Chapter 22 Playlist Boys Who Cry
TEN MINUTES LATER WE arrive at Kat’s and my old beach spot. Which feels a little strange after the conversation Gregory and I just had. On the other hand, maybe it’s a certain kind of closure—bringing someone new to this place where Kat may never come again.
“Here we are,” I say.
“The beach? Why am I not surprised?”
I walk to the line where the sand shifts from fluffy and dry to damp and condensed, and plop down. “Not just any part of the beach. This spot has special healing powers.”
“Ah.” Gregory doesn’t question me and hits the sand beside me. “Do I need to do anything in particular? To be healed?”
“Nope. Just let her do her thing.”
I extend my feet, and he mimics me. We’re comfortably quiet for several minutes—me tracing designs in the sand and him leaning back on his hands, staring into the endless waves.
“This is kind of nice,” he says finally.
“It is,” I agree.
Several more moments pass. I watch a few people walk by and fade into the distance with the dip of the sun, and I’m content to sit here and just be.
But then Gregory says something so quiet, I almost miss it.
“Today’s my dad’s birthday.”
I stop tracing.
His voice wobbles a little. “I thought I’d be fine, you know? Like, this year might be different because we’re in a new place and there’s nothing around to remind me of him.” I sit still, listening. “I was wrong.”
I keep my eyes forward and scoot closer, planning to… what? Put an arm around his shoulders? Hug him? Squeeze his arm?
“Don’t,” he orders.
I still and shift away again.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, voice softer. “It’s just… I want to talk about it. Just don’t touch me, okay? I know some people want that when they’re… like this. But I don’t. It only makes it worse for me.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I start doodling in the sand again. Not in a distracted way but so he knows I’m not, like, staring at him, waiting for him to keep going. Stressing him out or making him feel exposed is the last thing I want to do.
“I was thirteen when he died. It was March, which was his favorite time of year because he was obsessed with college basketball. He needed surgery to fix a hernia he got trying to move some furniture my mom told him to hire someone for, and before he went in, he joked that he’d done it on purpose so he could take time off to watch March Madness while he recovered.
The surgery was supposed to be no big deal.
He was supposed to come home the same day, even.
But during the procedure someone gave him the wrong amount of some medication, like ten times the normal dose or something, and it killed him. ”
I suck in a breath. “Oh my God.”
His sigh feels like, I know, right? “I… It was just so sudden, you know? I had no idea when I went to school that morning that it was the last time I’d see him.
” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him swipe at his face with the back of his hand.
It takes all my willpower to follow his directions and stay put.
“For the longest time I didn’t want to talk about him, or see anything that reminded me of him.
I didn’t want to think about him. It just hurt so fucking bad. It still does.
“It’s been a little better here, though.
Especially for my mom. She’s spent the last three years buried in a lawsuit against the hospital.
It’s all she did and all she cared about when she wasn’t at work.
I think it was her way of grieving… or avoiding it, maybe.
But it sort of felt like I’d lost part of her, too.
Now that it’s all over and she used some of the money we got to move us here—where she said she and my dad got engaged—it’s like I have her back.
She’s happier. Wants to do things with me again.
It’s like she feels lighter here, I guess. ”
“Do you? Feel lighter here?”
“Sometimes.” He pauses for a moment. “But I’m still going back for school.” The way he says it makes me think it’s more a reminder for him than for me.
We’re quiet for a bit. I never realized how hard it is to watch someone hurt and yet be completely helpless. I know I can’t bring his dad back, but I can’t even offer him the one thing at my disposal—comfort.
Maybe just being here next to him is enough.
“This was his,” he says, and I look over to find him pulling the thin silver necklace out from underneath his shirt. “I found it in the couch cushions during the move. I didn’t even think about it—I just put it on. I haven’t taken it off since.”
“I like it,” I say. I thought it looked good on him the first time I noticed it.
“So, do you let yourself think about him a little, now?” I’m no therapist, but it seems like that’s the healthy thing to do.
In reality I have no idea how I’d react if I lost one of my parents, but I’d like to think I’d keep the happy memories, at the very least. I think my parents would want that.
“Yeah. Once I wasn’t being punched in the gut with his absence all the time, I actually started missing the memories just as much as I missed him. Sometimes they still make me sad, but some of them make me smile. I like it when they do.”
“What’s one that makes you smile?”
He chuckles right away but doesn’t elaborate.
“What is it? Tell me,” I urge. “Whatever came to your mind first has got to be a good one.”
“It’s kind of gross,” he warns.
“I can handle it, I promise.” I hope I’m not lying. For Gregory, in this moment, I’m willing to risk it.
“So there was one night we were in his man cave in the basement watching a movie. I don’t know where my mom was…
probably we’d picked some scary movie she didn’t want to see or something.
But we’re sitting down there, and suddenly I notice this weird smell.
At first it was more strange than bad, but it just kept getting worse.
I looked at my dad, and he had this guilty look on his face.
You know, like he was watching me out of the corner of his eye, like he was waiting to see if I’d notice?
So I asked if he farted.” He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head.
“He tried to deny it, but by this point I could barely breathe.
I put my shirt over my nose and was all, ‘What did you eat?’
“He still tried to say it wasn’t him, but it was just the two of us down there. If I knew for a fact that I didn’t fart, there’s literally no one else it could be. You’re a grown man and everyone farts, dude. Just own it!”
I can’t help it. I’m laughing just listening to him.
“Finally he comes clean, but this stench is, like, the Energizer Fart. It just kept going and going. So we gave up and moved upstairs to the living room to watch the movie. Fresh air, you know? My mom asked what was going on, but my dad just gave some excuse like it got too hot down there. Out of solidarity I didn’t rat him out.
Little did we know, my mom went down to the basement to check the thermostat because she thought something was wrong, and next thing we know, she’s yelling, ‘Good God, what did you two do down here?’ and running up the stairs like she can’t get out of there fast enough.
” He tips his head back and laughs, and I’m right there with him.
“We’re, like, doubled over on the couch by this point.
And I kid you not—I swear that odor still lingered the next day. ”
“That’s some fart,” I say, grinning. Also, I’m sort of impressed.
His attention is still directed straight ahead, but the smile stays on his face for a long time. I wonder what else he’s remembering.
I squint out at the ocean. The water is clear and the waves are calm, rolling in gently and lapping up onto the sand. “Wanna go swimming?” I ask.
He looks at me like I just asked if he wanted to shave off all his body hair. “It’s almost dark.”
“Key word ‘almost.’ ”
“I’m not wearing a swimsuit.”
“So?” I stand up and brush the sand off my butt. “Neither am I. You’ve come a long way on our beach lessons, but I’m not sure you’ve ever gone far enough in to so much as get your knees wet. It’s a nice, warm night. It’s perfect.” I turn and face him, walking backward into the surf.
“Amelia. No.”
“Come on.” I’m calf-deep now. “It feels so good.”
“Not happening.”
“Better hurry before it’s pitch-black out here.” Now that the water’s mid-thigh, I face the water again so I can see where I’m going. I fling my arms out, close my eyes, and twist around in a circle, sending splashes of water out all around me. “Gregory! Come twirl with me!”
“Twirl with you?” He sounds exasperated, but his voice seems a little closer, so I stop and cast a glance over my shoulder. He’s making his way toward me, and doesn’t look particularly happy about it. His shoes and shirt are in a pile on the sand.
I jump up and down, clapping. “Yes! Come on! Twirling in the ocean will change your life. I swear.”
“I’m only here so I can be close enough to save you some from unknown ocean danger. That’s it.”
He stops about six feet from me and crosses his arms. He’s taller, so only his knees are beneath the water. I can tell he’s wary, maybe a little hesitant, but he’s not afraid. I hold out my hand and give him my best beseeching look.
“Please,” I beg.
An extended sigh escapes him, and finally he steps forward, reaching out to me. “You already changed my life, Amelia. You don’t have to do it again.”
My heart stumbles. “What?”
He just smiles, something soft and secret, and takes my hand. “With your grilled cheese, remember?”
“Oh, right,” I say, a slight tremor in my voice. It takes me a second to reorient myself. “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”
“No twirling,” is all he says.
I roll my eyes and tug him farther into the water. It’s like trying to move a stone statue. “Okay, how about you just turn in a slooow circle? Very rugged, very masculine. I know you think you’re intimidating when you glare at me like that, but I actually like it. A lot.”