EIGHT
O dd. Dad never calls me directly. He prefers to go through Mom like I’m a small child.
Against my better judgment, I pick up. “Hello?”
“Charlotte. It’s Dad.” It seems ridiculous that he needs to clarify, but I guess we hardly speak.
“Hi?” I say, hoping he’ll just skip right to the point.
Pregnant pause. Something is up. “Did your mother tell you I called?”
“She did. Sorry I didn’t call you back. I’ve just been really busy with school and stuff.”
“No worries. Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch with me in the city.” His tone is stilted. Almost robotic, as if he’s reading from a script.
I’m momentarily distracted by Renner attempting to Tetris a clownfish cutout into the van bed. He’s going to scrape the paint if I don’t intervene soon. “Uh, I’m a little busy right now with prom and grad. I don’t think I can make it. Maybe in the summer?” I offer, purely out of guilt. Should I be more excited at the prospect of seeing my father? Probably.
“That’s actually exactly what I was hoping to discuss with you.”
Renner manages to wedge the clownfish in, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans.
“Charlotte?” Dad repeats.
I shake my head, willing myself to focus. “Sorry. I really don’t think I can make it to the city till after school ends.”
“Oh, okay.” He actually sounds disappointed.
Guilt takes hold of my insides, squeezing tighter and tighter, until I remember how heartbroken I was when he basically disappeared from my life. He’s missed almost everything important since, like every holiday, middle school grad, when I received an award for my work on the student senate, and every single Model UN summit except for one. “Can’t you just say what you wanted on the phone?”
“I—I suppose so,” he says, unsure of himself. “Alexandra and I are pregnant.” He says her name with an undeserved air of familiarity, as though she’s part of our family. As though I’ve met her and we’re besties or something.
“Pregnant?” I narrowly manage to avoid choking on my saliva. Dad’s having a baby? With a woman he’s only been dating a couple of months?
“She’s due in November. We’re really excited.”
I’m stunned as he rambles on about Alexandra’s cravings, how they’ll be staying at Alexandra’s family lake house in Fairfax, a quaint, Shakespearean-themed town half an hour from Maplewood, and how he’s going to slow things down at work, maybe even work from the lake house when the baby comes. That last statement catches me off guard. Work has always been Dad’s number-one priority. Never me. Now he’s slowing down? For his future child?
“I was also wondering ... Well, Alexandra and I were wondering if you’d be interested in staying at the lake house for the summer. We have a spare bedroom and the beach is barely a minute away—”
Stay with them at their lake house? For the whole summer? This is completely out of left field. Out of this universe. I could understand if he invited me for a weekend—and even that would be out of character. But an entire summer? Where is this coming from?
Renner flashes me a brief look of concern from where he’s loading things into the trunk. I avoid his eyes, casting my stare at the gravel under my feet.
I think about all the years Dad and I have been estranged. All the times I wished my dad had shown up, when all my friends had theirs.
Tears threaten my lash line, but I manage to hold them at bay. I want to yell at him and tell him how I feel. How unfair it is to spring this on me. How angry I am at him for missing all this time with me when he’ll be with his new child every day, bearing witness to every milestone. But all that comes out is, “Dad, I don’t know. I’ll have to call you back.”
A pause. “I know it’s last minute. I wanted to reach out earlier, but we wanted to make sure the spare room would be ready.”
“I just—I don’t know if I can come.”
Another pause. “Well, give it some thought and let me know, okay, kiddo?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Dad starts rambling nervously about how busy I must be with the end of the school year, but I barely hear a word.
Renner clears his throat, reminding me again of his pesky presence. He has one leg propped behind him against the van. His brow is furrowed in an expression that vaguely resembles concern. This is just crap-tastic. He is the last person I want around when I’m having a personal crisis. It’s too much. I can’t deal. Impulsively, I hit “End” on the call.
Renner backs away slightly as I hobble toward the van on account of my blisters from yesterday. “Uh, you okay?”
“It was my dad. He’s having a baby. With his girlfriend of a couple months,” I say tersely. He already heard my conversation anyway.
Renner settles into the driver’s seat. “Um, I take it that’s not exactly good news?”
I fasten my seat belt, eyes glued on the windshield for a minute before I finally take a breath. “I don’t know,” I say, already feeling guilty for not being thrilled for him and Alexandra. Objectively I know a baby is happy news. But why does it make me feel so awful?
“Maybe it could be fun. To have a little sister or brother,” he offers. “Especially since you’re an only child—”
“My dad and I don’t speak. And I’ve never even met his girlfriend,” I cut in, hoping he’ll drop it.
And he does.
The gym is empty except for me and Renner, who is currently outside grabbing the decor from the van. School doesn’t start for another hour.
I’m brainstorming how I’ll assign the tasks when everyone else arrives when my phone vibrates again.
Dad: I forgot to add on the phone, Alexandra wants to know what your favorite color is. She wants to have the spare room painted this weekend.
As I read the text, my brain pummels me with images of children being hugged and adored by their dads. I fumble for the wall behind me.
Feeling faint, I starfish down on the mat and cover my face with my hands. My cheeks are wet and my fingers blacken with mascara. The sight of my hands ignites a full-body sob.
Through my tears, I vaguely make out Renner hauling an old, rickety ladder from the storage room. He comes to an abrupt stop when he sees me.
“I—uhm ... I can go, if you want?”
I eye him warily, not bothering to sit up. With one hand, Renner gives me three awkward pats on the shoulder. He wouldn’t dare touch me unless I were in dire straits, which only makes the whole situation feel even more pathetic. The last thing I need is pity comfort from J.T.Renner. He’s seen far too much of my life today.
When my tears return, he leaves the gym. For a moment, I assume he’s left entirely. But he returns with a handful of one-ply toilet paper from the bathroom and drops it in my lap.
“Thanks,” I manage before blowing my nose.
He props the ladder and stands over me. “Can I help you up?”
“I guess so.”
His mouth curls disarmingly and he tugs me by the arm without an ounce of delicacy, pulling me into a reluctant standing position. We’re mere inches from each other, almost chest to chest. I don’t think I’ve ever been so close to Renner. Two hits of his lemony scent and I’m stable on my feet.
I note the golden ring around his irises. His lush lash line. The tiny half-moon scar above his brow. His lips look soft, almost pillowy.
Suddenly, I’m aware of the scratchy tag of my sweater, my saggy bun, and the clench of my jaw. I’m also mindful that he’s staring right back at me. His eyes fiercely search my face, probably judging my swollen eyes and puffy cheeks. He’s now seen me ugly cry. Before he can razz me about it, I take a stride backward and brush the dirt from my sweatpants.
He clears his throat and rocks on the balls of his feet, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “So, uh, what can I do?”
I blink, making a concerted effort to push Dad and his do-over baby from my mind. I don’t have time to think about him. Over the years, I’ve learned that tucking these thoughts away is just easier. If I think about him for too long, it becomes overwhelming. Too heavy. Like a sharp ache that knocks the wind out of me.
“You can start securing the cardboard seaweed around the walls,” I instruct.
I expect him to give me a hard time. That’s just how he is. But he spins on his heel and dutifully starts on the opposite wall.
We work in silence for a good half hour, just the two of us, which is more comforting than I expected. I relish in the tranquility, knowing it’ll get rowdy when Kassie, Ollie, and Nori arrive.
“Kassie texted. She and Ollie are gonna be late,” I announce. She still hasn’t acknowledged my SOS text about Dad’s new girlfriend from this morning. No response. As usual. Meanwhile, I’m at her door with all her favorite snacks practically the moment she has the smallest fight with Ollie. The least she could do is respond to a text, especially since she’s been through it all with me. Since the summer Dad left. She saw how hurt I was when her dad snapped endless pictures at our middle school graduation while mine was nowhere to be seen, despite his promises.
Renner peers at me as he struggles to rip off a piece of tape with his teeth.
“This would go faster if we had scissors,” I note, heading for the supply closet.
Renner follows me inside, arrowing his chin toward the cobweb-laden boxes piled in the corner “I saw some in one of those boxes earlier.”
I almost rip the dusty flaps of a box as I slide it away from a corner, nearly throwing out my back in the process. It’s heavier than expected. Inside sits a shiny, cylindrical steel object.
Time Capsule—Class of 2024 is engraved in script across the front.
It’s tradition that each MHS graduating class buries a time capsule after the graduation ceremony filled with handwritten letters to ourselves at age thirty.
“It’s our time capsule,” I say. The moment I touch the cool metal, the pads of my fingers zing with electricity. Pinpricks roll from my neck down my back. “Ouch. Static shock.” I lift my hand for a moment, and when I run my finger over it again, the metal suddenly feels warm.
Of course, Renner doesn’t listen. Like a child shoving a fork into an outlet, he runs his hand along the metal, pulling back with a jolt.
“Told you,” I taunt, lifting my hand to massage my temple. I’m feeling weirdly light-headed all of a sudden.
He ignores me, setting it back in the box with a slight wobble of his own. “I assume you finished your letter already?”
“Not yet.” I retighten my bun, making a mental note to do that tonight. “Where will you be at thirty, Joshua Taylor Renner? Eating insta noodles in your underwear and rotting in your parents’ basement?” I venture, tamping down the urge to evil laugh. Last I heard, Renner was going to school in Boston. I haven’t the foggiest idea what he’s planning to major in. Probably something useless like underwater basket weaving or puppet entertainment arts.
He runs a calloused finger over his jaw as he heads back to the gym. Still light-headed, I follow at his heels, abandoning the time capsule in the supply closet.
We’re working on the same wall now, nearly side by side, when he finally answers my question. “I was thinking of majoring in business. Or maybe law. Though I’ve always wanted to coach a varsity team.” Renner spends his summers volunteering at the children’s rugby and track camp as an assistant coach. A far cry from the major league.
“Varsity? Please. Gym teacher, maybe.”
His eyes light up. “That’s high on my list of possibilities too, if the others don’t work out.”
“Convenient,” I say, snickering at the thought of a balding Renner with a wispy comb-over, donning an Adidas tracksuit that stretches over his beer gut, whistle around his neck, hell-bent on reliving his youth.
He furrows his brow. “What’s convenient?”
“That you want to be a teacher too.” I’ve always wanted to work with kids. In first grade, my grandparents bought me a sticker set, and I used all my parents’ printer paper making fake homework, slapping on stickers and pretending to grade them with a red pen.
My goals have changed throughout the years. I’ve gone from wanting to teach first grade, to being a principal, to high school English lit. After peer tutoring sophomore year, I found my true calling as a school counselor. What better way to flex my compulsion for planning than helping others find their paths?
One corner of his mouth tugs upward, amused. “Here we go again with the conspiracy theories. It’s really funny how you think I spend so much time thinking about you that I’d go so far as to copy your future career.”
I toss an empty roll of duct tape on the floor, setting a hand on my hip. “You never gave a crap about student council in the first three years of high school. You knew it was my thing and you just had to go for it. And you’ve known for years I want to be a teacher. And suddenly, you’re all about becoming a gym teacher. Coincidence? I think not.”
His cheeks turn pink and his chest heaves. I’ve hit a nerve. Victory. “Did you ever stop to consider that maybe we have more in common than you think?” He pauses, shooting me a pointed glare. “No, you didn’t. Because you’ve never bothered to get to know me.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to inform Renner that I did intend to get to know him. That I even liked him, just a tiny bit—until he stood me up for another girl before homecoming. But nothing comes out aside from a huffy, “It’s highly convenient is all I’m saying.”
“Get over yourself, Char. Your dreams aren’t unique,” he says with a patronizing expression as he runs a hand over the seaweed to adhere it to the wall. My nostrils flare, but I manage to control my anger until he asks, “How many cats do you plan to own by thirty? Nine? Ten?”
“First, I like dogs. Not cats. And why is success measured by my relationship status? You didn’t even ask about where I’d be in my thriving career,” I point out. “If you were asking Ollie the same question, you’d never ask whether he lived with cats.”
“Because I already know Ollie will be married to Kassie,” Renner retorts.
I tilt my head, a little surprised by that admission. “True. Ollie is future-husband material.”
“Future-husband material? And I’m not?”
I keep my lips pressed into a thin line. “You sound bothered. I’m sensing jealousy.”
He makes a perplexed face. “Of who? Ollie?”
“Why not? You really liked Kassie. That summer before we went into high school.”
He shrugs. “If that’s how you wanna describe it. I was also fourteen years old. My mom still picked out my outfits for school. Besides, Kassie likes Ollie way more than she ever liked me. I’ve always been happy for him.” His response catches me off guard. I’ve always assumed he felt some type of way about his best friend stealing the girl he liked, as anyone would.
I’m about to call him on it, but his face hardens again and it feels like the moment has passed. We work in a heavy silence for another few minutes.
“Can you pass me the blue streamers?” I ask from the top of the ladder.
He fetches the roll at a glacial pace.
“Make it snappy,” I say, holding myself steady on the ladder. My blistered feet are aching in my sneakers.
He rests an arm on one of the middle steps, causing it to wobble. Probably on purpose. Is Renner trying to kill me when I’m at my most vulnerable? “I don’t understand what makes Ollie future-husband material and not me,” he reflects, still miffed. “Not that I want that with Kassie. Not at all. She and Ollie are great together. I just don’t understand why others don’t see me that way ...”
“I can’t understand what makes you think you’re deserving of the title,” I scoff. “Just look at it objectively. Ollie has been with Kassie for four whole years. Meanwhile, you’d already been through at least half of the female population of MHS by tenth grade.” I’m not exaggerating. Nearly every girl I know has dated Renner at some point in the past four years.
“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to settle down eventually. Besides, I have a lot to offer.”
“Like what?”
“For starters, I can drive, unlike some. And I make damned good Kraft Mac and Cheese,” he adds.
“Doubtful.”
He shakes his head, and I catch a mischievous tug at the right side of his lip. “Even the mac and cheese doesn’t intrigue you?”
A laugh comes from deep in my stomach, echoing around the gym. I clutch the sides of the ladder so I don’t topple off. “Hard pass.”
“Okay, but picture this. A zombie apocalypse. Everyone dies. Except us.”
“Jesus take me.” I close my eyes for a split second and press my hand to my chest at the thought. “Besides, women don’t require a husband to complete them in life,” I point out, yet again. “If anything, you’d weigh me down in an apocalypse. I wouldn’t have time to babysit.”
He trucks on like I haven’t spoken. “We’re the only two humans left on Earth. You’d rather carry on alone and get mauled by zombies than team up with me for survival?” His eyes pierce mine, awaiting a response.
Would I really rather go it alone? It’s hard to say. But my brain is a little too frazzled for ridiculous hypotheticals. So I settle for a simple, “Yes. Now hand me the streamers, please.”
He holds out the roll, expression stony, not bothering to stretch his arm any farther than necessary. Given I just went off about being a fiercely independent woman, I’m not about to ask him to bring it closer.
I take my left foot off the ladder to tilt my body weight just so. In that precise moment, one of the cardboard seaweeds falls off the wall across the gym.
It all happens so fast. Renner is startled and turns his body toward the noise, inadvertently moving the streamer roll farther out of my reach. I lean a smidge too far to make up the distance. Before I know it, everything is sideways.
The last thing I see is Renner’s horrified expression as I crash directly into his face.