22. Everything is Peachy
Chapter 22
Everything is Peachy
A rms wrap tightly around my abdomen as Sam’s cologne attacks my nose. I turn the water off from the kitchen sink where I stand washing the dishes.
“Next weekend marks one whole year that I’ve put up with you,” he says into my hair tied up in a bun.
I turn around so I can get a better read of his emotions and find out if that statement is a joke or if he’s serious. It’s hard to tell with him. We’ve hardly spoken over the last week, except for when speaking was absolutely necessary. It’s better to give him space when he’s upset and wait for him to come to me.
His mouth is curved into a grin, and I figure it’s safe for me to joke back.
I groan. “It’s only been a year?”
He laughs and squeezes my body to his. “Let's do something special. We can go to the beach house for the weekend. Maybe go dancing while we’re down there.” His parents own a beach house on South Padre Island. I used to spend weeks with them there as a child, my hair a few shades lighter from the sun by the time I got back home.
“Counteroffer, we could just go to the beach. No dancing.” Don’t most women have to drag their men dancing? How did I end up with one that enjoys it?
“Karaoke?”
“Ew.”
“Will you wear a bikini? Instead of that weird long-sleeved shirt you have that shows nothing?”
The fact that it shows nothing is the whole point. I burn to a crisp with the strongest sunscreen applied hourly. The long sleeves are necessary, as are the shorts. I have one of those body types that no one wants to see spilling out of a bathing suit—thick thighs, too much butt, and one breast bigger than the other.
The house backs up to a private beach for residents—the only reason I agree. “Fine.”
“Can you get off for the whole weekend?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem if I work doubles all week.”
“Good. That means I can get some extra work done, too.” He kisses me on the head and walks away to his office.
* * *
I begin the climb up eighteen wooden steps to the yellow, four-bedroom house, my hair whipping in and out of my face with the wind, and I feel fourteen again. The July before Sam and I started high school, the Bennetts brought me along as usual on their annual summer vacation, where they spent a month at this very beach house. As Sam and I barreled up the steps nine years ago, we thought of nothing except the carefree days ahead that we’d spend swimming, fishing, lounging, and burning beneath an unforgiving sun.
I expect to find the same over the next day and a half, plus dinner, and possibly another earth-shattering kiss. On our last trip here, while his parents were upstairs packing the rest of their things, he pulled me into the shadows and kissed me—my first, and what would become the standard for all other kisses that came after it.
What I don’t expect to find when we reach the top of the stairs is Nick’s ex-girlfriend, Kenna, and Sam’s ex-lover, Erin. They’re dressed in bathing suits, sitting in the chairs beside the glass patio table, drinking something pink on ice.
I look to Sam for an explanation, but his face is void of one as he asks how was their drive and where is the guys’ truck.
What guys? What truck? What the hell is going on?
“They’re making a beer run,” Kenna answers.
I follow Sam into the house, and the second the bedroom door is shut behind us, I turn on him.
“What the hell is going on? Why are they here? Why are the guys here?”
He cocks his head and furrows his eyebrows like I’m the one not making sense, and swings his suitcase onto the thin sand-colored blanket covering the bed. “They’re here to celebrate. We planned this the night we had Francesca’s, remember?”
“I thought we were celebrating our anniversary, not your newspaper article. Besides, I told you that Kenna makes me uncomfortable.” Honestly, I thought the idea of making a big deal out of one year of dating was ridiculous. I figured dinner and actually spending time together would be sufficient, but when he offered the beach house, I wasn’t dumb enough to decline.
He lets out a snort, pulling clothes out of the suitcase and carrying them to the dresser. “ Getting a bad vibe from someone can’t make you uncomfortable. And we are celebrating our anniversary. And the article. We can celebrate multiple things at once.”
“So, when you were asking me about coming here, you were intending to invite them but let me believe it was just going to be us?”
“Uhh, no? Like I said, we planned this the night I told you about the article. But I also reiterated they’d be here when I asked if you wanted to come.”
“ No , you didn’t.”
“Calm down. Why does it matter?”
“Because you’re lying to me.” And completely disregarding my honesty about my discomfort around Kenna. Even if I’ve only been around her once.
He pins me in place with his glare. “I am not. You’re the one that doesn’t pay attention.” Mom always tells me I live inside my own head too much. I often zone out, losing myself in a daydream; it’s entirely feasible that he did tell me and I simply didn’t hear it.
I follow him out to the living room, hot on his heels anyway. He takes a bottle of sunscreen from the counter and squirts it into his hand before handing it to me and gesturing to his back.
When I don’t immediately rub it into his skin, he turns to face me again. “Are you really going to ruin this weekend over this? Do you realize how much more fun we’re going to have with a full house than spending it by ourselves? This is my vacation too, Cori. I have two days completely off of work, and I’d rather not spend them watching you read the entire time, or taking naps. I’d like to enjoy myself too.”
I don’t get to respond, though, because the door opens and Kenna walks in, freezing when she must feel the tension sizzling in the air.
“Uhh, is everything okay?”
Sam looks at me and cocks his head, waiting on my answer.
“Everything is peachy.” I slap the sunscreen onto his back, roughly spreading it around.
“Easy there,” he says, but I don’t ease up because I want to be done as fast as possible. The second his back is covered, I set the sunscreen back on the counter and head down the hallway.
I hear Kenna ask, “What’s wrong with her?”
Back in the safety of the bedroom, I shut the door and reach for my phone to call Hailey. Then I remember what she said about being done , whatever that meant.
I sit down on the bed, shoulders deflating, just as Sam opens the door. He stands in the doorway, clearly wanting to be outside, but feeling obligated to check on me.
“Can you just be happy for once? All of our friends are here to celebrate us.” When I don’t respond, he throws a hand up and points to the phone in my hand. “Invite your sister if you want. Maybe she can catch a ride with Nick. He only works a half day today, so he’s driving down after he gets off.”
I stand to unpack my bag. There’s no point in taking out everything just to put it back in when we leave Sunday morning, but I need to keep my hands busy before I find them wrapped around Sam’s throat. Metaphorically, obviously. I’m not a monster.
Assuming I’m letting it go, he kisses me on the forehead before walking away, and I close the door behind him a little too loudly.
I call Sage and sit back on the bed while the phone rings. I don’t know why I’m doing this because she and Sam will gang up on me, pressure me to drink or smoke, and I’ll comply because it’s the easy thing to do. Because people like you when you’re easy.
“Hey, sis. What’s wrong? You never call me.”
“That’s because you usually don’t answer. Can you get your shifts covered for this weekend and come down to Sam’s parents’ beach house? You can ask Nick for a ride down here, Sam said he’s not coming until later.”
“I thought it was just going to be you and Sam. For your anniversary?”
I rise from the bed and begin pacing the room. “Apparently, I was mistaken. Everyone is here.”
“Then, hell yes! Brian already has the weekend off, and I’ll ask Dad to tell Mike I need off if I can’t get someone to work for me.” She’s the only one Dad will do that for, but she’s never had a problem getting her shifts covered anyway, because all the servers love her.
Once I hang up, I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t spend the whole weekend in the bedroom; Sam would never forgive me for that. But how am I supposed to walk out there and act like nothing is wrong? Am I being crazy? I come out of my own head, just enough to picture the beach house from the sky. Three people enjoying the breeze coming off the water and soaking in the sun on the balcony while I sit alone sulking in the bedroom.
Disoriented and wretched, she sits all alone,
Leaning into the darkness to which she is prone.
I stall as long as possible, applying sunscreen slowly and tentatively, switching outfits several times, reapplying light pink toenail polish, and taking deep breaths. Thankfully, I packed my long-sleeved swim shirt and shorts just in case I needed them. And because I don’t want to wear a bikini in front of two women who wear one much better than I, that’s what I wear when I finally emerge outside.
As I had hoped, I spent long enough inside that Callum and Tyler are back from the store. I walk to an empty seat and Callum greets me with a friendly grin while Tyler attempts another noogie until I elbow him in the ribs. I decide Sam is right—we will have more fun with them here than by ourselves. Besides, he can be entertained by them, leaving me free from his every whim.
“Cori?”
I realize I’m staring off at the ocean, not paying attention to the conversation, and look up to see which of the two women had spoken my name. My face heats beneath everyone’s watchful stares.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Kenna is the one who answers. “We were talking about the plans for tonight, once Nick gets here. We were thinking of doing karaoke tonight and dancing tomorrow.”
I look over at Sam, the smug grin on his face. With everyone here, I’ll be overpowered in my declination of karaoke and dancing.
The official date marking one year together isn’t until next Tuesday, and I find myself wondering if we’ll make it after all.
I brace myself when he opens his mouth to talk. “Come on, don’t be a buzzkill. You don’t have to sing or anything, just come along and watch. It’ll be fun.” He reaches over for my hand, but I move it away just in time. He recovers, placing his hand on my shoulder like that was his plan all along.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll get her to sing,” Kenna says, once again a hyena staring down a gazelle. Scratch that, I’m not a gazelle in any way; more like a warthog.
“Yeah, I mean, whatever y’all want to do. It is your weekend after all,” I say, pointing to Sam.
He laughs, playfully shaking my shoulder. “It’s our weekend, silly.”
“Oh, is it? I didn’t know.” I cross my arms over my chest, wishing I could just melt into this chair. The air is hot enough, I probably could. “But karaoke sounds great. Dancing too,” I say sharply, because I know better than to say otherwise. I wouldn’t dare suggest not going simply because I don’t want to; that would be incredibly selfish. The problem is, I won’t be allowed to sit on the sidelines. I’d have no problem going if I could, but I will be expected to participate, regardless of how anxious I feel.
The crashing of the waves is the only sound, while unsure eyes dart to each other across the table.
“We can do karaoke or dancing anytime we’re back home. Let’s enjoy the beach, build a bonfire, and grill some food.” I send a thankful grin to Callum at his suggestion.
While everyone discusses the plans, I escape downstairs. I sit in the sand far out enough that the tide reaches my toes and breathe in the salty breeze. Stress seems to blow away with the wind coming off the water, and I’m perfectly content to spend the remainder of the weekend in this very spot thinking about nothing. I sit there too long, though, because my butt goes numb. I stand to stretch my legs and let them take me down the shoreline about a mile and back, then another in the opposite direction. While I walk, I keep my eyes down for shells out of habit.
I pick up a spiral shell and peek inside to make sure a hermit crab hadn’t claimed it as its home. The inside is a deep purple color, but the outside is a pale pink, making it one of the most beautiful shells I’ve ever seen.
But I drop it back onto the sand and leave it behind.
Every year I came with Sam and his parents, I’d take home buckets of shells, intending to turn them into jewelry or fill jars as a keepsake. But after Sam moved away, the sight of the shells only brought pain and loneliness to the festering hole deep inside. I don’t want to risk that happening again. Just in case.
As I start walking back to where I had laid out my towel, a presence appears at my right. Out of my periphery, I see dark hair, a shirtless torso, and black swim trunks—Nick. I’ve stayed out here longer than I realized if he's already arrived.
“Hey,” he says.
I hesitate before meeting his eyes, but there’s nowhere to hide from the conversation we need to have. Regardless of how I felt, he didn’t deserve my snapping at him last Saturday, and I’ve avoided him since. I try not to stare, but his arms are crossed over his wide chest, bringing definition to his thick forearms and biceps. His shoulders droop as if he’s dreading this as much as I am.
“How are you?”
He looks down at his feet and nods. “Good.”
At the same time, we both say, “Look, I’m sorry-” We share a smile.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. The depth and softness of his eyes have me taking a step toward him, desperate for the comfort and safety they provide.
“Can we just forget it?” I ask.
He studies my face for a silent moment, looking for something and, at first, I don’t think he’s going to agree. I nervously gnaw on my lip until he finally nods.
“I have one question though. After I picked up Brian and Sage, she mentioned something about you being upset when you arrived and saw Kenna and Erin.”
“That’s not a question.”
He cocks his head, seeing through my attempts to stall.
“It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t know Sam had invited everyone along this weekend.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Shit, Cori. Look, we can probably find a couple of hotel rooms, let me go round everyone up.” He turns to do just that, but I grab his arm and pull him back.
“No, I’m glad y’all are here. I just don’t know Kenna or Erin very well, and you know how I am with strangers.”
“You’re seriously glad? Or you just don’t want to cause an argument?”
“Nick, please. I am glad. It was just a shock because I was expecting Sam and me to be alone. But Sam was right, we’ll have more fun with y’all here. If we’re alone, we’ll probably just spend the whole weekend arguing.”
He cocks his head again, giving me a stern look, and I know he’s thinking back to what he said to me last weekend. I start scratching at my wrist and he pulls my hands away from each other.
“I’ll try to lure everyone else away for something so you and Sam can at least have some alone time at some point.”
“Thank you, but it’s not necessary. I’m not even looking at this as an anniversary celebration anymore. He and I can celebrate at dinner or something on Tuesday.”
He narrows his eyes. “Wait, is that why we’re here? He told me and the guys that he wanted to celebrate a huge contract he just got. And, of course, the article.”
I sigh and look out at the ocean, the waves rolling in one after the other. The deeper you get, the bigger they are, the more you struggle to stay above the surface.
“Who cares why we’re here? Point is, we are. And we’re going to have fun, right?”
“Sure.” But he doesn’t sound the least bit convinced. He looks back toward the direction of the house. “Everyone was getting ready to come down, wanna head back to your spot?”
I nod, and we start walking in silence until Nick nudges my arm. I look up and he smiles, raising his eyebrows and jerking his head in front of him. Somehow, I know he’s challenging me to a race, so I take off.
Unfortunately, he was an athlete in college and he wins. He stands by my towel, arms crossed, foot tapping in the sand, and that stupid, smug grin on his face as I finally approach. I collapse on my towel and grip my side. It wasn’t quite a mile that we ran, but I’m pretty sure I’m dying anyway.
He laughs, helping me to my feet, and glances up at the sky. “You know, I’ve now seen you smile with your teeth a whole three or four times. Why don’t you do it more often? You have a beautiful smile.”
“Don’t smile with your teeth, Cori. Not until we fix them,” Mom said.
“Why don’t you get braces?” Sam said in eighth grade. But Stephanie needed a car, so we couldn’t afford them.
“You’d be so pretty if you smiled more,” my ninth-grade science teacher said. So I smiled. “Oh, never mind.”
“I don’t know. Just don’t.” When I turned eighteen, I paid for my braces. By then, however, the instinct to shield the world from my smile, and myself from criticism, was ingrained in my DNA.