Chapter 1 #2
Being home has its benefits, though. I know I come off like a cynical piece of shit, but even I can’t deny that the view stretched out beneath us is stunning.
Raritan Bay is sparkling in the early evening light, the air itself almost golden in the setting sun.
A narrow strip of sandy beach separates the bay from the Atlantic Ocean, stretching as far as the eye can see.
Off to the left is the New York City skyline, and when I was a kid it was a beacon, taunting me from across the water with all of my dreams of getting out, finding someplace where I fit.
Now that I’m on the other side, I’m pretty sure I don’t actually fit anywhere — but the dream was still worth having, I guess.
“It’s not going to be too big,” Seth replies.
“Just Bree and her parents, and two of her girlfriends, who are going to be her bridesmaids. And you know, Dave and Kyle on our side. And her best friend is a guy, and he’s going to be her — I think they’re going with Man of Honor?
I haven’t met him yet because he’s been out of the country. But Bree says we’re going to like him.”
I resign myself to an evening of eating my crab cakes in silence. Maybe this is going to come as a shock, but small talk with people I don’t know isn’t exactly my strong suit.
It’s not a long walk to the Rusty Harpoon, and it’s a route we’ve traced over and over.
Just another special occasion for the Callahan family with the same food, the same nautical decor, the same everything that I’ve experienced countless times before.
I’m sure this evening will blend in with all the others, just one long train of beige painted across my memories.
The room for private parties is upstairs, with a picture window extending along the length of the building, giving us a panoramic view of the bay and the ocean beyond. Seth leads us toward a small knot of people standing around the bar.
“Seth!” My future sister-in-law separates from the pack and throws herself into my brother’s arms. She’s small and curvy, with big dark eyes and wavy black hair. And I’m guessing the ruffly blue dress she’s wearing is expensive. “We were starting to think you got cold feet, baby.”
“Nope, they’re toasty warm —” my brother murmurs, and okay, even I can see the heart eyes.
“There’s someone I’ve been dying for you to meet.” Sabrina holds a hand out toward the bar. “Cole?”
Fuck. Nonononono oh fuck shit goddamn —
Cole. Cole fucking Alden.
He’s in a slim-cut suit that fits his lean frame like a glove, and it’s coral, because of course it is, because Cole fucking Alden never walked into a room without making sure that every eye was on him.
He’s still got those honey-gold curls tumbling below his collar, and he’s looking just as suntanned and effortlessly windblown as he ever did, back when I knew him, back before —
Before I fucked everything up because I’m a fucking coward.
And his flowered shirt is unbuttoned halfway down his chest and I don’t know whether to look there or to tilt my head up at his piercing blue eyes, which are — fuck, which are looking right at me.
And there was a time when I knew every one of Cole Alden’s expressions, where I could read him like a book, but now it’s like there’s a fucking wall between us and I just can’t —
He’s holding out his hand, and I’m shaking it firmly, and all the sound around us is under water as his skin touches mine and I try not to think of —
“Ezra.”
“Cole.”
Of course he sounds cool and self-assured, while I can barely force his name past the crackling desert of my lips.
“You two know each other? But —” Sabrina’s eyes are narrowed shrewdly, flicking back and forth between us as she sizes us both up. “Oh! Coley, you told me your grandmother lived here when she was still alive —”
“On the hill right above us! Her backyard looked down into ours.” Dad’s voice is always too loud, reverberating through my skull even when I’m not feeling like my insides are about to drop straight through the floor.
“Cole, I was so sad to hear that she passed. And I’m sorry that Ezra and I didn’t make it to her funeral. ”
“That’s okay, Mr. Callahan.” Cole looks down at the floor. “It was sudden — and my parents decided to keep it small.”
“I know she thought the world of you, and it’s so good to see you again.” Dad lays a hand on his shoulder. “How long has it been?”
“Twelve years,” Cole answers. His tone is neutral, matter of fact, but he might as well be yelling at me. “I headed home right before graduation —”
Dad’s brow furrows, and I know he’s thinking about that night. And everything that came afterward. But he recovers quickly.
“That’s right, I remember now,” he booms. “Ezra moped for weeks after you left.”
Maybe I should go outside and walk directly into the ocean.
Seth is sizing us both up. “That’s crazy — what are the odds? So you two were — friends? But Cole, I don’t think we ever met —”
“You were off at college, I think? It was just the one school year —” Cole begins, but of course Dad steps in.
“It was the year Hurricane Sandy hit! I’ll never forget that night we spent with you and your Gram, with the wind howling all around.” Dad’s hand is heavy on my shoulder. “And after that, you and Ezra were inseparable —”
“Dad —” I can’t help the warning note in my voice, and everyone stares at me, so I let my eyes drop to the floor.
Sabrina clears her throat and squeezes Cole’s hand. “You two will have so much to catch up on! And we’ll all be seeing a lot of each other in the next few months, won’t we?”
Cole grins down at her, and I think I can see the mask slide back on. “Sure thing, babe.”
There’s more small talk, and introductions and plastered-on smiles, and I feel like my head is too big, like my arms and legs belong to someone else. As we’re moving towards the table, I feel light fingers on my elbow, a voice hissing in my ear.
“I’m so sorry —” Cole always knew how to read me, but I’m not interested in his pity. I nod curtly and step away.
Somehow, we end up sitting next to each other, and I know this is some cruel joke.
I order the crab cakes and I keep my eyes on my plate and I try not to notice the way Cole’s leg is jiggling under the table, the way those pink trousers hug his slim thigh.
I ball my fist up in my lap and I concentrate on my fingernails digging into my palm and I can’t drown out his voice entirely, so I learn that he and Sabrina met at art school, that they used to model for each other, that they’ve traveled all over the world together and had each other’s backs through it all.
I learn that Cole has been in Italy for the past six months, and Sabrina says something about Italian boys that makes Cole chuckle, and I bite the inside of my cheek and savor the rush of metal in my mouth.
I don’t care that Dad is talking too loud, that he’s telling Rodney Slade about how Kevin Smith shot Clerks just up the road as if it’s the most important thing that has happened in the movie industry in the last thirty years.
I try to pretend I’m not there, and it seems to work, because after the first few one-word answers everyone around me turns their attention towards more interesting conversations.
And so I’m left inside my head, which is great because it means I have plenty of time to make a list of every single way I’ve failed, every single fucking thing assholes like me were never meant to have.
When the dinner is over, everyone is standing in the parking lot, making plans to walk up the road to another bar to keep the night going, but I’m ready to get the fuck out of there, so I pull Seth aside.
“Hey, mind if I peel off? I’m ready to call it a night.”
“Sure, I know this isn’t your thing. I’m glad you came at all.” Seth looks me up and down, and I know he’s not going to leave it alone. “You okay? You’ve been kind of weird tonight. Weirder than usual, I mean.”
“I’m fine.” It comes out a little too forcefully, but thankfully Seth lets it go, and soon I’m saying my goodbyes, trudging back up the hill toward the house.
The sun is down, and the spring night is no match for the wind whipping in off the water, bringing with it the salt brine that stings my nostrils and always makes me feel like a kid again.
I breathe in anyway, embracing the hurt, letting the frigid air fill my lungs, my thighs burning as I take the steepest way up.
Somehow it reminds me that I’m real, while everything else that has happened so far tonight has had me floating somewhere outside of my body, a tiny ant at the wrong end of a telescope.
The house where I grew up isn’t much — a one and a half story shotgun house with a gambrel roof, three rooms on the first floor and three tiny bedrooms above.
Dad’s old blue panel van is parked in the driveway, the words CALLAHAN AND SONS CONSTRUCTION optimistically stenciled on the side, even though he ended up siring two nerds who have no interest in following in his footsteps.
There’s a chain-link fence and a deep porch across the front of the house, and I would just have to take a few steps up to let myself straight into the living room, to make my way upstairs and throw myself down on the twin bed where Cole and I used to —
But I’m too keyed up, spiders crawling across my flesh, so I let myself through the side gate, into the tiny backyard, a scrubby patch of crabgrass that was always boiling in the summer sunshine and frigid in winter.
There’s still an old swingset in the corner, and I’m headed in that direction when I hear the clink of the gate behind me, footsteps brushing through the grass.
“Ezra?”
He’s standing there in the moonlight, the breeze lifting his curls, his outrageous coral suit reading light blue in the darkness, and he’s so absurdly beautiful that I want to throw up.