4
Vanity was the beginning and end of Sir Walter’s character; vanity of person and of situation.—Persuasion
My dad flips through a copy of People magazine with his face on the cover. He was People’s “Sexiest Man Alive” in 2002. He owns at least 100 copies of this issue—several framed, some boxed up to preserve for posterity and then a dozen or so to be read daily, as he is doing now, while he eats his avocado toast and grapefruit. He peruses Sexiest Man whenever he’s stressed. Reading those articles about his talent and good looks always soothes him in times of trouble. I wonder what is worrying him now. Is it my return home, perhaps? My dad does not appreciate my attempts to get him to stick to a budget. And I do not enjoy his effort to make me reach his impossible standard of beauty.
He looks up as I enter the room. I kiss him lightly on the cheek before taking the seat across from him. “You look fantastic, as always,” I tell him. It is the only greeting my father cares to hear. It also happens to be true. Dean Elliot is a silver fox. The years of using a strict skin-care regime have paid off.
“Some of us know how to take care of ourselves,” he says haughtily.
He slides his phone across the linen tablecloth to me.
“What am I to make of this?”
Sure enough. Johnny Love has posted a story about me returning to SoCal and being spotted at Freddy West’s concert. Honestly, the blurb is more complimentary than I expected. It mentions fans being thrilled to have their photo with me. And only the most flattering selfies are included. It calls my new haircut sophisticated (not the crime against humanity some fans claimed it to be) and speculates that my time at school will only add depth to my music.
“It doesn’t seem too bad,” I say.
My dad harrumphs. “What exactly was going on with your face last night?” How does one even begin to answer that? I don’t. I continue sectioning my grapefruit.
“Am I to gather that you saw him ?” I know exactly who my father means by “him,” but I play dumb.
“I saw Johnny Love after the concert, but only for a few minutes.”
“That’s not what I meant. It was Freddy West’s concert. Did you see him? Or rather, did he see you?”
My father raises one perfectly groomed brow.
“I was not so fortunate.”
“He basically lives at the Musgroves. He’s Carlos’s good friend. Neither your sister nor Carlos know anything about that...” He waves his hand in the air, then puts on a deep-thinking face as he searches for the right word. Growing up with my father’s dramatics, I realized years ago that he was famous because of his incredible good looks, not his acting ability. He settles on “ affair, and I think it’s best that way.”
Aha! I was wondering where he was going with this. He knows that this story puts him in a bad light. Honestly, my history with Freddy doesn’t make me look too good, either. I am deeply grateful to Freddy for not sharing it. And goodness knows, he could have made a lot of money with it and even more buzz. I’m tempted to rehash all of this with my dad, but I hear September and Carlos’s voices down the hall.
“I won’t tell them. And I doubt Freddy will.”
“Would you ask him, for me?”
“Sure, Dad.” I let out a little huff, knowing full well I will never ask Freddy this.
The two enter the room and stand in the doorway awkwardly.
My dad starts humming, “Here comes the bride.” Carlos joins him.
“That’s not how I wanted to do this!” whines September, but she’s still smiling. For a minute, I’m confused and then I see the ginormous diamond ring on her left hand. I don’t know why, but my eyes flit first to Carlos. He grins and nods, pulling September to his side, who is still mildly complaining that their announcement didn’t go as planned. I scoot my chair back and run over to them.
“You’re getting married!!!!”
September hugs me and shows off her ring with an obscene diamond.
“When?”
“September, the best month, of course.” My sister answers with a smile that reaches her eyes.
“Perfect. A little over a year to plan,” I say, beginning to make plans in my head, considering possible venues.
Carlos shakes his head. “No, this September.”
“That’s less than three months away.” I sputter.
“When you know, you know.” He shrugs, looking a smidge embarrassed. He should. I remember well when Carlos thought he was in love with me. That was a year or so after things ended with Freddy. I really like Carlos. Honestly, if I hadn’t met Freddy, I might have fancied myself in love with Carlos. But after Freddy, I had a better idea of what a relationship could be, and it wasn’t close to how I felt about Carlos. I love him as a neighbor and loving him as a brother will be easy.
“Then September it is,” I answer with true delight. “What do you need from me?”
“Obvs, I want you to be Maid of Honor,” says my sister. “And wait for it...” She pauses dramatically. “Freddy West is going to be Best Man. He already promised to sing a song at the wedding.” I freeze.
“Maybe it could be a duet?” suggests Carlos. I need to say something, but I can hardly breathe.
September is oblivious. “He is going to write us an original song!” she says with glee.
“Wow! . . .um . . . That’s . . . uh wow . . . Freddy . . . West!” The world is spinning.
“I know! Right? I cannot believe my luck. He’s like the hottest star.”
I do not faint. I do not swoon. But only because I steady myself on the table as I slowly make my way back to my seat. I take several slow, steady breaths before I say, “Let me get this right?” I take a sip of my morning tea. “Freddy West will be at your wedding?”
“Yep,” answers September. “I’ve told you a million times. He’s like best friends with Carlos.” My dad gives me a pointed look. Oh! So that stuff he said earlier was a warning for me. I had heard something about Freddy being friends with Carlos over the years. But here’s the deal: September, bless her heart, tends to exaggerate, and she is also a bit of a name-dropper. Carlos works in the music industry, and I knew he worked with Freddy. And for some reason when she mentioned seeing Freddy at this party or that dinner, I figured they were all work events. Plus, she adds the word “like” to everything. Like everything. And so it’s hard to know if she means “kind of” when she adds the modifier “like” or “absolutely.” For September, “like” can mean either of those things and anything in between. So, no, I did not think when she said Carlos and Freddy were “like best friends” that they were actually best friends.
“He’s like going to write us an original song,” she adds. This can’t be happening. My head throbs.
“You’ll like him, Rainy,” Carlos says, catching my eye. “He’s a good guy—seriously.” I know, Carlos. I know. Apparently, Carlos doesn’t recall that I was the one who suggested he take a look at the surfer named Freddy West playing gigs in San Diego bars.
My dad catches my eye with a look that says, “Don’t say a word.” Oh, I won’t, Dad, believe me. I won’t.
“Well, that’s gre-at.” I plaster on a smile.
“Of course, we want you to sing as well,” says Carlos. “We were thinking a duet. Freddy’s cool with collaborating.” Is he? Freddy knows I don’t write songs. Carlos’s phone buzzes. He looks down. “That’s him. He’ll be right over.”
I spit my tea all over the white linen tablecloth.
“April!” my father reprimands. He’s mainly upset because I hit his issue of Sexiest Man. He hastily wipes it off with his napkin.
“Are you okay?” my sister asks.
“Yeah, yeah.” I look at Carlos. “Freddy West is coming over? Now?”
“Yeah, he’s staying in the pool house while his house is being remodeled.”
Freddy West slept last night in the Musgrove’s studio apartment? I had my first kiss in that apartment. Heck! I kissed Carlos there. I can see into the mid-century bungalow with its glass walls from my bedroom window. I suddenly have this urge to run up to my room and spy. Maybe Freddy is out on the patio right now, strumming his guitar. But, no, according to Carlos, he’s on his way over. For the first time ever, I am grateful that my dad insists we breakfast fully dressed with our hair and makeup red-carpet ready. I dropped this routine at college and intend to do so next week. I’m tired of being constrained by my father’s antiquated notions of beauty. But for my first few days back, I decided to keep the peace. And for once, I’m grateful I did.
Not that I’m wearing anything special. Just wide-legged black linen trousers with a soft fitted tee. But it’s also kind of the perfect outfit to see an ex in. It doesn’t look like I’m trying, but I know I look good. My makeup and hair are perfect. One side benefit of being my dad’s daughter, I am skilled at applying makeup. I can do so in the dark or a speeding car. Today, I went for the natural look with bolder lipstick to match my red flats. Still, this is not how I pictured my reunion with Freddy. I thought maybe I’d call him; we’d go to lunch and catch up... and... I don’t know what I expected. Just not this.
My father clears his throat as he stands up. “I’m late for my massage. Sorry to dine and dash.” He gives September a shoulder squeeze and a kiss on top of her head. “I am happy for you. Carlos is a good guy.” I feel a surge of anger that he couldn’t have been as supportive when I wanted to get married.
He hurries out of the room at the sound of voices near the front door. It occurs to me that my dad might be ashamed of how he treated Freddy. Good. He should be. Problem is, so am I.
High-pitched giggling floats from the foyer, female giggling. It actually sounds like a whole room of sorority girls, but I know those laughs. It’s Carlos’s sisters, Rosie and Daisy, one dangling on each of Freddy’s arms. Upon seeing me, both girls squeal and run over.
“April!!!! You’re home,” exclaims Rosie. She’s the oldest twin with masses of dark brown curls.
“Are you staying for good?” Daisy asks. She wears her straight black hair in a lob.
“I’m staying in LA for now,” I answer Daisy’s question, but all my senses stretch out toward Freddy, who hangs back in the doorway. I don’t dare look straight at him, but I can feel his presence without seeing him. It’s like the air changed when he entered the room. I’m trying desperately to act normal, but my head feels buzzy and light, almost like I have a fever.
“Then you absolutely must come to our birthday party!” says Rosie.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say the words automatically.
“Yay, I was worried you’d go back to Ohio again.”
“Iowa, I was in Iowa, and I’ve finished school.” At this statement, Freddy steps forward. I sense him moving closer before I see him.
Rosie grabs hold of his arm. “Freddy, you have to meet April. She was my favorite babysitter.” It’s true. I babysat Daisy and Rosie. Which is weird because where was Carlos? Probably playing football or baseball or basketball. He lives for sports.
Carlos steps in to make the introduction.
“Freddy, this is April, my soon-to-be sister. She’s far too modest to let the world know half her charms. April, this is Freddy, a decent singer and surfing god.”
I raise my eyes to his face. We should probably shake hands. But all we do is stare. Not into each other’s eyes. No, we are both doing a world-class job of avoiding eye contact. Still, I take in a lot of information. He is wearing a wrinkled T-shirt and some basketball shorts. At his neckline, I spy the same leather cord he wore when he first rescued me. His hair is a bit longer than five years ago. I swear he’s a couple inches taller. But that’s not possible. Men don’t grow from age 2 to 29, do they? He is definitely thicker and more muscled. Which makes sense, considering he must have a pretty intense workout regimen to maintain optimal fitness for performing. And let’s face it, the fans go wild when Freddy West takes off his shirt. I may or may not have watched such clips on repeat a few hundred... million times.
I have Googled Freddy West more than is healthy and scrolled through all my private photos of him numberless times. But here in real life, just a few feet away, breathing the same air I’m breathing, I realize I had no idea, absolutely no clue, how much I missed him. The real him. It’s all too much.
“We’ve met,” he says with no emotion, giving me the briefest of head nods. Still no meaningful eye contact.
“What?” asks Daisy and Rosie in unison. They both sound disappointed.
“You are kidding!” A shocked September turns to me. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? You know I’m a HUGE Freddy West fan.”
“I wasn’t famous when your sister knew me. Hardly worth mentioning.” He says the last line breezily enough, but his normally friendly brown eyes are hard and cold.
“So, like, a long time ago?” September says with surprise.
“Yeah, when you were backpacking around the world,” I say.
“That makes sense.” She shrugs and tosses her sleek brown hair over her shoulder. “Freddy, do you want some breakfast?”
She didn’t ask the obvious question: if we dated or were romantically involved. I guess in September’s mind, Freddy West, famous or not, is out of my league. He probably is.
“Yeah, I’m always starving after a concert.” He gives me a look that I can’t interpret. Does he know that I went to his concert? Is he angry?
“When is your next concert?” Rosie asks. Why is her hand on his arm? Why doesn’t he swat it away? Are they dating? Isn’t she a bit young for him? Why have I never noticed how absolutely enchanting, sweet Rosie Musgrove can be? Her big brown, adoring eyes are fixed on Freddy. Long brown spiral curls frame her face, reminding me of my own hair before I hacked it off. I reflexively put a hand to my mop of hair.
“I have a break for the next week or so and then I’m back on the road,” he answers.
“And you swear Benwick won’t back out this time?” Carlos asks, the faintest hint of annoyance tinging his perennially sunny tone.
“I have his word,” says Freddy.
“Benwick is one of my new contracts,” Carlos explains. “You may have heard of him. Lead singer for the Dead Chickens.” I haven’t heard of him or the Dead Chickens but take note of the band name and plan to listen to them when I have a chance.
“Benwick’s coming by later this afternoon,” says Freddy. “We’ll sort it all out after we go surfing.”
“Mr. Killjoy surfs?” Rosie asks with some derision.
“Plenty of depressed guys surf,” Freddy answers. His eyes flick to mine as if to add, Like me, after you dumped me. Or maybe that’s just my guilty conscience.
“Depressed is not the word for Benwick. He is like a black hole for happiness,” says Rosie. “He enters a room, and everyone stops laughing. You talk to him for a few minutes, and you want to cry.” Freddy looks at her askance and gently moves her hand off his arm.
“Be nice.”
“Yeah, Rosie. You know Ben’s story?” asks her older brother. “His girlfriend died in a car crash last year.”
“Oh!” Rosie puts her hand over her mouth. “I had no idea. That’s so tragic... and romantic.”
“I don’t know about romantic,” says Freddy. “He planned a future with her. And then, one day, bam! She’s gone.” The room falls quiet. Freddy, performer that he is, speaks slowly, deliberately. “And every day, he wakes to the crushing realization that the love of his life is gone.” He pins his eyes on me. I shiver. He blinks and plasters on a fake smile. “Nah, I can’t imagine that.”
“Enough talk about dying!” whines September. “I can’t handle sad stuff. Also, it’s like bad luck when we have a wedding to plan. Freddy, do you have any ideas about the song you’re going to write?”
I am both embarrassed and impressed by my sister and how she is bossing Freddy West around.
“I was working on something just this morning,” I can tell by his sly grin that he’s setting up a joke.
“Wonderful, tell me all about it,” says an eager September.
“Hear me out.” He rubs his hands together. “The working title is ‘Devastated.’ ”
September hesitates. “Um... that doesn’t really sound like a wedding song.”
“You’ve got to hear it. You might not love the line that means, more or less, I’ll never trust a woman again, but that’s what keeps it grounded. You wouldn’t want a cheesy love song.”
My sister bites her lip. “Eh... um... Maybe I like cheesy.” She laces her fingers with Carlos’s as he makes steady work on his quiche. She kisses the back of his hand. “Because sometimes cheesy is real.”
“He’s kidding,” I say.
Daisy and Rosie laugh as if they were in on the joke. September scowls, then lets go of Carlos’s hand to tackle her quiche.
Carlos laughs so hard he’s wiping tears from his eyes.
“Sorry to tease you, September.” Freddy gives her contrite puppy dog eyes. “We’ll get to work on the song right away.” His tone becomes harsher when he addresses me. “Won’t we, April?”
My day is wide open; I only have some unpacking and organizing to do. But after the last few minutes with Freddy, I desperately need several hours alone with sad songs to process it all.
“Could we meet tomorrow? I’ve got a lot going on today.”
“Tomorrow works. I think the twins have plans for me today, anyway.” He gives Rosie and Daisy a huge smile.
“We want to show Freddy the pier,” Rosie says, again placing a proprietary hand on his forearm. “Can you believe he’s never been there?”
“Not today...” whines September. “I want to go, and Carlos and I have to check some wedding venues.”
Freddy stands up, pushing his plate away. “We’ll do the pier another day.” Rosie and Daisy get up and follow him. “I’ll be fine as long as I’m with my girls.”