Chapter 10
10
“A re you Amish?” Pearl asked.
Sam had not slept well. Instead of sleeping, she’d spent most of the night telling herself to go to bed but was unable to do so because she just wanted to listen to more songs on the CD player. And now she was finding a parking spot in front of the Rocha house, and she couldn’t be totally sure—lack of sleep, and all—but her grandma seemed to be asking a bizarre question.
“What?” Sam watched the backup camera as she parallel parked.
“Your sleeves are down to your wrists and your dress has a collar,” Pearl clarified.
“You’d rather I dress like an ad for Margaritaville?” Sam countered. Pearl was festive in a Hawaiian shirt that matched her neon cast. “This is from Paris. It’s Parisian.”
Pearl pointedly yawned. “What it is, is a hot one. You’ll get swamp pits. Don’t come crying to me when you’re swimming before you’ve gotten into the pool.”
Pearl opened the car door and got out. Sam looked down at her outfit. She’d put this on to feel confident. The dress was chic. It hugged her curves. It made her feel sexy. And she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t want Damon to see her that way, especially after the visions she’d had that suggested they were better together than apart.
She wasn’t able to explain that to Pearl, though, so she’d just take her chances with the swamp pits and hope for the best.
As soon as she got out of the car, a dog the size of a bag of airplane peanuts came bounding out the front door toward them.
“Is that Rusty?” Sam asked and slammed the car door shut. She held a bouquet of pansies. Yes, Dream Damon had told her they were her mom’s favorite. And yes, she’d bought them specifically to see if he’d been right.
“No.” Pearl pursed her lips. “This is Rusty 2.0. We don’t much care for each other as you can probably tell.”
Indeed, the dog—which was almost a copy-and-paste replica of the miniature pinscher Damon had grown up with—got out multiple barks and growls at Pearl. Pearl, for her part, growled back, which forced the dog to turn its attention to Sam. Much to her surprise, the dog quickly mounted her calf and began a long and luxurious series of thrusts.
She regretted her decision to wear a dress that didn’t cover all of her legs as she tried to gently shake the dog off.
“Making friends already, Sam-Sam,” Damon called out.
She managed to forcibly remove the dog, though Rusty 2.0’s tongue hung out and his gaze remained fixed on the spot he’d violated. “Yeah, well, they say the South is super friendly!”
Sam quickly walked away from the dog. She gave Damon a hug and lingered in his embrace for perhaps a beat too long. To be fair, their bodies fit together and being wrapped in his arms was even more satisfying than finding the perfect carry-on bag that stowed easily under a seat.
“Everyone’s out back,” Damon said as he pulled away. “Are those for my mom?”
“Indeed.” Sam lifted the flowers in acknowledgment.
“She’ll love those,” he said.
“Would you say they’re her favorite?” Sam asked.
But a bark from the dog broke off her question. Pearl swatted at the tiny, vicious thing with her handbag.
“Pecan!” Damon’s tone was so stern that the little dog quit nipping at Pearl’s sandals. Then Damon held out his palm and added, “Slow.”
And it was the damnedest thing, but the dog slowly walked to Damon and booped his palm with his wet nose.
They followed Damon through the front door, across the living room and toward the back patio. This had been her second home in high school, but unlike Pearl’s place, Cathy and Humbe had made upgrades.
“Humbe got rid of the La-Z-Boy?” Sam asked.
“Cathy did,” Damon corrected. “She redecorated using only small businesses. But don’t worry, he found a place for it in the garage. And on weekends, he opens the door, lights a cigar and reclines the hell out of that thing.”
“A La-Z-Boy of one’s own,” Sam said. “Did she keep your room a museum, too?”
“Unfortunately, my velvet black light posters have been replaced with tasteful bookshelves. Apparently, my room made for a great home office.” Damon opened the sliding glass door and a wall of noise greeted them: big booms of laughter and the samba music Humbe loved to play.
Sam stepped off the patio and onto the grassy lawn where the scent of spiced meat cooking on the grill surrounded her. There was the perfectly round pool she and Damon lived in during the summers, the tire swing Damon used to push her in and the long picnic table where the Rocha family gathered for weekly dinners with Sam as the honorary plus-one.
“Sam!” an overly excited voice called out. When Sam turned, she saw Farrah, bounding toward her. Farrah’s rich black hair was pulled into a high ponytail that swished as she jogged over.
Sam couldn’t help but smile; Farrah was Damon’s older, and much cooler, sister. They’d both idolized her, and she occasionally gave them a ride to the mall or school. Even now, Farrah wore cutoff jeans and a linen cropped shirt that looked effortlessly stylish.
Sam wrapped her in a tight hug. She was so relieved to see a friendly face that she completely forgot the rest of the party around them. Which is why she didn’t notice Cathy approach from the side.
“There’s our little valedictorian!” Cathy grinned. Much like everyone Sam had left in Tybee, Cathy had aged. Her hair had gone completely silver, and she kept it in a neat, cropped bob. There were deep lines around her eyes and forehead. And as she walked toward Sam in her chambray jean skirt, even her movements seemed slower. Sam wanted to stop time and go back to the Cathy she’d known before.
Sam started to get emotional, so she cut her feelings off and moved toward Cathy.
“I brought you pansies.” Sam held out the bouquet.
Cathy’s mouth fell open. “Oh, my favorite! Did you tell her I love these, Damon?”
“No,” he said, hands in his pockets. “I did not.”
Part of Sam screamed Fuuuuck , because her CD player was, without a doubt, sending her messages from some other universe.
Cathy held Sam’s hands in hers. “I wouldn’t have recognized you, honestly. I mean, you always had the brains, but now you’re a real beauty.”
“She’s always been a beauty,” Pearl piped up. “Inside and out.”
“Such a doting grandmotherly response,” Sam said with a smile.
“But no more black lipliner,” Cathy said.
“Not at this time of the afternoon, at least,” Sam said.
“You must be dating someone, right?” Cathy’s eyes sparkled with hope.
“I’m not.” Sam involuntarily looked at Damon, but he studied his shoes.
“How can that be? Damon, how can that be?” Cathy asked, as if he’d genuinely know the answer.
Damon rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, Mama.”
“Anyway, honey, we’re so happy to have you home.” Cathy’s expression was warm.
Sam knew that if she and Damon were together now, she’d likely be her mother-in-law. Sam had missed out on this kind of loving presence in her life in order to pursue her dream. Was it worth it?
“I’ve got vegan sliders on the table, and Humbe is making pork, if you’re into that kind of thing.”
Humbe wore a pair of massive gloves as he lifted the lid off the big green egg grill. A billow of smoke rose, along with a wave of pepper and paprika. Humbe closed the lid just as quickly, then turned, clocked Sam and called out, “Oi!”
“Hey, Mr. Rocha,” Sam called back and made her way over.
Humbe removed his gloves, grabbed Sam’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on both cheeks. “E aí, tudo certo?”
Sam’s Portuguese was rusty, but she could never forget how to respond to Humbe’s question of how she was doing. “Tudo bem,” she said. All good . A white lie.
He clapped his hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t forgotten your Portuguese. You always were the smart one.”
Damon came next to them and eyed his dad warily. “You’re not giving Sam a hard time, are you?”
“Why would I do that?” Humbe was very tall and very bald, and when he laughed his whole body shook. As he smiled, something else caught his attention, and he looked just past them. “Is that ‘Oba, Lá Vem Ela’? Turn that up,” he called out.
The volume of the samba music grew, and Sam chanced a glance at Damon. He groaned. She knew what was coming just as much as he did.
“Humbe, no dancing before dinner,” Cathy said.
But it was too late. Once Humbe had the volume turned up, there was no stopping the rhythm in his feet. He extended his hand to Cathy.
“It’s our song, meu bem,” he said.
Cathy crossed her arms and pretended to be annoyed, but very clearly was not. She eventually moved to Humbe, took his hand and they began to dance.
Damon and Sam watched them in silence, until he broke it. “Sometimes I wonder how they ended up together, and how it still works.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam replied. Humbe and Cathy had met in the Peace Corps and, despite their culinary differences, worked well together. “She’s a vegan baker, and he’s a samba-loving carnivore. They’re basically fated.”
“Stop shit-talking your mother and me and get to dancing,” Humbe said to Damon.
Damon huffed out a sigh. “You know he means I should dance with you, like old times.”
“Old times,” Sam said somewhat wistfully.
She’d learned to samba in Damon’s backyard at a barbecue much like this one. She was pretty sure this song had played, too. The samba could be tricky—a lot of fast steps, hips and floating across the floor. But Humbe and Cathy were determined teachers, so they’d learned the moves quickly.
“May I have this dance?” Damon extended his open palm to her.
She should definitely not dance with him. But Humbe would be insistent, and maybe if they just did this one song, it would be over soon. So Sam clenched her jaw and took Damon’s hand. His grip was strong and sure, and his other hand landed on the small of her back, but this time she didn’t flinch.
He guided her across the lawn, and she watched his steps: two-two-two-four, two-two-two-four. The counting Humbe and Cathy had drilled into them came back, along with her hips circling in time with her steps. Once she remembered the footwork, Sam looked up, and Damon watched her. The tip of his tongue lingered at the corner of his mouth as he focused on her. And she knew this was all part of the samba—maintaining eye contact helped you stay in line with your partner. But then there were his fingers, which tightened and released around her hips as he spun her under his arm. Their hips met briefly as he pulled her back in, and his hot breath brushed across her neck as he brought her close.
Sam was breathless as he spun her out again. The end of the song approached, and Damon dipped her. He hovered above her and pressed his body tight with hers. Their lips were so close that his breath ghosted across her skin. They were locked in a moment, breathing with each other. She could just tilt her chin a touch up, and their lips would meet.
But then there was the squeal of the sliding glass door, followed by Marissa’s high-pitched voice. “Guess who brought prosecco!”
Sam glanced over. Marissa watched them with an open mouth, but then seemed to think better of whatever was on her mind and held the bottle up high above her head with a smile.
When Sam looked back to Damon, he was still locked on her, like he hadn’t noticed anyone else around them.
“Marissa’s here,” Sam cautiously said.
Damon frowned. He quickly straightened and brought Sam up with him. His hand held her just long enough so she could gather her footing. And once she did, Damon released her. “My dad must’ve invited her,” he said.
Sam smoothed a hand down her dress and thought about that. Damon hadn’t invited his own girlfriend to the barbecue? Still, he moved toward Marissa.
Pearl came next to Sam as Marissa kissed Damon on the cheek.
“So that’s the girlfriend?” Pearl asked with all the subtlety of a shark in a paddling pool.
“Yeah.” Sam tried not to sound too put out but she was. “She’s a doctor and her hair smells the way heaven should.”
“She’s cute, but she’s no you,” Pearl said.
Sam finally exhaled at the realization that Pearl, at least, was in her corner.
“Not to change the subject, but you’ve got swamp pits, like I said you would.”
Sam’s attention shifted from Damon to her dress, as she looked down at the sweat stains blooming under her arms. But Pearl turned on her heel and headed straight for the table with the margarita machine.
Sam crossed her arms to hide the evidence, and watched as Marissa took her place next to Damon.