Chapter 18 Not a Single Mullet
Not a Single Mullet
Eric
July
We pull up in front of my childhood home at five p.m., just like I’d planned. My parents probably would have preferred an earlier arrival, but I’m trying to shield Darcy; my parents are a lot like the sun—warm, but too much of them tends to burn.
“Wow, Eric.” Darcy opens the car door. “What a pretty house! And we’re close to the water?”
“Yeah, it’s about fifty paces behind the house. Rocky beach. Good fishing, though.”
She turns to me, wide-eyed. “You know how to fish?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No. I wish. What a great spot.”
I look up at my family home and try to see what Darcy sees. The charming wooden shingles and the pitched roof. The hydrangeas in Nantucket blue.
To me, though, this is an oppressive place, and it has been ever since the day of my brother’s death.
Darcy hops out of the car and takes a deep breath. “Salty air. I love it. God, I was so ready to get out of the city.”
Her enthusiasm pulls me out of the driver’s seat. I grab our luggage from the back.
“Wait, just the smaller one,” Darcy says, pointing to one of her suitcases. “The other one is full of the clothes and shoes I brought as part of the pointless, lifelong competition I have going with my sister.”
Chuckling, I push the bigger suitcase back into the trunk and close the door.
The front door of the house opens, and my father steps out. “Eric! You made it.”
The excitement in his voice gives me a stab of guilt, because I visit so infrequently. “Hey, Dad. This is Darcy. Darcy, meet my father, George.”
“And me!” yells my mom, pushing past my dad. She arrives on the porch grinning ear to ear. “Darcy, I’m thrilled to meet you. Absolutely thrilled.”
Oh boy. If I were Darcy, I’d be terrified right now. But my date just smiles and holds out a tin. “It’s lovely to meet you! I made you these cookies, but it’s sort of a bribe. I was told there’d be embarrassing photographs, particularly from Eric’s middle school era.”
I can practically see the hearts forming in my mother’s eyes. “We’re going to have so much fun. I’ve made New England clam chowder and prime rib for supper. And Eric tells me that you enjoy strawberry rhubarb pie?”
Darcy shoots me a curious glance. “It’s my favorite thing in the whole world.”
I give her a harmless little shrug. She’d said so once during a road trip lunch, and I’d remembered.
“Well, you’re in luck, then!”
My mother leads Darcy into the house, and my dad follows them with his eyes. “You have no idea how much this visit means to your mom. I haven’t seen her cook like this in years. She just… needed something to get excited about.”
“That’s… wow.” But no pressure. “It’s nice to see her so energetic.”
“Isn’t it? You know how she gets in the summer.”
“Yeah. I do.”
My father sighs. “The lead-up to the wedding has been so hard on her.”
“Oh, I know it.” We just need to get her through the next four days without a total breakdown.
“You probably don’t remember, but before Danny died, she and Maribel had started a scrapbook of wedding ideas. You know—pictures of flowers and dresses. Your mother kept it.”
“Oh, hell.”
“She offered it to Maribel when she announced her engagement.” My father sighs. “Maribel wasn’t all that interested in having it, and your mother cried.”
Jesus Christ. “Dad, Maribel isn’t super interested in wedding planning. She told me that herself.”
He shrugs. “Anyway, it’s good of you to visit at this difficult time. Your new girlfriend seems really nice.”
“She’s the best,” I agree without hesitation. “I’d better rescue her before Mom starts another wedding binder.”
My father laughs. It’s funny because it’s true.
We go inside, where I find Darcy and Mom in the dining room looking at the decades of family photos on the wall.
“Eric,” Darcy says, scandalized, in front of a row of portraits. “You lied to me.”
“Did I?”
“You were a hottie in middle school, and I feel robbed. There is not a single mullet on this wall. Or even a bad case of acne.”
“I’m so sorry to let you down.”
My father guffaws.
“On the other hand…” Darcy steps closer to one of the frames. “Your high school fashion sense was a little shaky. Particularly this one.”
I move closer so I can see what she’s looking at, even as she holds up her phone and captures a shot of me in a terrible striped shirt. “Hey! That was Halloween. My friend and I were Bert and Ernie.”
“Your teammates won’t know that,” she says, tucking her phone away. “I’m using it for your team birthday poster this year.”
“Oh God! Nobody tell her when my birthday is.”
“It’s September seventeenth,” she says smugly. “Who do you think processes the player IDs?”
My mother hoots.
“Besides—you’re such a Virgo. Meticulous. Reliable. Perfectionist.”
“It’s true!” my mother agrees fondly. “Eric always had his homework done. Now Danny, on the other hand…”
Both my parents laugh.
“Look, Darcy,” my mother says. “This is our Danny.” She beckons Darcy toward another photograph on the wall—a hockey picture.
My brother—darker hair, but with the same cocky Tremaine smile as I have—hoists a shiny tournament cup over his head, laughing.
“The coach called him a generational talent. But he loved to have fun, too. Always a kind word for everyone.”
I’ve heard this speech so many times. It’s mostly true, though.
Danny was a fantastic hockey player. And Danny usually did have a kind word for everyone—even his annoying little brother.
That’s why I struggle with what to say to my mother sometimes.
We all lost someone amazing. But she buried a child. And I don’t know how you get over that.
Maybe you just don’t.
After my mother’s rich cooking and a glass of wine, I feel about five pounds heavier. But then there’s pie, and I dutifully eat a slice of that, too.
“It’s soooo good,” says Darcy appreciatively. “And you can’t usually find strawberry rhubarb pie.”
“I grow my own rhubarb,” my mother says proudly. “But the strawberries were from the store.”
I keep sneaking looks at Darcy while she and my mom chat about fruit pies. What’s weird about this moment is how it doesn’t feel that weird. It should be a shock to sit in my childhood kitchen with Darcy and my parents, but somehow it isn’t.
If you think about it, though, we’ve already traveled the continent together. All those trips on the team jet. Bleary mornings and early practices. We’ve shared cramped charter buses and delayed flights and the weird intimacy of two a.m. take-out food after overtime losses.
We already know so many things about each other. I know she prefers herbal tea in the evenings. I know she brings a backup phone charger on every road trip because someone always forgets theirs, and I know which snacks she packs in her carry-on.
I know she reads romance novels on long flights but hides the covers. I know she has a tiny scar above her left eyebrow.
And, sure, maybe it’s weird that I have her favorite pie memorized. But when my mother asked me her preferences, I didn’t even hesitate.
Darcy pushes her empty plate away. “I couldn’t eat another bite. Let me help with the dishes.”
“You don’t have to do that,” my father says.
“I insist.”
I rise and put a hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “You can help for a few minutes, but then I’m stealing you away somewhere.”
“Where?” she demands, gathering the pie plates from the table.
“You’ll see. Give me ten minutes.”
I pop out to the garage for a moment, opening the extra refrigerator to look for…
there it is. I pull out a frozen Ziplock and carry it into the kitchen.
Then I grab a bowl and fill it with hot water, popping the baggie inside.
“Brought you something,” I say to Darcy, who’s loading the dishwasher while my mother beams.
“What?”
“Cut-up bait fish.”
Confusion crosses her features, but then she smiles. “Eric Tremaine. Aren’t you a romantic. No wonder young women proposition you on Instagram.”
My father chokes on his beer.
“Want to go fishing?” I offer.
She shuts off the faucet. “You know I do! Let me just get a sweater.”
“Reels are by the back door,” my dad calls. “Outboard key is on the peg!”
Ten minutes later, we push off in my dad’s skiff. I run the motor for just a few minutes, until we’re far enough from the dock that we can drift. The cove is quiet, just the gentle lapping of the water against the hull. The sky is starting to tint orange over the mainland.
Darcy sits across from me on the bench seat in cut-off shorts, her sweater pulled tightly around her, eyes bright with excitement. “Thank you for bringing me out here. You must have spent so much time out here as a kid.”
“You know it. Danny and I were in a lifelong battle to see who could catch the bigger fish.”
Once again, I’m seeing this the way Darcy sees it—like a bit of adventure under a deepening sky. The sun’s last rays shimmering on the water, and the boat’s gentle wobble.
She fiddles with the fishing pole. “Okay, so how does this work? I just drop the line and hope for the best?”
“Hold up.” I pass her a rod and then I bring the baggie of thawed baitfish when I carefully seat myself beside her. “You need to hook the bait first.”
She eyes the glistening fish chunks in the dish with deep suspicion. “Oh no. Wouldn’t my boyfriend do that for me?”
“Fake boyfriend,” I say with a grin. “And it’s a rite of passage.”
She eyes the bait like it might bite her. Then, with a deep breath, she picks up a chunk and tentatively threads it onto the hook. “This is vile.”
“No, it’s romantic,” I say, amused. “Now, just drop the line in and let it sink a little.”
She follows my instructions, biting her lip as she watches the line disappear into the dark water. For a long moment, we sit in companionable silence, the skiff rocking gently beneath us.
I bait a hook for myself and drop it in. If Darcy weren’t here tonight, I’d probably be working out or watching game tape. Or I’d let my mother drag out the photo albums, and I’d pass her tissues while she cried over photos of Danny. “Thank you for coming out here with me. It’s been ages.”
“Has it?” She looks around at the houses onshore and the deepening sky. “I’d come out every night if I lived around here.”
“It used to be like that. After Danny died, none of us wanted to go onto the water for a long time. We sold our bigger boat.”
She turns quickly. “It was a boating accident?”
I nod, but I don’t share the grim details. “Then, after a few years, my dad missed fishing with his pals. So he bought the skiff and tried to get back to living his life.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Really good. But my mom lost interest in everything and never really got it back. She used to run half the volunteer organizations in town, but she doesn’t anymore.”
“I feel terrible for her,” Darcy says.
“Same. She keeps Danny’s room set up just the way he left it. Nobody goes in there. Except, Maribel lived there another six months after he died.”
“She lived here? Before?”
“Oh yeah. Maribel had a rough life. She grew up in foster care. It ends at eighteen, though. She and Danny were already a couple, so we moved her right in.”
“What a story.”
“Yeah. Maribel was only nineteen when Danny died. He was twenty. That was eleven years ago. They’d just gotten engaged the month before.”
“Holy shit,” Darcy says. “Kind of puts things in perspective. I have a grumpy boss and too much homework, but at least I didn’t lose my fiancé at nineteen.”
I point at the reel held loosely in her hands. “Keep a hold on that in case you get a hit.”
“Yes, sir.”
God, when she calls me sir, I almost can’t take it. “Anyway, Maribel is my parents’ bonus kid. But she mostly did everything herself—she got herself a scholarship and went off to college. She’s always had a safety net with us, but she really did it on her own. She’s fierce.”
“Sounds like it,” Darcy says. But she lifts her chin and takes me in. “But what about you?”
“What about me?” I don’t understand the question.
“You just told me the story of how everyone coped after your brother died. Except for you. Where were you?”
“Oh.” I shrug. “It was a horrible summer. But then I went back to boarding school, where my life was mostly the same. I felt guilty about it, but it really helped me to be there. I didn’t sit down every night to that empty spot at the table, you know?”
“Hmm,” she says.
“It was easiest on me. I could think about teen boy stuff. Like hockey and how to outwit the school’s Wi-Fi so I could watch porn.”
She laughs, and when she meets my gaze, we both get a little stuck. It’s a warm night out on the water, and there’s no place I’d rather be.
From the soft look in her eyes, I think Darcy might agree. But when her pole suddenly wobbles, she’s not ready.
Lucky for both of us, I have fast reflexes. I grab the fishing pole before it can wobble out of her hands, and Darcy gasps. “Holy cow! Is that a fish?”
“Let’s hope so. Hold ’er steady.”
She grips the pole. “Now what?”
“Give it a little tug, then start reeling.”
She does, letting out a small, startled squeak as the rod jerks in response. “Oh my God! What is it?”
“Reel it in and find out.” I suppress a laugh as she furiously turns the handle, her whole body tense with concentration.
With a sudden splash, her catch breaks the surface—a small, silvery-blue fish thrashing wildly in protest.
Darcy lets out a delighted shriek. “Omigod! A baby.”
“Hey, it’s not bad for a first catch.” I grab the line and lift the fish up, inspecting it. “Snapper blue. Baby version of a bluefish.”
“Aw!” She beams. “It’s kind of cute.”
“Don’t let it fool you,” I warn. “They’ve got teeth.”
As if on cue, the fish twists in my grip, its tiny, sharp jaws snapping the air.
Darcy yelps and jerks back. “Holy crap. I caught a demon.”
I snort, carefully unhooking the fish. “Bluefish are all bite, even the little guys. This one’s too small to keep, though.”
“Wait! Selfie!” She whips her phone out of her pocket and leans into me. I get a whiff of her perfume as she snaps a shot.
Darcy watches as I lower the fish back into the water. “Bye cutie!” It gives a quick flick of its tail and disappears beneath the surface.
Then she shows me her phone. “Look at us and my prize-winning fish.”
The photo frames us perfectly. We’re both smiling, and the sky is turning pink behind us. I look as happy as I’ve looked in years, outside of a hockey rink.
I hardly recognize myself.