10. Vivian
ten
Vivian
“ I have Atticus’s number.” The sentence slips from my lips as I clutch my phone in both hands, staring like it’s The One Ring. With the way I’m murmuring, singularly focused on the glowing digits while blindly walking home, I might as well be saying, “My precious.”
Out of habit, I hook around the back of Dotty’s Market, weaving between discarded cardboard boxes and wooden pallets. Cliff, Dotty’s grandson and employee, sits on an overturned bucket, vaping. He gives me an upward nod of acknowledgment as I pass.
Before I fling open the unlocked door at the back of my building, I take a breath to process the last half hour.
It worked. The wish. Finn’s dating advice.
All of it. I not only spoke real words—whole sentences!
—to my crush, I got his phone number. And more importantly, he has mine.
Now I just need to wait for him to ask me out.
I can’t wait to tell Brynn.
My expanding smile grows as I push open the back door.
Once, in middle school, two girls from a group project convinced me to have our planning meeting at my house just to see the only residence on the island that sat atop a coffee shop.
I felt a little like an outer space tour guide, showing them the singular entrance at the back of the building, the narrow vestibule holding two doors to the shop and also the staircase.
They’d oohed and ahhed over the unusual ingress.
Once we arrived upstairs, my classmates were less impressed.
At that time, Aunt Tammy ran Seabreeze Beans, sleeping in the bedroom facing the nature preserve while Brynn and I shared a set of bunk beds in the bedroom facing the road.
The compact size of our living room and the galley kitchen that you had to walk through to get to the bedrooms didn’t win any awards either.
Toeing my canvas shoes onto the small rack beneath the skinny entry table at the top of the stairs, I call out to Brynn, “Honey, I’m home. What do you want me to make for dinner?”
By this point, she’ll be awake from her afternoon nap.
After closing shop at three, she and Sandy clean and prepare for the next day, then Brynn usually passes out for an hour or two.
Because Brynn keeps me caffeinated and provides me with free pastries—something I indulge in twice daily—I always make dinner.
Some nights, we eat dinner, and then she runs errands, helping out various community members.
I provide the food for whoever in Wilks Beach needs a meal, and Brynn delivers it.
Whenever people aren’t having babies, breaking limbs, or coming home from unexpected hospital stints, we relax together in the evenings.
And on Saturday nights, we watch movies, alternating between my favorite—period pieces—and Brynn’s favorite—action flicks.
“Hmmmmmrrrrffff.”
The animalistic grumble sounds from the couch, and I find a Brynn-shaped lump huddling beneath the gray comforter from her bed. The muted TV on a home shopping channel touts festive summer yard decorations for the low, low price of $12.99. Order now, folks!
“There’s no way we can pass up a yard flamingo with a gnome riding on its back.” I sit and pull Brynn’s socked feet into my lap, massaging her toes. “It’s traffic-stopping. That’s how cute it is.”
Pleased, incoherent muttering comes from the other end of the couch as I continue toward her arches. “Oooh! Now there’s a gnome floating on a flamingo raft, holding a pineapple cocktail.” I laugh. “Where do they come up with these things?”
When I press my thumbs firmly against her heels, where she’s the sorest from being on her feet all day, Brynn flings down the comforter covering her head and gives me a sleepy smile. “You’re my favorite person, you know that?”
“Want to buy your favorite person a whimsical tchotchke?”
She blinks at the screen. “That’s pretty cute, but we don’t have a yard.”
“We could put it on the receiving counter at the shop.” Though I have my own shop now, we always referred to Seabreeze Beans as ‘the shop.’ “Give it a fanciful name like Brewster Beanbottom or Java Jingleheimer.”
Brynn considers this a moment, staring at the slowly revolving figurine. “It’d be better if it had a coffee mug in its hand.”
“Yeah,” I concede, allowing my gaze to drift out the window facing the singular road that runs the length of Wilks Beach.
Driving Sand Bend Road into the island, you have two options.
Go straight past the water tower, our businesses, and Dotty’s, and end up at the small parking lot behind the library.
Or turn right and drive for two miles, passing the fire station, gym, a handful of bay-facing homes, and Bayside Table before dead-ending at the larger parking lot for the island’s park and public beach access.
Along the way, short single-lane roads jut toward the ocean, lined with single family homes.
The last offshoot accommodates the condo complex with a residents-only parking garage.
I can only see the corner of the fire station and the flagpole from here, but not far beyond lies Finn’s rental. A surge of excitement blazes down my forearms, and I pat Brynn’s feet.
“I have news.”
“You finally saw a mermaid on today’s swim?”
I chuckle, thinking about the childhood dream I often shared with Brynn. “Nope.”
“We won the lottery?”
My head shakes. “We’d have to play the lottery to win it.”
“Your ocean wish came true.”
When I pause, Brynn shoots upright, yanking her feet from my grip and toppling the blanket on the floor. The action startles Pepper, who’d been dozing on the top pedestal of her cat tower. She lets out an annoyed meow, rolling away from us.
“ No. ” I don’t think I’ve ever seen my sister this shocked. I witnessed something similar when Noah, her ex-boyfriend, betrayed her, but the wide-eyed, gape-mouth stare she’s giving me doesn’t contain a smidgen of hurt.
I bite my bottom lip and nod.
My usually articulate sister stammers for a few seconds, finally eeking out, “How? When?... How?”
“I was at the library. Finn and I were talking—”
“The mainlander? I thought I told you to stay away from him?”
My shoulders deflate slightly, some of my previous effervescence dissipating. I know Brynn is just trying to protect me, but sometimes her need to help, to jump into action, ends up steamrolling me.
A memory from our first year living in this apartment with Aunt Tammy surges forward.
Our aunt asked about our school day, and Brynn answered for me.
By that point, I’d been working with a school counselor with the hopes that talking about our parents’ car crash would help with my self-expression.
Though I’d always been more shy than Brynn, I’d barely murmured a word to anyone after their unexpected loss.
That night, I’d wanted to talk about the drawing I’d done in counseling while Brynn had been at PE, but I never got the chance.
“Finn happened to be there when Atticus came by. Atticus and I chatted for a bit and exchanged numbers.”
The lie about Finn makes me uneasy, but based on her reaction, I don’t feel that I can tell Brynn the truth.
I’d hoped to explain this whole dating-coach situation, to tell her that she’s wrong about Finn.
He’s helped me more in the last week than anyone in this town ever has.
Though, when I think about it…that’s not really a fair statement.
Cade and Summer—two incredibly sweet and outgoing locals—both tried, on separate occasions, to help me capture Atticus’s attention. It just never worked out.
My brows pinch. Why didn’t their efforts take, yet holding Finn’s gaze in the library earlier, I knew I was unstoppable?
My sister flops back on the cushions. “Wow. That’s . . . wow. That’s so great, Viv.”
I nod, twisting the silver shell ring on my pinky finger. My brain whirs, wondering why things are only starting to work out now . It must be my ocean wish. I’ve just never had one come true before.
Several seconds pass before Brynn’s stomach rumbles loudly. “Sorry.” She rubs her flat belly. “I missed lunch today.”
“I’ll get started on dinner,” I say, happy for the distraction. “What sounds good?”
“Something light? Pasta, maybe, since it’s just for us tonight?” She glances out the window. “Let me get a quick four first.”
By “a quick four” she means four miles—two loops of Sand Bend Road. Like many other members of our town who also have a loose grip on their sanity, Brynn loves to run. You couldn’t pay me to run in the humid, eighty-degree weather when I could be slicing through soothing water.
“You got it.”
Pasta won’t take that long to prepare, so while Brynn heads out, I flop on the floral-print comforter in my room. I’m about to unlock my phone and stare at the number I’ve already memorized when realization that Brynn never asked any follow-up questions about Atticus pricks at my temple.
No “What did you two talk about?”
Or “Did you set up a date?”
Or “Does he have a brother for me?”
Nothing.
Disappointment pools deep in my belly. I’d really wanted a squealy, jump-on-the-couch gab session with my sister.
It feels like years since we’ve done that.
We’re always so focused on work, only vegging out together after long days.
Brynn, more so than me, is perpetually exhausted, always giving too much of herself.
That’s why I came up with a way to give Brynn a much-needed break.
It’ll require another huge leap outside of my comfort zone, which is why I’ve kept it a secret.
A rough swallow struggles down my throat. The next step of my three-part plan to transform my life is Mount Everest compared to talking to Atticus. But after successfully talking to strangers and getting Atticus’s phone number at the library, I might just be able to pull it off.
Especially if I have a little help.
Convincing myself that the queasy spiral in my stomach is anticipation and not nerves, I pull up my contacts. I allow myself one breathy sigh at Atticus’s number before I tab over to the text conversation with Finn.
Vivian
Hey, Coach. Can you meet up later tonight?