Page 35 of Into the Deep Blue

Dad dips a hash brown into a pool of ketchup on a McDonald’s napkin. It’s Friday, our weekly lunch date. A month ago, they seemed like a great idea—a chance to talk somewhere other than home, but they followed a weird trajectory, moving from dinner at a fancy restaurant to Applebee’s to here—McDonald’s. The upside is twenty minutes is exactly the right amount of time for these dates.

He takes a bite of his Egg McMuffin, and dabs at his mouth with a napkin while complaining about the latest sports news. When he notices I’ve zoned out, he stops.

“You know, we can still do the fancy dinner dates,” he says.

My eyes widen in alarm. Those were two hours of pure torture. Nobody wants to do that again. “I know.”

“What’s going on with the school front? Still excited about New York?”

My plan was always to start in January, but I’ve been waffling. Spending all this time with Dad makes me sad about the thought of leaving.

“Yeah, but I could always reapply out here and stay closer to home.”

He squints at me.

“Why would you do that?”

“So we can hang out more. You can teach me about whatever that sport is you like.”

He grins.

“All of them.”

“See! Great,”

I say.

“We can go to the pubs. I can hang out with your crew.”

I’m joking, but not about the staying closer to home part.

“There is something I wanted to run by you.”

He dusts a few crumbs off his shirt.

“We should have done this at a real restaurant. Now we’re almost out of food and still have all this conversation.”

I slap the table.

“Dad, focus. What?”

“I’m thinking about . . . listing the house,”

he says slowly, like he’s still wrapping his head around the words.

“What?!”

I sputter out a cough, choking on my iced tea.

“Not in any rush, so don’t panic. I was going to wait until you left for school.”

It’s a lot to process. I’m not sure what to say.

“You think it’s a bad idea?”

he asks, reaching for his soda.

That’s the worst part. I don’t. But I also want to wrap our house in my arms and hold it forever. “No,”

I chirp in my high-pitched lie voice.

Dad side-eyes me.

“You coming to New York?”

He lets out a half laugh.

“Have you always been this much of a smart-ass?”

“I think it’s finally coming back to me.” I smile.

“Glad to hear it.”

“So. Why now?”

“A friend of mine said they’re hiring down in San Diego, so I put in for a transfer, and I got it for whenever I want it.”

I nod, taking it all in. Why do I feel like this isn’t the first time someone’s life has been upended in a McDonald’s?

“I don’t want to be in the house when you’re gone, and I don’t want it to be a reason you stay. I think it’s time for a little sunshine,”

he says, stealing my last fry and popping it into his mouth.

It’s like that magic trick where the tablecloth is yanked from the table, but none of the dishes move. That’s what he’s done. He changed everything and nothing, just like that.

“You’re welcome to come. I’ll always have a room for you. I just think we’re in a bit of a rut here. We’re stuck, and maybe I can’t move my way out of it, but I need to move, you know. I need to move.”

I lean back against the booth.

“Dad. I think it’s amazing.”

And I do. I thought he’d die in that house. That once I left, he’d hide himself away, lost in a labyrinth of Mom’s memory.

He points to my hoodie. It’s Nick’s.

“How’s Nick doing?”

I guess I was inviting the question by wearing this.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“We took a break. I told you.”

“Long break.”

Four weeks, five days to be exact.

“I think we were spending too much time together.”

“I thought you liked spending time together.”

“We did.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“So what’d he do?”

My instinct shouts Abort! Change the topic to sports, to anything else, lie, but he’s trying, and so can I.

“He kissed me, and I freaked out.”

“Huh.”

His eyes widen at my unexpected honesty, then he crumples his napkin, deep in thought.

“But you like him?”

I think we both know it’s more than that.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Because. What if we date, and he realizes he can’t stand me? What if he wants to hang out with people I don’t like at school? What if I don’t want to be with him? What if we never talk again?”

Dad leans in.

“Isn’t that what’s happening now?”

I let my head fall back against the booth.

“It was just so easy before. Not that it was ever easy, but—”

“You can’t do that, Fi. Life throws a lot of curve balls, but you should always take the shot when you have it.”

He smiles, pleased with himself.

“Wow. That’s a lot of sports metaphors you worked in there.”

But I hear him, I do. I’ll miss this—his corny movie lines and metaphors. These twenty minutes. Soon, we’ll be separated, and we didn’t have nearly enough of these moments—of this time. My thoughts fall to Nick.

“I think I also needed to know I’d be okay without him.”

“And are you?”

“Yeah. I am.”

I let out a breath and place my empty cup on the tray.

“Hey, remember the morning of the Monterey trip?”

Dad thinks, then nods.

“What did you say to Nick by the car? I saw you talking from the window.”

He meets my eyes.

“I said you better make sure nothing happens to her. She’s the brightest light I’ve got.”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I blink them away.

“Dad . . . ”

I squeeze his hand.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Maybe dives are predestined to become the most important places in my life. It must be in my genes. We fill our tray with empty wrappers and slide out of the booth.

“And he said, ‘I’d be blind without her,’”

Dad slips it in so casually as he dumps the wrappers into the trash.

It’s like the air’s been knocked from my lungs. I turn away so he can’t read my face. How can Nick’s words still sink me when they don’t even come from him?

“Ready?” Dad asks.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

I face him, wearing a breezy smile.

But when he heads for the exit, it fades. I trace the outline of my necklace under Nick’s hoodie.

In the truck, news radio plays. A few skeleton trees line the sidewalk. Their fallen leaves twirl across the road like they’re still going somewhere. There’s not a drop of blue in the October sky or anywhere, the world bathed in a dreary gray.

But inside Dad’s truck, I feel warm and safe, like a kid again in the passenger seat. The truck smells like him, of cedar and coffee. The light in front of us turns yellow, and Dad stops even though he could have made it through. I lean my head against the window and look at the CVS beside us. It blends into the endless expanse of the concrete parking lot. On the side, a guy leans against the silvery brick wall.

And my heart stops because the guy is Nick. I straighten in my seat. Nick. Now my hands are on the tablecloth. I can be the magician—I can change everything or nothing.

The clicking of the turn signal is deafening. The light, in the other direction, turns yellow. My hand rests on the door handle. Any second, the light will turn green, and Dad will drive away.

I can’t decide.

I can’t decide.

The light turns green, and the truck rolls forward. Dad makes the turn.

My grip tightens around the handle.

“Dad, stop the truck.”

He glances at me, confused.

“Stop the truck!”

He pulls over to the curb, and I fling the door open.

“I’ll meet you at home.”

“Where are you going?”

He follows my gaze to the parking lot.

“Oh, Nick. Gotta take the shot.”

He feigns hitting a ball or swinging a hockey stick; I can’t really tell. Then he smiles and turns up the song that’s started to play.

“Call if you need a ride.”

“Thanks.”

I slam the door with a renewed burst of courage. It lasts all of ten seconds until I’m on the other side of the street heading for the store. My path veers horizontal as I talk myself out of this, but it’s too late.

Nick spots me from across the parking lot. The tip of his nose is red from the cold. He takes his foot away from the wall and straightens up, burying his hands into the pouch of his hoodie.

I stop in front of him.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

He pulls at the string of my hoodie—his hoodie.

“Been looking for that.”

“Yeah. Sorry, I meant to bring it back. You can take it.”

“No, it’s cold. Keep it.”

We nod in awkward silence. He cut his hair. It’s a little darker without the highlights from the sun. A sandy brown wave flops against his forehead, and he pushes it away when he notices me staring. Everything about him is a little cleaner, a little crisper.

“How’s it going?” I ask.

“Not bad. You?”

“Not bad.”

More silence.

“How’s Zombie Bob?”

“Good. He’s selling the house.”

His eyes widen. “What?!”

“Moving to Diego, apparently.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe it.

“Wow. Zombie no more, huh? And you?”

“And me . . . ”

I flick my eyes up to him, feeling insecure about my not-so-epic changes.

“Quit the gym. Been working at a store downtown.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

He knows. May told me she texts him once in a blue moon from California, and I’m okay with it. Did he ask about me, or did she tell him?

“You look different,” he says.

“You mean awful?”

I make an exaggerated gesture to my sweats.

“No,”

he says quietly.

“I guess you’re staying here? For school?”

“New York, actually.”

I kick at the pebbles on the pavement.

“Thought I’d check out a different coastline.”

He nods a few times but doesn’t say anything.

“Are you still going there?”

“Yeah, set for January—the lit program.”

I smile. I’m just so happy for him.

“What?”

He gives me a wary stare as if I might make fun of him, like the night on the porch swing.

He’ll thrive in New York. I can picture him running newspapers or blogs, interviewing politicians, or writing a best-seller. I can see his whole future, and it’s so bright.

“What?!”

I’ll tell him, I will. Just not right now.

“Nothing. Sorry. It’s amazing, that’s all.”

He sweeps a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, because what the world needs is another English degree.”

“What the world needs is you.”

It’s the awkward silence to end all awkward silences. His eyes sear into mine, and I glance away. A rusted red classic Mustang isn’t far behind him. His mom’s bucket list.

“Number ten on her list.”

He looks over his shoulder and to me again, beaming.

“It was the only one I could really rally behind. You want to check it out?”

“Yeah!”

I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster, but my heart is breaking.

This distance.

He opens the driver’s side door, and I duck my head inside.

“See the trim? It’s all original, except I had it modded for a USB outlet.”

“So cool.”

I spot a floral tote on the floor of the passenger side and flinch a little. I pretend not to notice, but Nick caught it. Of course, he did. He doesn’t miss a thing—unlike me, who stupidly assumed he was here alone. I mean, he was standing in a parking lot. Waiting. For someone. How did I miss that?

“So, I’m going up to Monterey this weekend,”

he says casually as if it’s some random place and not our place.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a place.”

“In Monterey?”

He fights a proud smile.

“It’s not for me. I’m going to rent it out.”

My chest wrenches. Here he is with convertibles and places, and I feel about as mature as a twelve-year-old after my Happy Meal.

“You’re a landlord?”

“Yeah, Alex gave me the hard sell on real estate, so I did it to shut her up. It’s a pretty cool place. Small, but you can see the ocean—at least a sliver of it.”

He rocks back on his feet, a hint of nerves peeking through.

“Sounds better than a parking lot.”

His eyes flick up to mine.

“It was a nice parking lot.”

Every second of that weekend comes flooding back to me. The necklace, the side glances, the warmth of his arm next to mine, him kneeling on the floor in front of me and not running away. Being alone. With him.

A car pulls into the lot, and the crack seals. It’s like we’re strangers again, which feels so wrong after everything we’ve been through.

“So, I was thinking about asking you if you felt like going. Swing by the ol’ Narwhal . . . but I didn’t know what you were up to these days. I still haven’t taken the coastal route down. It’d be nice to see.”

“It would be.”

“Right? There’s this place called Elephant Rock north of San Francisco, and it’s got rocks shaped like—”

“Elephants,” I say.

“Yes! It’s really cool. At least, I think it’s cool.”

He keeps talking about highway routes and landmarks, and I can’t take it anymore.

I won’t let us drown under a second more of this aimless conversation. It’s backwards and wrong. He knows me. We can’t just stand here and talk about—highways.

“Nick, I love you.”

He’s midsentence when I say it, and it comes out way more platonic than I intended.

He doesn’t miss a beat.

“I love you too, Fi.”

He’s not getting it.

“No,”

I shake my head. My hands are shaking.

“No, no, no. That’s not what I meant.”

I force myself to meet his eyes.

“I don’t mean love you love you, I mean, I’m in love with you.”

He straightens and sways a little as if the words are a force. He does his thing where he’s thinking and looking at nothing, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere on the concrete between us. I said it. I had to say it for me. The weight lifts from my chest.

“Have you ever happy ending’d us?”

His eyes meet mine. “Yeah.”

His voice is barely a whisper.

“What did it look like?”

This feels like goodbye, and I want this token to hang on to. A keepsake of what might have been.

He swallows, refocusing. I know his expressions by heart. I can almost see the words filling behind his clear blue eyes—like the sky and sea—endless.

“Well . . . there’s us on a beach watching the sunset and the sea lions.”

His words are slow and deliberate.

“There’s us dancing in a shitty dive bar in the middle of nowhere or driving home in your car every week, listening to music. It’s watching you swipe a bottle of chili sauce from a Chipotle. It’s smashing open tubes of your face cream, listening to you breathe at night, smelling you on my clothes, and I guess now I can add the time you finally, finally fess up in a CVS parking lot.”

His eyes lock on mine.

“It’s hard, impossible really, to settle on one because every time I’m with you is happiness to me.”

He steps closer and slides his hands around my waist.

“Now, can I kiss you?”

His words are barely a whisper, his eyes, wide pools of blue. I lose myself in them, and answer with a kiss—softly pressing my lips to his then pulling away just as quick.

He blinks slowly, his lips still parted, then closes the gap between us, his mouth colliding with mine. His hands reach under my hoodie, finding my skin. I grasp his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair. We stagger back, colliding against the rough brick wall: our breath, a misty fog escaping between kisses. Nick pulls my hips into him and makes me forget where I am in only the way he can.

“Wait,”

I step away from him.

“Mmm . . . ”

“The bag in your car . . . ”

He eyes me curiously and opens his mouth to speak, but before he gets a word out, a voice calls out from around the corner.

“Sorry we took so long, they made me wait.”

We turn our heads. Alex stops in her tracks, a shopping bag dangling from her hand.

“But . . . I guess that’s a good thing,”

she says, taking in our entangled state. Max runs out from behind her, holding a Ring Pop.

“Hi, ,”

he chirps as if nothing remarkable is happening.

“Hi, Max.”

Nick presses his forehead against mine.

“Hey, .”

Alex grins from ear to ear.

“Still keeping things casual?”

“Please stop talking,”

Nick says.

“Okay.”

She swings the bag around in a circle.

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“Get in the car.”

Alex rolls her eyes at him.

“Come on, let’s wait inside,”

she says to Max.

“Can you open my Ring Pop, Mom?”

he asks, shaking the wrapper.

“Yeah, sweetie, inside. Am I sitting in the front or the back?”

she calls out again.

“Just . . . whatever,”

Nick says without turning away from me.

He waits for the sound of the car door closing, his arms still around my waist.

I search his eyes.

“I thought . . . ”

“I know what you thought. It was always you, Fi.”

I kiss him again, and we lose ourselves until the horn blasts. Nick turns back, a crimson flush on his cheeks, and Max giggles hysterically from the back seat. This is far from the romantic streetscapes of Monterey. It’s messy, it’s a dive . . . but it’s entirely perfect.

“Do you want to go for a drive?” he asks.

And I’m not even ninety-nine percent sure. I’m one hundred percent positive.

“Yeah. You owe me at least six months’ worth.”

He breaks into a smile as he takes my hand and leads me to the passenger side, opening the door in one graceful swoop and stealing a kiss before I duck inside.

The car smells like grape candy. Nick climbs in, and the Mustang comes to life with a guttural roar. Max laps at the Ring Pop jewel on his finger and kicks his feet against the seat. He raises his fist and shouts.

“I’m Batman!”

Nick smiles. He reaches for my hand and pulls out of the lot.

Ahead of us is an open road and a cool gray sky. The sun breaks through the clouds on the horizon, the landscape, a canvas filling with color right before my eyes. In a minute, we’ll leave the gray behind and drive straight into a world of technicolor.

And I can’t think of a better picture than this.