Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Teddy
I make a phone call to my sister. When I was in the hospital, we talked every day, along with my mom, sister-in-law, and stepdad. Some days it felt like my phone never stopped buzzing.
“Teddy bear!” Gwen says as soon as she picks up the phone. “How are you feeling today?”
“About the same. My leg itches like crazy under the cast. It’s the most annoying thing.” I scratch at it as I tell her, fingers bouncing off the hard surface, as if it will somehow help.
“Sorry, I can only imagine,” she says sympathetically.
“How’s my nephew?” I ask, smiling at the thought of Carter, with his golden curls and pink cheeks. The kid looks like one of those cherubs you see painted on the ceilings of old churches. That’s how angelic and adorable he is.
“Better!” Gwen’s voice lifts, filled with tenderness the way it does whenever she talks about her son. “I think the ear tubes might actually be helping. He slept a whole four hours straight last night.”
“Wow. Four hours,” I say, sarcastically. “That sounds like a total nightmare. I need at least eight solid hours of beauty rest to end up looking this good.” Even though she can’t see me, I pretend to preen, patting my hair and lifting my chin.
Gwen snorts and says, “Good luck with that once you’re a parent.”
“We both know I’m not the settling-down type. You and Brandon will have to provide all the grandkids for mom. Not me.”
“You just haven’t found the right person yet. Trust me, when you meet them, it will all fall into place. It won’t even feel like work because you’ll do it together.” Gwen’s got that soft, dreamy quality to her voice. One I know so well.
“You’re staring at Caleb right now. Aren’t you?” I accuse.
“Can you blame me?” Gwen laughs. “He’s so nice to look at.”
It’s hard to argue with that. Caleb was named sexiest man alive by People magazine a few years back.
I chuckle along with Gwen, shaking my head indulgently.
She changes the subject. “Are you home now?”
I pause, glancing around Helen’s living room with its bleached hardwood floor, beige slipcover couch, and pastel throw pillows.
It’s like I’ve stepped into a page in the Pottery Barn magazine or maybe Restoration Hardware.
I honestly don’t know the difference. All I know is that everything matches and nothing is ripped or stained. So different from what I’m used to.
“Umm.” I drum my fingers nervously on my thigh, the one without the cast. “Funny story. I am home, but not at my usual place with Jamie and the crew.”
“I’m not following. What do you mean?” Gwen questions.
“Your friend Helen took one look at the house in Venice Beach, deemed it unfit for human occupation, and demanded I move in with her. So bossy, right?” I let out an anxious laugh. Too high-pitched. Too forced.
Way to play it cool, jackass.
I’m sure I’m making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.
It’s just that I hate hiding secrets from my big sister, and the fact that Helen and I hooked up at Gwen’s wedding is a huge one.
Gwen had specifically told me Helen was off-limits.
I believe Gwen’s exact words were to “leave Helen alone because she’s sweet,” which, of course, implied that I’m not sweet.
Needless to say, that didn’t sit well with me, and we’d argued.
A fight I’d like to not repeat anytime soon.
Gwen’s silent for a beat. When she does speak, her words come out slowly. “I’m confused. You moved in with Helen?”
“Just for a couple of months,” I rush to explain, repeating the same spiel Helen had given me. “I’ll have my cast on for two months. I can’t get up and down the stairs at my place in Venice, but Helen’s condo has an elevator. I’ll give her my disability checks to cover rent and food.”
“But Helen?” Gwen’s voice rises at the end. “You have a million friends. Last time I visited you, it was like walking around with the mayor of Venice Beach. Why Helen?”
I bristle. “I have lots of friends, but they’re mostly hang-out-and-have-fun friends. Not I’ll-carry-your-stuff-and-take-care-of-you friends.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, they hit me.
Hard.
Jamie, Anthony, all my other friends, they love me, sure.
But could I really count on them? I picture Jamie or Anthony helping me into the shower or driving me to a doctor’s appointment and come up blank.
They’d probably get high and forget about me.
Leave me wrinkling like a prune in the shower or getting sunburned on the sidewalk at the doctors.
It’s not that they’re bad people—they’re just more focused on having a good time.
A slow, sinking feeling creeps into my gut. How have I never thought about this before?
Maybe it was easier not to.
Shit.
The truth is I’ve been so busy with the parties, the bonfires, the weekend trips that ended with people puking on the beach that I never had time to wonder about the quality of my friends. Only the quantity.
Lots of friends = busy. No time to think too hard, about anything important.
Lots of friends = validation. Women want me in their bed. Guys want me on their sports teams, beach volleyball, ultimate frisbee.
“Damn,” I mutter. “That’s kind of messed up, huh?”
Gwen doesn’t soften the blow. “Yeah, it is. Wasn’t there anyone else who would have taken you in?”
“I mean sure. Lots of people, but not anyone who’d do a good job of it. Most of my friends are kinda irresponsible.”
Just like me.
“Helen’s uber responsible.” Gwen connects the dots.
“Yeah, she is.”
“Which is exactly what you need right now.”
“Yeah,” I answer, blowing out a weary breath. “It is.”
“Okay. I get it,” Gwen says slowly. “But Teddy, you’re in your late twenties. This party boy thing? Not quite as cute as it used to be.”
I roll my eyes. “So what, you want me in khakis with a mortgage?”
“I want you happy,” she says simply, and the tease fades just enough to sting. Her words even and weighted, Gwen adds a soft, “Maybe you can use this time to figure out what you actually want.”
A cold weight settles in my stomach. Here it comes. Gwen’s been gentle with me since she found out I was in the hospital, but I knew it was only a matter of time before I got the full-on “figure out my life” talk.
“I’m serious, Teddy. This is what I mean about growing up. You can’t tend bar forever—”
“What’s wrong with tending bar?” The volume of my voice rises. She’s starting to piss me off. I like working at the bar. I like being around all the people and how exhausted I am at the end of each shift.
“Nothing!” Gwen fires back. “It’s a solid job. I just don’t think it’s your job. Am I wrong? Didn’t you used to talk about saving people?”
I roll my eyes. “When I was five, I wanted to be a superhero. Spiderman or some shit like that.”
“No, you weren’t. You meant it. You said you needed to help people.”
“Wow. Didn’t realize I accidentally dialed Mom,” I snark, but the truth is she sounds like all of my family.
They’ve all given me some version of this speech recently.
It’s easy to ignore one of my family members, but when they all start saying the same thing, maybe it’s not a “them” problem but a “me” problem.
Still, I’m not ready to admit that Gwen is right about, well, anything.
It’s probably the annoying little brother in me that makes me respond in my snarkiest tone.
“Sorry, Gwen. We can’t all be fancy doctors and lawyers like you and Brandon.
You know I was never good at school. It’s like you two sucked up all the intelligence genes and all I got were the secondhand leftovers. ”
“You’re smarter than you pretend. You just hate sticking with anything,” Gwen argues back. “You need something that’s yours, not just a job to kill time. I know as the youngest it was hard for you when Dad died—”
“Don’t bring Dad into this, just don’t, Gwen. I mean it,” I grit out, my hands clenching.
As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I know it’s the wrong thing to say, but the last thing I want to talk about right now is our dad. I don’t want to go there.
Not now.
Not ever.
The silence thickens between us, tense and unforgiving.
A sharp, disappointed sigh from Gwen. “Fine!” she huffs angrily, but since she always has to have the last word she adds a quick, “You know what I mean.”
We’re quiet, only the sound of our breathing, both of us a little too fast, filling the line.
Think about Carter. She’s stressed from Carter and everything else going on in her life, I remind myself, praying for patience.
It takes effort to relax, but eventually I do.
Playing my usual role of peacemaker, I release a breath and deliberately lighten my tone.
I try for teasing. “Why can’t someone pay me for lounging on the beach and surfing? That’s what I’m good at.”
“It’s the surfing that almost got you killed!” she snaps angrily. “I mean, really? Night surfing by yourself?”
Guess she’s not ready to make peace yet.
My first instinct is to fight back, but even I can hear the terror beneath her words.
Ever since losing our dad, Gwen’s hypersensitive to any family member being in danger.
Me almost dying is literally her worst nightmare.
I’m sure it brought back all those terrible memories.
Holding onto my composure, I rub my forehead, pressing like I can force the missing hours to come back, while I try to answer her question.
“I—I don’t know how that happened,” I admit. “It’s strange because I’m the one who always warns people to surf in pairs.”
“You obviously didn’t listen to your own advice,” chides Gwen. Out of nowhere a stifled sob rips out of her, the sound twisting my insides into knots.
“I was so worried when Helen said you were in the hospital.” She’s crying now, my least favorite sound. I’d rather wake up in the ICU, cold and disoriented, a million times, than hear my sister cry.
It kills me to know that I did this to her. Made her sad, worried.
It’s not the first time.
She continues, her breath hitching on her tears. “I wanted to come right away—”
“It’s okay,” I interrupt, rushing to heal the wounds I inflicted. “Seriously, I understand why you had to stay with Carter. Please don’t feel bad, Gwen.”
She sniffles, her voice watery. “I wanted to be there for you. Wish I could take care of you now. Maybe you should come to New York? Stay with us?”
Hating that hopeful rise in her voice, I shake my head at the phone. “California is my home. I want to stay here. You’re busy with Carter anyway.”
“I’m never too busy for you.”
“I know, and I appreciate it, Sissy,” I say, using Gwen’s nickname to soothe her. She always likes it when I say that holdover from when we were little. Back then, I couldn’t pronounce the name Gwen, so she became Sissy, and it’s been that way ever since. “I want to stay here. I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know…” She trails off into silence. At least her tears have slowed. When she speaks again, her voice is careful, measured, like she’s tiptoeing around a stick of dynamite. “Are you sure you can live with Helen without things getting…complicated?”
A prickle of heat crawls up the back of my neck. “Me? Complicated?” I scoff. “Please. I’m a dream roommate—quiet, tidy, never eats anyone’s leftovers.”
A disbelieving huff from Gwen. “Did you forget I’ve actually lived with you? You’re none of those things.” She pauses, then says in a rush, “It’s just that I really like Helen. She’s become a good friend—”
“I won’t do anything to jeopardize that.”
“Are you sure?”
I put my hand over my heart. “I promise. It’ll be fine.”
I tell myself it’s true, that it’s a promise I can keep.
Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll start to believe it.