Chapter 21
2 1
August
I’m hoping you went to bed hours ago like a sane person, but I wanted you to be the first to know that the mastered copy of Mistletoe Matrimony has officially been sent off to Chip.
Sophie:
Congratulations!!!
To you, too. Let’s hope it pays off in every way possible.
Sophie:
It will! I’ve been praying it does something incredible for us both. I mean, think how excited Chip was after he heard the sample of you reading as Blake!
Don’t remind me. If he calls me August the Narrator one more time...
Sop hie:
?? Well, he’s right to think it’s going to do well. You did a fantastic job!
Learned from the best.
Sophie:
?? So ... do I finally get to hear the score you composed?
Depends.
Sophie:
On what?
If you wanna play hookie with me in the morning. Figure we could both use a day off.
Sophie:
Do I get to know where this celebratory hookie morning is taking place? A girl needs to know how to dress for such an occasion.
Wear your swimsuit under something warm. I should have everything else you’ll need.
Sophie:
My swimsuit? It’s October!
You’ll be fine, I promise. Can you be ready by 5? We need to get an early start. I’ll pick you up.
Sophie:
As in 4.5 hours from now?
Affirmative. Sweet dreams.
Sophie:
They will be. ??
I pick Sophie up in my dad’s Bronco right on time, and she’s both ready and waiting as soon as I pull up to the winery. It’s the second time I’ve been here that I haven’t made it past the driveway. For scorekeeping purposes, I’m now zero for two on that VIP tour Sophie promised.
“I adore the retro interior of this Bronco—it’s super cool. I can see why you and Gabby love it so much.” She sweeps a hand across the dashboard. “I bet you have a lot of great memories in here.”
“I do.” My headlights slash through the early morning darkness. “I was a freshman in high school when he made a trade for it. He built a deck for a guy at his church. He always wanted a vehicle with a rack to make the surfboards easier to transport.”
She clasps her hands at her chest and does a little hop in her seat. “Please tell me surfing is the reason behind your wet suit and the boards strapped to the roof?”
I flash her a grin as I pull onto the deserted highway. “Figured it was time I took my girlfriend out for her first lesson.”
“Yes!” She pumps her fists in the air. “I was hoping that was your plan. I’m also hoping we can enjoy the drive while listening to a newly composed soundtrack. Hint hint.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Let’s hear it. You promised me.”
“Unfortunately, my dad never installed a sound system, so I have nothing to play it on in here.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “Does that mean you have the file on your phone?”
I wait a beat before answering. “Affirmative.”
She immediately reaches for the bag at her feet and plucks out her earbuds. “I’ve come prepared.”
With some reluctance, I hand her my phone and give her the passcode, and then walk her through how to find the audio file. In seconds, Sophie’s earphones are connected.
She taps Play and almost immediately pulls one earbud out. “ This . This is the song you were humming when I woke up after my...” She swallows. “After the power went out in the studio.”
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “You remember that?”
She nods. “I do. I loved it then, and I love it even more now with all the instruments you’ve added. It’s a perfect culmination of the storyline, too. A little angsty, a little cutesy, a little Christmas-y, and definitely romantic. It’s perfect for the book.”
“Thank you,” I say, genuinely overcome by her affirming response. “I rewrote the entire melody line in my head that day while you slept in my arms.”
She plugs her earbuds in again and starts it over from the top. The song itself is only a minute and forty-two seconds, but Sophie plays it on repeat for the remainder of the drive to the beach. And I can’t help but fall all the harder for her because of it.
When I finally pull up to the curb of Doran Beach—a spectacular spot for a first surfing lesson located in Bodega Bay—Sophie leans over the console and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Did you know my super hot surfer boyfriend is a musical prodigy who also narrates and produces audiobooks?”
I’m smiling as I capture her brazen smile with a kiss of my own. Already, the early morning wake-up call feels worth it.
We unpack the Bronco as the sunrise begins to peek out from behind the mountains. Coming up with surfing gear for Sophie wasn’t an issue in the slightest. I used to joke that my parents’ garage could double as a small surf shop. That’s what happens when an entire family adopts the same hobby. There’s a pinch in my chest when I recall how easily Gabby agreed to loan Sophie her wet suit for today when I haven’t allowed her a day out on the water since the accident.
“Are you sure this thing is rated for a beginner?” Sophie asks, scrutinizing the board I’ve just leaned against the Bronco.
The board I brought for Sophie is an eight-foot soft top, ideal for her height, weight, and lack of experience.
“Positive.” I hold out Gabby’s wet suit to her and launch into best practices for getting into a wet suit for the first time. Surprisingly, she doesn’t seem fazed by my cautionary instructions.
Inste ad, she takes the garment from me and steps around to the back of the Bronco to disrobe from her sweats and hoodie. The instant I see the red flash of her bathing suit, I turn around. “If you even knew how many times I’ve had to change in and out of regency ballgowns while under the duress of a corset backstage, you wouldn’t question my ability to handle a bit of neoprene.”
After a couple minutes of fidgeting in the sand, Sophie tells me she’s done. And I’m not the least bit astonished by how good she looks in surfing gear.
I show her how to carry her board down to the water, as my arms and back are loaded. And much like with her wet suit, she handles it like a champ. The temperature of the water on her bare feet, however, she struggles with a bit more.
“How are you standing in this without flinching?” she asks as she dances in the tide on her tiptoes. “I forgot how cold the Pacific is.”
I belt out a laugh and secure the leash to her ankle. “It’s fifty-eight degrees. Give yourself a minute. You’ll adjust.”
“Pretty sure this will still feel frigid to me in an hour.”
“Look.” I point behind us at the sunrise yawing awake, reflecting off the open water. If anything, the coming light will warm her, which will help distract from her chilled extremities.
And just like I thought, she seems to forget all about her discomfort and focuses instead on the addictive beauty of the ocean at sunrise. There’s nothing like it in all the world.
Sophie’s mesmerized by the sherbet-colored sky, and in turn, I’m mesmerized by her. The only thing better than enjoying a sunrise on the beach alone is having someone I care for enjoy it with me. Not just someone , I think. Sophie .
“There’s nothing random.” Her words are so hushed they’re nearly lost to the rhythmic hum of the waves beyond.
“What?” I ask, coming up beside her in the surf, board tucked under one arm while I secure the other around her waist.
“I’m just thinking how none of this is by chance.” The awe in her voice is unmistakable, and I have enough self-awareness to know she’s not speaking about us, not directly anyway. The expression she w ears now is one I, too, have worn dozens of times while standing on this side of the open water. There’s something about the vastness of the ocean that beckons to something deep within.
“All of this—the sun, the ocean, those birds in the sky, every creature in the sea ... you and me .” She takes in a deep breath, then slowly releases it with her face tilted toward the sky. “I was just chatting with Portia and Gabby about that last Tuesday.” Her smile is huge when she declares, “Nothing is ever random. God has a plan for everything, and we’re all a part of it.” She fills her lungs with the salty air. “There is nothing outside His redemption because redemption is His plan. I think that’s one of the most comforting things about having a relationship with God.”
Unbidden, several Scriptures I memorized long ago chase across my mind, reinforcing Sophie’s claims as truth. Yet my chest burns with a familiar discomfort. I remember what it was like to feel that way about the things of God. To look at creation with wonder and awe, to see myself as part of God’s divine master plan. But that was two dead parents and one injured sister ago. And no matter how my views may change or shift, I’d never get a second chance to make things right with the two people who fought the hardest for me. I’d never get the chance to tell them I was wrong.
Where’s the redemption in that?
“You were right.” Sophie nudges me. “My feet don’t hurt now that they’re numb.” Her delight over this revelation pulls me out of my spiral. “So what do we do now?”
This, at least, is an answer that requires no amount of self-reflection. “Now, we learn to surf.”
For the next couple hours, I teach Sophie the proper way to pop up and balance while still on the sand before we progress to the water and learn paddle techniques, along with how to adjust her position on the board. I also show her how to bail. It will be a while until she’s ready for the final step in the four-part cycle of paddle, adjust, chase, surf. She’s fallen off her board dozens of times by this point, and though her arms visibly shake with signs of fatigue, she continues to climb back on. Again and again. I keep waiting for her t o call it a day as her arms are likely leaden weights by this point, but unlike other first-timers I’ve been around, Sophie doesn’t seem defeated by her slow progress; she seems all the more determined by it. And my admiration and respect for her grows with each wave she balances on.
“You should surf, August,” she calls out as we paddle toward each other in the shallows. She’s lying prostrate on her board, her cupped hands treading at half speed through the open water. “I can hang out on the beach and wait for you.”
I’ve been straddling my board, using it more as a floating device today than anything else so I can be close when she needs me.
“I’m good,” I say. “I’m happy to go at your speed.”
“I don’t want you to miss out. All you’ve done is watch me get on my board and then promptly fall off.” She offers me a tired grin. “I’ll be happy to watch you while I take a rest in the sunshine.”
When she shakes her wave-beaten head, I can’t imagine that lopsided bun will be easy to untangle once we’re out of the water. Yet even so, Sophie is the only person I know who can still look radiant after succumbing to dozens of wipeouts.
“Nobody’s a natural on their first or even their tenth time out—and if you hear otherwise, they’re lying. You did great.” I hook my foot under her board and draw her in close. The waves and weather really are perfect today. “How about I help you get settled on the beach, and then if you’re really sure you’re okay with me going out—”
“I’m sure. Although...” She shoots me a withering look. “I’ll be honest with you, I don’t know if I’m gonna have enough muscle left to walk back to the Bronco when it’s time.”
“Then you can borrow my muscle.” It’s only after I say it that I realize how cheesy it sounds, but Sophie isn’t looking at me like I’ve just said the world’s dumbest pickup line. She’s looking at me the way I hope I’m looking at her. Like she’s mine. Like we belong together.
Once we wash up on shore, I reach for Sophie’s board and disconnect the leash from her ankle, gladly taking on the extra burden so she can wobble up to dry land. I set my own board aside near our p ile of belongings and watch her plop onto a beach towel with the boneless thwunk of exhausted surfers everywhere.
I plant a quick kiss on the top of her head and tell her I won’t be long out there.
“Take your time,” she says. “I was thinking about calling Dana since it’s nearly ten her time.” Sophie collects her phone. “I bet she’s just eating breakfast right about now.”
I turn toward my board. “Have a good time.”
“Wait, wait!” Sophie calls after me, making a halfhearted attempt to swipe for my leg even though I’m out of reach at this point. “You should meet her first. She’s my family—the chosen kind.”
“Sure.” I plunk down on the beach towel beside her while she taps on her phone. I’ve heard a fair amount of stories about Dana, but I’m unprepared when she answers the video call with giant foam curlers in her hair while eating what looks like leftover chow mein from a to-go container.
“Hey—” Dana stops mid-bite, eyes rounding.
“Morning,” Sophie chirps as she swivels the camera to include me. I wave idiotically.
“Hey there,” I say awkwardly.
“August just gave me my first surfing lesson this morning, and I wanted him to meet you before he goes back out.”
Dana puts her chopsticks down and moves a hand to the curler bobbing near to her ear. “Hello, August.” And then, “Please tell your girlfriend how much I appreciate her giving me a heads-up prior to this phone call so I could make myself presentable.”
I laugh. “Will do.”
Sophie rolls onto her belly. “Consider this payback for all the times you let Jason into our apartment while I was nap-drooling on the sofa.”
“Fair enough. In that case...” She takes a huge bite of her congealed noodles and grins.
I laugh at their friendly banter. It’s good to see this side of Sophie. She’s told me how much Dana did for her after she lost her income and needed a job. It reminds me of what Chip did for me after the accident.
I participate in a polite Q&A session directed by Dana, even though I’m certain she knows far more answers than she lets on. Even after I say good-bye and start for my board, I can still hear the women chatting.
“So I don’t think it’s any coincidence that you called this morning because I just read a very inspiring post from one of our favorite traveling theater companies.”
“Oh really?” Sophie asks. “Wait, why are you doing that weird eyebrow thing?”
“How ’bout I just forward you the post and you can read it for yourself. Just remember, we only live once and these types of opportunities are not offered every day. Plus, I’m your best friend. Part of my job is to push you to do things you’re not comfortable with for the greater good.”
As I grab for my surfboard, I hear Sophie say, “And who, exactly, is the greater good in this case?”
I’m too far to hear how Dana replies, but Sophie’s laugh rings out loud and clear.
I chuckle at their funny antics as I step into the ocean, making a mental note to ask her about it after my run. All too soon, I’ve lost myself to the pull of the ocean and the progression of the waves.
I’m not sure how long I stayed out, but when I get back to Sophie’s beach towel, she’s off the phone and munching on a protein bar. The autumn sunshine bathes her in a golden hue, and if I wasn’t dripping with saltwater, I’d be grabbing for my phone to snap her picture, crazy beach hair and all.
“You’re an even better surfer than you look, August Tate,” she says.
I quirk an eyebrow and then pat my face dry with a towel. “Not sure if I should take that as a compliment?”
“You definitely should.”
As I settle in beside her, I tap the lopsided cinnamon roll atop her head. “I think it’s gonna take a bit of work to untangle this top knot of yours.”
“I know. But sadly, I don’t know if my arms will be up for such a task for some time. Might be next week before my muscles stop shaking.”
“Do you have a brush with you?”
“Of course.” She points to the bag at her feet. “I always keep one in my bag.”
“Care if I give it a go?”
“As long as you know it’s an enter-at-your-own-risk situation.”
With a groan, she sits up while I collect her bag and carefully pick my way around clean clothes, a collection of snacks and gum, a few pieces of makeup, earbuds, and a wallet, and ah, bingo . A hairbrush.
Brush in hand, I move to sit behind her, rising up on my knees. “So, I’ve never actually done this before.”
“You’ve never brushed someone’s hair before?” She tilts her chin up with a smirk. “Is that the secret to keeping your hair looking all mussed and sultry?”
“You think my hair looks sultry ?”
“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t have sultry surfer hair. It’s part of your aesthetic.”
“Also didn’t know I had an aesthetic.”
“You absolutely do. Yours is moody musician with sultry surfer hair meets secret musical prodigy and snarky holiday romance narrator.”
“So just your typical average Joe.”
She laughs as I reach for the hair tie on top of her head that is somehow binding this wet nest together. I tug strand after strand to try and make sense of—
“You’ll never get it out if you treat my head like a fine French pastry, August. You’ll just end up making more of a mess. Secure a finger under the tie and then just yank it out.”
I cringe. “That sounds incredibly painful.”
“Welcome to pretty much everything in the female world.”
I try my best to untangle it my way, but eventually, I’m forced to adopt Sophie’s methodology.
“How did the rest of your call with Dana go?” I ask. “It sounded lively, to say the least. I like her, by the way. She’s exactly what I pictured from your descriptions.”
“She likes you, too. And she totally picked up on your aesthetic.” Sophie scoops sand with her hand and lets it slip through her fingers. “Um, let’s see, the rest of our call was ... interesting.”
“How so?” I ask, brushing from the bottom of her hair and moving upward. Inch by tangled inch.
She draws her knees up and wraps her arms around them. “You remember what I told you about how I froze on stage during opening night and how the director had to call in my understudy?”
“Yes,” I hedge, though there is little more I know about that night.
“Dana was with me on stage that night. But she was also with me when my breakdown began the night before. Super long story short, everything I’d worked hard to stuff down over the past ten years chose the worst moment to fight back.”
I continue to brush out the snarls. “We’re gonna be here a while, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear the long version, please.”
She chuckles at this and then reaches back to squeeze my knee. “So tech week is brutal in the world of live theater. Lots of stress, short fuses, dramatic exits ... you get the picture. Right before we ended our last dress rehearsal, an argument broke out between the cast members, creating all sorts of extra chaos while the theater was closing down for the night. I’d just exited the auditorium doors when I realized I’d forgotten my phone backstage. I called out to my friends to wait up, but when I tried to open the door, it was already locked, so I had to run to the opposite side of the theater to try one of the side doors. I got in and was relieved to find the safety lights still on inside the auditorium. I figured I’d be okay. But as soon as I stepped behind the backstage curtain, every light in the building powered off. It was the same kind of blackness as the cellar and ... I freaked.”
The idea of Sophie having to relive that moment makes me ph ysically ill. “Were you able to call your friends once you found your phone?”
“Backstage is always so crowded with props and sets, and with no lights, my phone was impossible to find. At first I called out for help, hoping someone would come looking for me. But in the chaos of the evening, most of them hadn’t realized I stepped away. Except for Dana. She’s the one who eventually figured it out and came looking for me. She found me but ... I was pretty shaken up by then.” She releases a deep exhale. “No matter what I tried to tell myself, it was as if I was reliving the attack and those dark hours in the cellar all over again.”
It’s impossible not to recall my recent experience of finding Sophie in the dark. I was terrified. “Was that when you told Dana what happened to you?”
“No,” she says, laughing humorlessly. “I was too busy lying to myself, too busy thinking that I could just power through it. Despite all Dana did for me that night, making me tea and readying a bath, my nerves were shot. Too shot to fall asleep. I should have told my director I wasn’t okay as soon as the morning came, but instead, I faked my way through hair and makeup and even my vocal warm-ups. But the instant that spotlight came on, it was like every cell in my body rebelled against me. When I opened my mouth to sing, no voice came out. It was just ... gone.” She takes a moment to scoop up another handful of sand and watch it slip through her fingers. “Honestly, my director had every right to be upset. Same with the audience. I didn’t tell Dana about the cellar until after the press hit and I knew the damage to my reputation was irreversible. And even then, I couldn’t bring myself to share everything.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” I say.
“Me too,” she says. “Although, I think I have a better understanding of why it did.”
I tug the last of her knots free and marvel at the way her hair stretches to the center of her back. I move to settle beside her again on the towel.
She turns to face me. “Dana thinks the reason behind all this hap pe ning the way it did is so I can have some kind of epic professional comeback that will relaunch my career and my confidence.” She stares out at the ocean. “She thinks I’ll regret not pursuing auditions and opportunities that arise because I never know which one might lead to an extraordinary career breakthrough.”
My chest tightens. “And what do you think?”
She chews on her bottom lip. “It’s possible, I suppose. I do think I’ve regained some stage confidence since working with you in the studio, but I also think telling you what happened when I was sixteen shifted something inside me.” She picks up my hand. “You were the first person I’ve ever told the full story to, August. I always worried that if I admitted what I heard my father say to the detective about me that day that it would somehow make it ... true.”
“Sophie.” I lift my hand to rub my thumb along her jaw. “What you heard that day couldn’t be further from the truth.”
Sophie squints at me with one eye, her freshly brushed hair blowing over one shoulder and sticking to the wet suit. “I decided to test it out again, like a working theory of sorts. So I told the whole story to Portia last Tuesday night before our ASL class. Your sister was there, too.” She pauses as if waiting for me to interject, but I’m too stunned to say a word. “I’ve come to trust and care for them both, and I wanted them to know me. To really know me. I’m tired of keeping secrets that have only made me feel shame and fear.”
I adjust my position in the sand, sitting up a bit straighter, my pulse a hard knock in my chest. Still, I can’t quite find adequate words. Maybe because I truly have none to offer.
She beams when she adds, “Afterward, I felt brave. Strong. Free, even.” Her eyes turn watery. “They helped me see the truth: I’m not the same girl who was locked in that cellar at sixteen. I’m not forgotten or unloved or uncared for.” Tears glitter in her eyes.
This, I finally have a response to. My lips part to say, I love you, Sophie , when she hits me with, “No matter what my circumstance, no matter how cold my brother is or how undermining my father is or how passive my mother is, I know God loves me. Not only because my Gigi believed it for me. But because I finally believe it for myself.”
My ch est spasms as a tiny fracture begins at the base of my ribs, spidering its way through every rung. At first the pain is tolerable. A pinch. A stab. But soon enough, the pain spreads. And with every intake of breath, it intensifies, sharpening to the point it’s nearly all-consuming.
Tell her now , I think. I should tell her the things I’ve never admitted out loud to anyone. The things I’ve been too ashamed might be true. The things I’m too afraid are already true.
She angles her head. “What are you thinking, August?”
That if I can’t accept my own shame, how can I possibly ask you to accept it?
I swallow the words and give her a different truth instead.
“That I’m proud of you. You deserve to feel loved.”