be worried.
I step forward to shake her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too,” she says with coolness that makes my balls shrivel. I assume she’s made the connection: Henry plus visiting his dad plus east tower equals Davis Walker.
I pull my hand away. “Ready?” I ask Piper. “I made a reservation.”
“Definitely.” She hustles down the hall. Over her shoulder, she calls, “Be back later.”
“You’ve got work to do this afternoon!” her sister retorts.
“Don’t I always?” Piper mutters.
While we wait for the elevator, I glance back at Tati, who’s still in the hall, fists glued to her hips. My dad can be a clown, what with the beer shotgunning and condom dispensing, but his brand of frustrating seems less soul-sucking than hers.
When we’re behind the elevator’s doors, Piper brightens. “A reservation? Really?”
“Nah. I just wanted to get us out of there.”
“Nice. I think she knows who your dad is.”
“Yeah, I got that vibe. Also, I’m polite and responsible?”
“Totally,” she says. “And you’re my knight in shining armor. Because wow, I needed a rescue.”
***
Piper suggests Clementine’s, a shop with acai bowls and smoothies and donuts that smell amazing.
The place is swarming with people. We wait in line, then make our picks—chocolate-glazed and rainbow-sprinkled donuts—plus a Sunrise Acai Bowl that Piper swears will change my life.
We take our food outside to a group of crowded picnic tables.
A family’s vacating one, and we snag it, sitting side by side because the umbrella shades only half the table.
Piper scoops blended acai, granola, and a banana slice onto a spoon. “I can’t believe acai bowls aren’t huge in Spokane,” she says, holding it out to me.
“Maybe they are,” I say, taking the spoon.
“I’m not all that adventurous about food.
” For good reason, I think, looking down at what she’s given me.
The mashed-up acai—a berry, she explained while we waited in line—is bright purple.
I can’t remember the last time I ate something purple.
But she’s looking on expectantly, so I shovel the spoon into my mouth.
It’s good.
“Right?!” she says, like she’s in my head.
I laugh, scooping up another bite while she loads a spoon of her own with mango and chocolate shavings. I want to ask her about the girl Tati mentioned back at the Towers—Gabi, who deserves either an apology or a trip to hell—but Piper’s in such a good mood that I opt to keep things light.
“So,” I say. “Your sister’s blond.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I used to be too, remember?”
“Vaguely.” Fourteen-year-old me thought her light hair was cute, but now that it’s a brown so rich her eyes appear almost hypnotically blue, it’s hard to recall her any other way.
“I had it colored the day you came back,” she tells me. “Tati was outraged.”
“Why?”
“She thinks it’s too dark. Too dramatic. Witch was the word she used.”
“That’s bullshit. I like it.”
She pauses, spoon halfway to her mouth, eyes locked on mine. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I split our chocolate-glazed donut with a plastic knife, then demolish half before saying, “Your sister…pretty type A?”
Piper rolls her eyes. “I tried to tell you. She’s impossible.”
“Has she always been?”
“No. She was intense before my parents passed, but she was also really fun. When she lived in Boston, she invited me to visit her for a week. Our parents weren’t into the idea at first, but she pushed and, like always, she got her way.
It was summertime, and we went to New York City for a few days.
We saw Central Park and the Statue of Liberty, and went to Wicked on Broadway.
She bought me frozen hot chocolate at Serendipity and an American Girl doll at the flagship store.
” I must not appear suitably impressed because she pokes me with her elbow.
“American Girls are a big deal when you’re nine. ”
“I’m sure.”
“She became a dictator when she was forced to raise me.”
I don’t know why I feel like I need to make a case for Tati, but “It’s probably been hard on her” falls out of my mouth. Piper’s eyes go wide with offense, and goddamn it, I wish I could take it back.
“Yeah. Sucks for her, getting a whole twenty-five years with our parents while I got a measly ten. Poor Tati.”
I rub the back of my neck, feeling like a chump. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was stupid—I don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
She polishes off a final scoop of acai before meeting my eyes. “People always defend Tati. She’s made a thousand sacrifices, she didn’t ask for this life, raising teenagers is hard…all fair points. But I didn’t ask for this life either. I lost my parents and my big sister.”
I pass her the other half of the chocolate donut. A peace offering.
She accepts. “So, I’ve met your dad… What’s your mom like?”
“She’s cool.”
Piper frowns. “I need more than that.”
I think for a minute, trying to figure out how to describe my mom in only a few sentences when she’s spent my whole life filling innumerable roles.
“She works crazy hard,” I begin. “She loves nursing, but she chooses her shifts based on my cross-country schedule so she can cheer me on at meets. She treats me to ice cream at this shop in Spokane, Sweet Peaks, after grades are posted each semester. She taught me to ski when I was five, specifically so my dad could take me to the slopes on the weekends; she wanted us to have something in common so we could bond, I guess. And she walks after dinner every night. She likes when I come along. So even if things are hectic, we count on that time together, you know?”
“Not really,” Piper says, but not sadly. “How long was she married to your dad?”
“Uh, zero days. They were set up by friends for one of my dad’s fraternity pledge dances and had a fling. They’re nothing alike—Davis can be a pain in the ass—but they get along okay for my sake.”
“It’s nice that you decided to spend the summer here even though you and your dad aren’t super close.”
“That’s kind of the point, though. To get to know him better while giving my mom space to rock her master’s program. Plus, Sugar Bay doesn’t suck.”
It’s true—I like Sugar Bay, and I want to have a better relationship with my dad, and my mom’s glad to have extra time to focus on school. But I left out a big part of the story.
The biggest part of the story.
Piper studies my face, like she senses I’m not being entirely forthcoming.
I should tell her about Whitney. There’s no reason not to.
The longer I hold off on mentioning her, the shadier I feel and the heavier the secret becomes.
But talking about the worst month of my life on a perfect Saturday morning…
I can’t do it.
Instead, I tell Piper more about cross-county, the responsibilities I’ll have as captain during my senior season, and Silas and Ricky, teammates who make what might otherwise be a lonely sport a lot of fun.
I tell her about the fishing excursion I took with my dad.
I tell her about my nights at Blitz Brews and the staff members I’m really starting to like.
I crack her up telling her how Davis almost broke his neck trying to outpace me on a treadmill in the gym yesterday.
She brushes donut sprinkles from the picnic table’s weathered surface. “Do you think you’ll make it through a whole summer with him?”
I flash back to Davis partying on the fishing boat.
Snickering as he threw condoms my way. Forcing small talk yesterday while he puffed and wheezed in the gym.
Popping a beer when he got home from Blitz Brews last night, then a few more after that.
More often than not, it’s me who points out that it’s time for a meal, who cleans up the apartment, who suggests that it might be time for bed.
I genuinely love my dad, but he’s exhausting.
Since arriving in Sugar Bay, I’ve felt more like his parent than his kid.
I sigh. “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it through another week with him.”