Tides That Bind

Chapter 1

The first time anyone ever celebrated my birthday, I was nineteen and it was only by coincidence. The manager at the bar I started working at happened to be processing my W2 that night. There wasn’t cake. There was a tequila shot, even though I was underage, and five of the bar’s regulars sang, holding a lighter for me to blow out in lieu of a candle.

Like many kids, I dreamed of birthday parties my entire life—grand ones at the roller rink, or sleepovers with friends where we watched movies we had no business viewing, talking about boys we believed teased us because they thought we were pretty.

But nothing close to that ever happened.

In the many places I lived, I’m not sure there was a roller rink. My friends, even as a kid, were all adults. Some of them were clowns. Some, truck drivers, others, lion tamers. My life was a circus.

That’s because I was born into one. And when your mother is the lead acrobat and your father the ringleader, and you live in a trailer on the road, birthday parties aren’t really a thing. If anyone ever remembered, it usually wasn’t my parents.

But me? I’d be different as a parent. And I am. It took me eight years of parenting and thirty-four years of living to finally say I nailed the birthday thing.

I step back from the counter and rub my hands together in delight. The cake is absolutely perfect, another thing for a perfect birthday celebration crafted with love and fueled by copious cups of coffee for my perfectly imperfect eight-year-old.

Pinterest lied about how long it would take to construct the balloon arch and I might’ve spent far too much money on the goodie bags, but there’s less than an hour until the party begins and everything is exactly as it should be.

And with how beautiful the cake looks, frosted with the ideal Captain America blue and fit with a fondant rendition of the superhero’s shield, I’m wondering if I should shut down my yoga studio and open a bakery.

“Tides, heel!”

I should know better than to decide on this exact moment to carry the cake stand to the dining room. Since Tides’s average speed is 75 miles per hour, it only takes half a second between Nate opening the backdoor and Tides crashing into me.

Before Nate even appears, the cake lands where Tides finally decides to heel—on the floor at my feet.

I beam my anger into the mess, into Tides, who tilts his head at what is an unnatural degree for a human but a perfect degree for a German Shepard.

“You’re going to the pound,” I seethe. “I mean it this time.”

Nate curses under his breath. “Tides, come.”

Tides listens on command, but not before he steps into the mound of deconstructed cake, dragging the mess further across the kitchen.

I ball my hands tightly at my side. “Oh, you little—”

Nate raises a hand and leans down, picking up the dog as if he isn’t pushing 100 pounds. Tides wags his tail as Nate carries him out back and I swear it’s only to taunt me.

I groan and reach for the paper towels .

“I’ll take care of it.” Nate returns to the kitchen with a bright blue paw print against the shoulder of his black uniform.

I must be angrier with Tides than I am spiteful at Nate because I don’t remind my husband he said that last night before slipping out the door and heading across the backyard to Riley’s apartment, leaving me tangled in the balloon arch’s wiring.

“Do you know how long it took to make that cake?”

“Do we know if it was even edible?

Nate’s playful teasing makes me angrier and I nearly sink to the floor and roll around in the cake’s remains because what’s one more disaster?

“We need another cake.”

“Yes, officer obvious, because of your dog.”

“He’s our dog.”

I never wanted a dog, especially one who sheds enough to weave an entire rug each day. But when Nate was accepted into the K9 handler program after joining the police department, it was hard to say no to something that made him so excited. After all, he gave up who he was—a Marine—to stay home for me and Lucas. So I’ve learned to tolerate Tides even though I don’t tolerate his shedding very well.

When I toss the dirty paper towels into the trash, I catch sight of the fridge. It’s hard to see the dog as anything other than family when I look at the photos decorating the doors. He’s in nearly every shot apart from the three just taken before he entered our home. He’s only a few months younger than Lucas. They practically grew up together.

I go to stand, catching sight of Nate’s scar on his leg, which reminds me of the time Tides was separated from us a few years ago. Lucas cried more in those few weeks while Nate recovered from knee surgery and Tides went on to continue to temporarily work under a new handler than he ever had in his entire life.

I make room for Nate who grabbed the mop from the laundry room. I should rush around the kitchen as I google if expiration dates for box cake are a hard line. But instead, I decide to take this as a loss and hope that whatever’s available at the bakery on a Friday afternoon will please Lucas if I stick an action figure on top.

I find myself still staring at the fridge, following the trail of photos of all of Lucas's birthdays, the three of us—and Tides—looking like the perfect family I had always dreamed about.

But they all lead to the photo Nate is absent from—on the day Lucas was born. That one is different. That one, Riley is in.

“Oh, stop that.” Nate rights the photo I try to tuck beneath another. “He saw that last time. You hurt his feelings.”

I snort. “Riley has feelings?”

“I’m serious.”

I sigh as I hear Riley’s voice drifting in from way back then.

“I know you wish it wasn’t me. But I’m here and you’re going to get through this. I promise.”

“I just wish it was you, that’s all. That will never change for me.”

Instead of being present for Lucas's first cries, nervously learning to change a diaper from a nurse, Nate met our son on the tarmac of a military base after Lucas had already surpassed his birth weight despite his prematurity.

“There’s no one else I would’ve picked to be with you that day than Riley.”

This doesn’t surprise me. Nate often does pick Riley, even on the most insignificant day.

If Riley calls, Nate answers.

If Riley needs help, Nate is the first to volunteer.

If Riley needs a night out—which is often—and Nate isn’t working, he goes with him.

I struggle to understand why Nate doesn’t just like Riley but loves him so much he’s fine with him being the permanent third wheel in our relationship, and often, I feel, one with more directional power than me.

I learned a long time ago, after one stern he’s family from Nate, that I’ll never win the battle. So, I tolerate Riley to the greatest extent possible. But like the tolerance I have for Tides’s shedding, my tolerance for Riley isn’t super high.

“Am I supposed to pick Lucas up?”

“Your mom is getting him.”

Nate clicks his tongue. “I’ll head to the store.”

I peer into the backyard where Tides spins in circles, chasing his tail and shake my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Nate yawning. “Go take a nap. I’ll deal with it. I need your energy to keep up with the kids.”

Nate presses a hand to my waist, the pad of his thumb sliding up my t-shirt, circling the skin beneath. “Just an hour. You can pour a bucket of water on me if I’m still snoring.”

I press up on my toes, giving him a small kiss. “Set an alarm because I don’t need any more messes to clean up.”

Nate heads to the back door and whistles. I look beyond the yellow tulips in the vase on the windowsill and peek into the backyard. Tides abandons the battle with his tail and rushes up the porch steps.

“Up.”

I hear Nate command Tides and he returns to the kitchen with the dog in his arms. “I wiped his paws but better safe than sorry.” He winks at me before heading up the stairs.

I move back to the counter, covering the remaining fondant I had rolled out with wax paper, quickly cleaning up so at least when I get home there won’t be much left to do.

“Harp. Forget the cake,” Nate yells from upstairs a minute later. “I’ll call and reserve something. Riley can grab one on his way home from the beach.”

The Surf Shack is closed on Fridays during the off season, but it doesn’t surprise me Riley is at the beach. If he isn’t there, in his apartment above the garage, or at Ship-Slapped—his bar of choice—he’s in the water.

Riley is either on a wave or on a bender, and when his immaturity gets the best of him, he’s on both .

I want to tell Nate to forget it, but I look at the sad balloon arch, watching one balloon slip to the floor.

Besides, it must be near impossible to mess up store-bought cake.

“Oh, this is sick .”

“Sick?”

Apparently Lucas turned into a teenager between leaving for school this morning and returning this afternoon.

“Sick, Mom, like dope.”

I shake my head and look at my mother-in-law, Claire, but she’s no help. “Dope?” I ask.

Lucas's shoulders sink. “Cool,” he drags out, frustrated by the lesson.

“Where did you learn to talk like that?” I ask, grateful Claire intercepts his unwashed hands before they reach the bowl of chips.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” she says.

We all turn when the front door opens after Riley seems to have jimmied it open with his hip since he holds a large cake box in his hands. He tilts his head forward, peeking over his black wayfarers.

“Oh, that’s pretty dope.”

Claire tries to stifle her laughter.

“You’re not helping,” I tell her before narrowing my eyes at Riley. “Did you go into a store like that?”

Riley extends his bare arms, holding the box out from his equally bare chest as he looks down.

“Like what?” he asks, as if there’s nothing wrong with the fact he’s only wearing board shorts that hang low on his waist. “I did wear shoes. They’re in the car.” he says, and it’s only now I realize he’s barefoot as well. “It’s hot as hell today. Isn’t it November?”

Shaking my head, I take the box, surprised by its weight. “Go change and clean up. Your friends will be here soon,” I call out to Lucas before I move into the kitchen, placing the cake on the counter.

Riley rubs Lucas's light brown hair as he wizzes by and gives Claire a kiss on the cheek before she grabs the plastic plates. “I’ll take these outside.”

I carry the cake into the kitchen and Riley follows, stuffing a chip into his mouth, without a doubt leaving a trail of crumbs on my freshly mopped floor but what else is new?

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asks.

“Like, how about you use a plate?” I scratch at the tape holding the box shut. Just to annoy me, I swear he begins to chew even louder.

“No.” He banishes the crumbs from his hands by brushing them together. “I was thinking something like, thank you, Riley, for saving Lucas's party and preventing a catastrophe.”

I scoff even though I kind of agree. “I’d hardly call that a catastrophe.”

“Yeah, tell that to the birthday boy.” Riley opens the fridge and pops open a can of beer, leaving me wondering how he stays in such good shape for someone who starts drinking at three-thirty in the afternoon.

The tape peels but splits in half. “They didn’t have anything smaller? We’re only having six other kids. I have a tart for the adults. It’s just us, your sister and Finn, and Silas.”

Riley sticks out his tongue and raises his face to the ceiling. “Why is Silas coming?” he asks about one of Nate’s colleagues. “He doesn’t have any kids. Isn’t that weird?”

“Riley.” I turn away from the counter and state the obvious. “ You don’t have any kids. And neither do Finn and Caroline.”

He takes a sip of his beer. “Yeah, but Lucas is my…he’s my buddy . I can’t stand Silas.”

“I know the feeling,” I mutter, turning my attention back to the box. "I guess people can take some home when they pick up their kids.”

“Or we’ll just eat cake for breakfast for the next few days,” Riley interjects.

I raise an eyebrow. “Cake? For breakfast?”

“Who says there’s anything wrong with that?”

“Just those of us worried about cavities and type 2 diabetes.”

Riley waves me off. “Oh. By the way, Lucas's present is going to be a little late. A buddy of mine down in San Diego is customizing a surfboard for him.”

“To hang in his room?” I ask.

I told Nate, no surfing for Lucas until he was older, like ten or twenty-seven. I wonder if the reason it scares me so much is because I didn’t grow up near the water. But even though we live in a beach community, even though Lucas took his first steps ever in the sand, I’m still saying no to surfing until he’s a little bigger and stronger.

“Nate’s teaching him this year.”

I shake my head. “No he’s not.”

“Yes he is.”

I open my mouth to say no again, but Riley interjects quickly. “Is your response to everything just no by default?”

I scowl. “No.”

Riley snorts.

I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Lucas surfing is between me and my husband, not you and my husband.”

Riley just raises his eyebrows, as if my words have surprised him. “I’ve got to go rinse off. Still have sand in my trunks.”

Peering out of the corner of my eye, I watch Riley head into the mudroom to go out the backdoor and catch sight of the sand speckled in his dark hair, concentrated in the signature knot he ties his long locks in daily—with a rubber band . It drives me crazy.

I lift open the box before promptly shutting it.

“Riley. ”

“What?”

I press my lips together, backing away from the counter. “When you went to the bakery, what did you say exactly?”

Riley’s head appears through the doorway he just walked through. “That I was picking up a cake reserved under Jones. That’s what Nate said.”

“You didn’t think to ask to see the cake?”

“They were about to close and the box was taped up already. It’s a cake . What could be wrong with it?”

I beckon him back to the kitchen. “I don’t know.” I try to stay calm as I lift the top again. “You tell me.”

I don’t need to say a thing. The pink-frosted penis cake with Happy Bachelorette, Bitch! written across the top in black icing says it all.

Waiting, I search Riley’s face for any kind of reaction, but it remains unbothered, as if he doesn’t think it’s a big deal for Lucas to blow out candles wedged into a frosted scrotum.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” My voice jumps an octave. “Oh? You bring some dick-shaped”—I pause moving to a whisper—"you bring a phallic cake for a kid’s birthday party and all you have to say is ‘oh?’”

“Nate didn’t say—”

“What exactly does he have to tell you, Riley? Please make sure the cake you grab on your way home doesn’t include testicles ?”

“You know something, Harper—”

“Can’t you two keep it together for a kid’s birthday party? For god’s sake, they are going to be playing pin the tail on the donkey.”

Nate now stands in the doorway. He’s changed out of his uniform and I can smell the freshness of his shampoo, but he still has the imprint of the folded up pillow case on his clean-shaven cheek. His blue eyes bounce between me and Riley before they fall to his side when Lucas squeezes in. Tides sticks his head out from between Nate’s legs .

“Dad, pin the tail on the donkey is lame .”

Nate lowers a hand to the top of Lucas's head. “My bad. No pin the tail on the donkey. Maybe we should give Mom and Uncle Riley the water guns and let them have at it.”

Lucas's eyes light up at the thought.

“No water guns. It’s cold.”

Riley rolls his eyes obviously, making sure I’d see the gesture from the moon. “It’s almost eighty—”

“It’s November , Riley.”

He puts his hands on his hips. “Would it kill you to have a yes day every once in a while?”

“A yes day?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s when you say yes instead of no, no, no all day long.”

“Lucas.” Nate sighs. “Go outside and help Nana.”

“Is that the cake though? Can I see it?”

I immediately tell Lucas, “No.”

Riley chuckles.

“Lucas. Go.” Nate taps Tides. He follows Lucas but not before lifting his head at the box as he trots by.

“Can you two cool it for one afternoon? What’s the problem now? Riley got a cake.”

I open the box. “Yes, he got a wonderful cake. Perfect for celebrating our sweet, little boy.”

Nate stands over the counter, his face unreadable as he looks at the giant, hot pink penis. He gives me a quick peek over his shoulder before turning to Riley, who lifts the can of beer to his lips, which sprays out everywhere when he bursts into laughter.

And so does Nate.

I ball my fists. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh come on, Harper.”

I swat Nate’s hand away when he tries to pull me in for a hug.

“Yeah. Come on, Harper. Lighten up,” Riley mocks .

I’m about to press Riley’s face into the cake. If he’s going to act like a dick, he can eat one too.

“Relax.” Nate manages to grab my forearm, sliding his grip down to my hand. “We’ll fix it.”

“Fix what?”

We all turn, finding Caroline standing at the entry. Her slicked-back, auburn hair makes it easy to see the Air Pod in her ear. Between that and the phone in her hand, I know she’s likely on a work call. Regardless, her presence in my home is welcoming. Unlike her brother’s.

There is, perhaps, one positive thing about Riley, and that happens to be his sister—who has become one of the closest people to me since I moved to California after Nate and I married.

It didn’t take long for us to fall into an easy, strong friendship, despite our different backgrounds and interests. The only issue with Caroline is now she spends too much time in New York since she took over their father’s law firm after he died years ago.

“Alright, I get I’m the only attorney here. You might want a different cake because there’s no getting a Child Protective Services visit cleared from your record, especially”—she stares Nate down—"when you’re an officer of the law.”

Caroline presses the screen of her phone, resuming the call and walking into the living room.

“Hey,” Nate calls out to her. “Your brother—"

Riley quickly interjects, “You asked me to get the cake an hour before this starts. Isn’t that the first thing you think about when throwing a birthday party for a kid?”

"We had one,” Nate clarifies. “But Harper dropped it.”

Tides barks from the backyard and two seconds later, the doorbell rings. “You two are both in the dog house.”