9
He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman since whom he thought her equal. —Persuasion
When I come out of my house changed into dry clothes, the sun, a neon orange disc, dips into the ocean. The outdoor lights blink on, including those in the pool, which make the water glow aquamarine.
Rosie calls my name from the water. “Take a swim with me?” she asks flirtatiously.
“Nah.” I sit by the edge of the pool, realizing I want to ask Rosie some more stuff.
“Your house is amazing!” She looks so young with her hair wet, way too young for me. The twins are 21, I think, maybe 22? Which is seven years younger than I am. April’s only two years younger than me, which seems a better age gap.
“Thanks. So... ?” Might as well ask the question buzzing around my head. “April and Carlos? He never mentioned dating her.”
“Do guys even talk about relationships?” asks Rosie. She’s not wrong. Carlos and I rarely discuss anything but sports and music. But dating April Elliot seems like something he might mention. “It didn’t last long,” she continues. “They were never that serious. Though Carlos wanted it to be. We all wanted it to be. I adore April.”
“Yeah, she’s cool.”
“She’s more than that. She’s kind and competent and fun and forgiving.”
I feel myself relax. I may not want to date her, but I could talk about April all day. “But wait, you already know that. You two met before?”
I had hoped that Rosie wouldn’t remember that detail. I have no clue how to casually talk about my past with April.
“It was a long time ago.”
“You must have been starstruck.”
“I had no idea who she was.” I can’t help but smile, thinking of her standing on that rock like Aphrodite born from the sea, the wind whipping her sundress, the waves lapping at her feet. “My sister had to clue me in.”
That first day, April came back with me to my apartment to borrow some dry clothes from my sister. While she changed, Kai broke the news. “You don’t know who she is, do you?”
“We only just met. She’s from LA. Her name is April.”
“No, duh! Her name is April Rain.”
“How do you know her last name?”
“I should have expected no less from you, little bro.” My sister passed me her phone. “The first time you bring a girl home, and she’s world-famous.” She lets out an exasperated laugh.
Kai’s phone was open to Apple Music. Beneath a photo of April dressed in a short sequin dress was a brief description of her music and a list of her biggest hits. Kai pushed play on the top song. I recognized it immediately. That summer, you couldn’t escape that catchy tune. With my phone, I Googled April Rain. The results made me dizzy. I found endless photos, music videos, articles, and interviews. My first thought was crushing disappointment. If she was that famous, she was light years out of my league.
But then she came out of Kai’s room wearing my sister’s joggers and my sweatshirt, looking so sweet and anxious, and my heart pinched.
“You told him?” she asked Kai. Her music was still playing on Kai’s phone.
I nodded.
“And... ?” She bit her lip as she waited for my thoughts.
“I like your sweatshirt,” I said to ease her nerves.
She broke into a dazzling smile. “Thanks, I don’t think you’ll be getting it back.”
I never did. A part of me hopes she still wears it.
“My sister and April had a good laugh at my expense.” Rosie giggles at my story. I’m pretty sure I have a sloppy grin just thinking about that first morning.
“Hey, April!” September calls from the beach. I turn to see April rapidly crossing the pool area, shoulders rigid, face fixed straight ahead. She purposefully does not look our way. Did she overhear us? I think over my conversation with Rosie. None of it was hurtful. And she couldn’t be upset that I’m talking to Rosie. Or could she?
I jump to my feet and chase her down to the beach and bonfire, the flames flashing bright against the dusky blue sky. I call her name. She pretends not to hear me. I don’t call again because I’m not at all sure what I want to say. I followed her on impulse because she looked hurt. But then I remember I’m nothing special to her. Just an ex she didn’t bother to tell her sister about.
***
I sit on the steps to the beach and stare at the fathomless ocean. It’s around midnight, and everyone has gone home. The constant waves seem to roar. “You lost her, you lost her.” I’m not sure where the evening went so cataclysmically wrong.
When Carlos asked if he and September could use my beach for a photo op, I jumped at the chance. I thought it would be the perfect time to reconnect with April and show her my house. Let’s not dig too deep into why I wanted her to see my house. I just did. She always said how comfortable she felt at the Musgrove home. How much she preferred the relaxed casualness of their house to hers. So, I chose a mid-century modern design. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s whacked for me to remodel a house with my ex in mind. But, I am not a reasonable fellow, especially when it comes to April. I can’t say why I want her to like my house. To make her jealous? Because, for some bizarre reason, I still crave her approval? Because despite everything, I still hope? Yeah right.
Somehow, the small photo shoot spiraled into a whole to-do. April’s dad was invited and the twins and Flossman. Somehow, I talked to everyone else more than April. Except for that one cringey conversation at the beginning when I got all territorial and asked about her dating Carlos. What’s my deal? I’d seen photos of the two of them at events together. But I always assumed they went to these things as friends. Not that Carlos wanted to marry her. Why did that info throw me?
After surf lessons with the Musgrove twins, April gave me the cold shoulder. I couldn’t even get her to look at me. How can two people who were once so close be so out of sync? Maybe I should text her. I take out my phone.
It buzzes. My heart leaps, then drops when I see it’s just my sister.
kai
How did it go?
freddy
Epic disaster
My phone rings: “What happened?” Kai’s voice comes through my receiver, sounding slightly accusatory.
“What are you doing up?” I ask.
“It’s barely nine here. Spill the tea, little bro. What went wrong?”
“What went right? Kai, I fall apart every time I see her.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad. September’s pics by the bonfire look magical. And you looked really good, almost like you deserve the title Sexiest Man.”
“Hardly matters. April wouldn’t even look at me. It was awkward and strained. And I am so sick of hearing about April’s date with Johnny Love.”
“Freddy, you need to tell her how you feel.”
“How do I feel, Kai?” I ask with a bit of heat.
“You like her, plain and simple.”
“It’s not that simple. I don’t know how I feel. One moment, I’m furious at her. The next I...” I stop. I can’t tell Kai what I’m thinking: The next, I’m dreaming about her moving into my house. I don’t finish that sentence.
“I don’t know what to do.” I can’t say how much it terrifies me to talk to April face to face and tell her what is in my heart. Honestly, I dread looking into my feelings and what I might find. I’m obviously still fiercely attracted to her, even if I don’t want to be. She hurt me badly. I won’t let that happen again. But then, she says or does something that tugs at my heart, and I feel myself sucked into the undertow. I’m not going to say any of this to my sister. Kai would tell me to get over myself, to stop being a coward. She’s always been braver than I am, when it comes to relationships, and it’s paid off. Her fiancé is a good guy, even if his job took her back to Hawaii. My parents are thrilled that she moved back to the island, firmly securing her place as favorite child.
“Don’t waste your breath telling me you don’t like her,” says Kai.
“I’m not sure if I do.”
My sister snort-laughs. “Stop lying to yourself, lil bro. Do you realize you never bothered to tell me the names of the models and movie stars you’ve dated, let alone called me up and asked what to wear on your dates with them?”
“Everyone wants to look hot when they see their ex.”
“Keep telling yourself that. But it’s clear to me that you are still very much interested in her. The truth is you haven’t moved on and won’t until you see where things go with April.” Kai’s words hit me, especially the part about not moving on.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Easier said than done. When we’re together, she avoids me, and I can barely talk to her without flaring up in anger or tripping over my words.”
“Aren’t you two supposed to write a song together? Use that as a chance to reconnect.”
“Hmm . . . I do need to text her.”
“Great! Send her a text now.”
“Isn’t it too late?”
“Not for this.”
I start typing.
I read it out loud: “Hey Rainy, would you be up for songwriting tomorrow?”
“Perfect!”
I am way too old to have my sister give me texting advice. But when it comes to April, I need the push, and I appreciate it. I send the text.
“Kai, can I ask you something?”
“Anything, lil bro.”
“How come you don’t seem upset with April? She also dropped you as a friend.”
“She didn’t drop me. I dropped her.”
“Say what?”
“She kept texting me after it happened. And I kept blowing her off. Until I finally agreed to see her. We met for coffee where I told her I loved her, but my first loyalty was to you.”
“Whoa! You are direct. No wonder my failure to communicate drives you batty.”
“You have no idea!”
“How did she take it?”
“She was disappointed, but we had a heart-to-heart and left on good terms.”
“Why weren’t you more mad at her for dumping me?”
“I never approved of her method. But I’m not sure she was wrong.”
“How the hell can you say that?” I feel so betrayed that I want to throw my phone. I would, except that I’m desperate to know what my sister has to say.
“Listen, she was young and scared. You two might have been old enough to be married. But neither of you were mature enough to navigate in-laws. And April’s dad is not your ordinary in-law. She thought she was setting you free. And from what I can see, maybe she was.”
“What? Did you tell her that?”
“It was five years ago. I don’t have an exact transcript. I did tell her that I understood where she was coming from. And I did. I told her I loved her like a sister, and I always would, but I had to put my brother first, and she agreed. She said a lot of smart things. That’s why I think you should give her a chance.”
My phone lights up with a reply, giving me an instant buzz of excitement.
I read it out loud:
april
Yes! When?! Where?!
“Are there any exclamation points?” asks Kai.
“Um, yeah, why?”
“Exclamation points equal love.”
“There are three. One on the ‘yes’ and one on ‘when’ and another on ‘where.’”
“Three exclamation points! You are definitely still in the game.”
“Cool, cool.” I’m composing the next text, now hyped. “How about my place in the morning? That way no Musgroves can crash our songwriting?”
I read Kai the text. Then add to Kai, “Is that too rude about the Musgroves?”
“No, I think that’s good. Every chance you can, you need to make it clear you are not interested in dating a Musgrove.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Freddy!”
“Hey, she’s dating two guys.”
Another text comes in:
april
Works for me. How about 10?
I read it out loud.
“Good, any exclamation points?”
“No, but that would be excessive, right?”
“Probably, let’s just take the rapid reply as a good sign. Now, you should offer to pick her up.”
“Sending it now.”
“My phone lights up with another reply.
april
Looking forward to it
Every time a text from April lights up my phone, I feel a fizz of happiness.
“Hey Kai, thanks for calling. I got to go text a girl.”
“Go get her, little bro.”
April and I text for a good hour. She asks if I have any more ideas for the song. I send her a voice memo humming the tune that came to me earlier today.
She texts back:
Are those waves in the background?
freddy
Yeah, I’m still in my backyard.
april
You must be freezing. You should get indoors and get some sleep
She’s right, of course. I am cold and exhausted. But I don’t want to stop texting. For the first time in years, a little seed of hope takes root in my stony heart. In the dark, the waves crash louder. Over and over, they seem to whisper, “Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.”
I send one last text.
freddy
Goodnight, Rainy
See you tomorrow
When I arrive at the pool house, the lights are off in April’s room. I can see her window when I stand on an outdoor bench. But when I enter the studio apartment, my phone lights up.
april
I see you are home safe
good
freddy
Are you spying on me?
april
Every breath you take
Every cake you bake
Okay, so there are no exclamation marks, but those last two texts leave me smiling. I fall asleep, clasping the phone to my chest.
***
When I wake, I open the blinds to a clear sky. Not a hazy morning, but full on bright afternoon blue. I check my phone for the time. It’s dead. I smile as I remember texting April in the middle of the night.
I get up and plug my phone in to charge. I check the microwave clock. It is 1:02 p.m. Wait, no, I never set the clock back for standard time, making it actually 12:02 p.m. But that still means I’m two hours late. No, no, no, no, no!
Things are finally going well with us, and I royally mess it up. I pace the room, waiting for my phone to charge. Oh! Screw it! I brush my teeth and take a quick glance in the mirror. Besides a definite wrinkled sheet imprint lining my face, I look okay. My hair has some nice volume and decent waves from sitting outside by the ocean last night. I run my fingers through the back to make sure there are no tangles or rooster tails. I’m good to go. I put on my slides and jam on over to Kellynch Hall .
As I wait for April in what the housekeeper referred to as the drawing room, I am doing a whole lot of second-guessing. Silk panels line the walls, while elaborately carved crown moldings trim a frescoed ceiling. I tilt my head back to take in the copy of Michaelangelo’s Creation of Man from the Sistine Chapel. Adam is clean-shaven, muscled, and naked; God, with his white hair and beard, is equally ripped, though most of his impressive physique is covered with a robe. His face is familiar. Could it be? I take out my phone and use my camera to zoom in on the face. First, God’s and then Adam’s. I laugh out loud. Dean Elliot’s face is on both God and Adam. The angels surrounding the bearded Dean appear to be his wife and two daughters. I am honestly surprised they are not all Dean Elliot.
I cannot fathom how much a painting like this costs. It’s absurd, but also quite good. I’m beginning to get a crick in my neck from staring up at the ceiling. I want to sit on the couch, but a fluffy gray cat named Admiral stretches across the middle cushion. The cat gives me a forbidding glare accompanied by a menacing meow. I get the message and take a seat in a straight-backed Chippendale covered in pale blue silk. A suffocating silence permeates the house. It’s easy to understand why April preferred her time at the Musgrove’s.
A magazine rests on a gold-gilded side table with ornate legs. On closer inspection, I see it is People’s “Sexiest Man Alive” with Dean Elliot on the cover. I pick it up; the issue dates from November 2002. The magazine is so glossy and new, I can see my reflection in it. Either no one is allowed to handle it as I am now—I set it down hastily—or April’s father owns multiple copies and puts out a new issue as soon as the old one gets wrinkled. That theory is proven right when I spy another copy on a side table across the room; this one appears more used.
I flip through it to see the photo spread of Dean Elliot in his hay day—literal hay. There’s a photo of him in jeans and cowboy boots tossing a hay bale into a pickup truck. I marvel at how no bits of stray hay are on his oiled chest. He is shirtless and wearing a cowboy hat in most of the photos, including one where he rides a bucking bronco. I shouldn’t laugh or inwardly mock these photos.
I cringe at half of the images in my Sexiest Man spread. But I hold a small grudge against Dean Elliot, the man who did not think I was good enough for his daughter. Also, I suspect that Dean considers being named the “Sexiest Man Alive” his greatest accomplishment. Whereas, for me, the whole thing is more of a joke.
No one tells you that once you are named the “Sexiest Man Alive,” your friends and loved ones will take great care to point out just how unsexy you are. Like when my sister found a photo of me asleep on my tour bus, mouth open, drooling, and sent it in the family chat #sexiestman. Basically, any goofy-faced photo that exists of me, Kai sends to me with that hashtag. I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and my face was swollen and wrapped in a silly ice pack—#sexiestman. Or when I discreetly pass some gas in the safety of my own home, my dad, who is sneakily “napping” on the couch, announces for the whole household to hear, including guests, “The world’s sexiest man toots like the rest of us. But he smells worse.”
I have a feeling that Dean Elliot does not suffer such teasing. I wonder if he has any idea I was named the “Sexiest Man Alive” or if that nomination has in any way improved me in his estimation. Like I care, but of course, I do—very much. I put the magazine down and glance up to see another Dean Elliot on the cover of the “Sexiest Man Alive,” smoldering down at me from the wall where a framed copy hangs. The framed cover gives the room the feel of an embassy building with a prominent picture of the president. My current count is five Dean Elliot’s staring at me. Three from the front cover of People and two staring down at me from the ceiling. Make that six as the real Dean Elliot steps into the room.
“What do you think?” he asks, walking up beside me and nodding his head to the cover.
“The photo of you on the horse is epic.”
“Thank you, few people know that I did my riding myself.”
“Really? That’s impressive.”
“Have you seen the show?”
I’m taken aback by how friendly Mr. Elliot is being. When April and I were dating, he hardly acknowledged me.
“I have. My mom is a big fan. The reruns are always playing at my house.”
He smiles like a TV host. “That’s music to my ears. But also, it kills me. Listen, son. I hope you have good people representing you. I was young and dumb when I started out, and I was cheated out of millions. Millions. Tell me, what would Kellynch Farms be without Buck Harrington?”
“It wouldn’t be the same.”
He beams again. I’m doing my best to win over April’s dad. Let’s not examine my motives.
“Is April coming?” I ask, trying not to sound too eager.
“No! She’s not home.” He seems to enjoy telling me this. And here I thought I was making headway with him. “She had to get her lashes done this morning for her date tonight with Johnny Love.”
He’s grinning like the Cheshire Cat; his eyes study my face. Try as I might to school my features, I’m certain my disappointment shows.
“I see.”
“Smart boy.” He claps me on the back. And leads me to the front door.