Beautiful Oblivion (13 page)

“Just the same bullshit day after day—doing an internship for my dad, playing lackey.”

“Cool.” My stomach loosens with relief. He didn’t even mention her. Maybe she’s not that important to him.

“I’m having a big party next week, you up for some bro’s and hoes? We got to get you laid, dude.”

“The party sounds good. I might have plans though.” A vision of Reese moaning beneath me bumps through my mind, and I don’t fight it. “Don’t worry about me. I’m pretty damn lucky these days. And you?” I know for a fact he’s not getting any.

“Got me a wild one. Sucks me off like it’s nobody’s business.” He gravels out a laugh, and I flinch. “She’s got some douche on the side, and I don’t even fucking care, man. It’s sort of an open relationship right now, anyway.”  He gets up on his elbows and stares off at the water. My stomach pinches tight, and that cup of coffee I just downed burns through me like battery acid. Why do I get the feeling I’m the fucking douche. “Reese and I will do the whole monogamy thing once we tie the knot, but for now, it’s a summer of sowing some serious oats if you know what I mean. We both know we’re buckling down come fall.”

Shit. Is that what I am? An oat?

“She’s really okay with that?” I find it doubtful.

“Hell, yes”—he cinches his head back a notch—“she’s the one that suggested it. Don’t let that sweet, innocent routine of hers fool you, Reese is nothing but a bad girl waiting to let loose. It’s her best kept secret. But don’t tell her I said so. I’ll deny it every single time.” He gets up and jumps back in his canoe. “Do yourself a favor and find yourself someone like Reese. Life doesn’t get any better than that.” He sails off, and I watch as he pumps his way toward his father’s overgrown house.

I thought I did find someone like Reese.

Now I wonder if I know Reese at all.

Reese

“So?” Kennedy stares at me from over the rim of her coffee cup. Her nose is bunched up, her lips set to a snarl, giving her all the drama of a demon, and her ears peak back like an elf’s. I’m guessing over breakfast isn’t the best time to let her know I think she looks like a demon elf. “How’s the big
race
for your virginity?”

Kennedy has long since dubbed herself the keeper of my V-card. As soon as she lost hers, she put mine on a timer.

“It’s getting pretty heated.” That’s like saying the surface of the sun is a little hot. I want to keep all the orally delicious details to myself, but a fire rips through me, and I’m pretty sure she can see it blistering over my skin—goose bumps in the shape of a thousand little penises.

She pumps a dry smile like a lioness ready to pounce her virginal prey.

“Spill the semen, like Ace did,” she insists.

“I’m not discussing bodily fluids over breakfast with you.”

Kennedy is fresh from the shower with her white plush robe pulled snug around her body, her hair wrapped in a towel two feet above her head like a pile of whipped cream. She smells sweet like sugared pears. It reminds me of a dessert my mother used to make. Mom would boil the pears once they began to bruise and sprinkle brown sugar over them. I still do it now and again just to keep her culinary traditions alive. Only next time I’ll pretend I’m boiling Kennedy and her foul mouth, and I find that mildly amusing.

We sit at the table, overlooking the lake, and my eyes keep catching on the yellow and orange tents that materialized overnight across the way. There are so many camps up here in the summer, but mostly they’re all on the other side, which is nice since they tend to get rowdy. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind I think of Ace and me sneaking off to a tent of our own—nothing but God, and sky, miles of evergreens, and not a dollar bill or Warren in sight.

“So what’s up with you and McCarthy?” Kennedy chooses to carry on her interrogation of my private life, and I don’t know why. I don’t make it a practice to ask about the state of
her
vagina, not that Warren has anything to do with mine but still. “He’s been asking me a million questions.”

“Nothing’s up with Warren. I told him the other night I think we should see other people.” True story and he didn’t even bat an eye. Something tells me he’s been on board with that idea a lot longer than I care to know about.

“You broke up with him?” Her mouth elongates into a perfect oval. It’s so rare to see Kennedy shocked by anything, and that alone sends a mild panic railing through me.

“
No
,” I say it slow to defuse the gossip bomb just dying to go off in her. “You see, I would have had to be going out with him in order to break it off. One cannot break off something that technically never began.” I give a satisfied smirk because that was some serious ninja word-fu I just did there.

“Okay, Confucius, you can relax.” She lowers her dark gaze into me and gives a knowing smile. “For the record, I don’t think he heard that whole part about you seeing other people. That boy is insane when it comes to his little,
Reesie pie
.”

“For the record”—I mimic her tone—“Warren has never called me that ridiculous nickname once, and if you ever use it in public, I’ll tell everyone you smoke tampons recreationally.”

“How do you know what he calls you while he’s fucking my brains out?” She kicks me from under the table, and I shake my head at her stupid attempt at humor. For one, I sort of wish he was launching grey matter through her ears because that would solve a hell of a lot of problems for me right now.

“Would you be quiet?” I roll my eyes while Kennedy laughs her turban off.  “And he’s insane if he thinks we were ever together to begin with. Paternal expectations do not a relationship make.”

“And what about Ace?” She settles down just enough to dig her fingers into her eyes. “Does he think you’re together? Are you
his
little, Reesie Pie?”

I wish.

“He wants to keep things status quo,” it sails from my lips robotic. “He likes having me as a friend.” It guts me just to say it, to think it. After all, I’d swear on my life that his tongue catapulted us well past the friendly phase of our relationship. Maybe Ace is just afraid to admit it, the way I am. Who am I kidding? Ace has always been fearless. I’m simply feeding his boner addiction for the summer.

“And what happens once August rolls around?” Kennedy swivels her finger around the lip of her mug in a never-ending circle, sort of the way my mind cycled in a never-ending loop over Ace all last year.

“I guess we go back to the way things were.” God, how I hate the way things were. I like yeast infections more than I like the way things were with Ace and me. “But what I really hope is that nothing goes back to the way it was ever again.” I come to just as the words slip from me.

Crap. I just gave Kennedy an inch, and she’s going to—

“Oh my, God.” Kennedy’s eyes widen, her forehead wrinkles, perplexed. “I call bullshit. You are so falling in love with him.” She shakes her head. “Oh crap.” She belts out a laugh. “You’ve always been in love with him haven’t you?”

A bang emits from behind followed by footsteps, and we turn to find Beverly and Dad storming the room with their suitcases.

“Who has Reese
always
been in love with?” Bev darts over to Kennedy and gives her a long, moaning embrace.

“Daddy!” I jump up and wrap my arms around him tight. It feels like a small eternity since we’ve seen each other last. It’s like seeing a ghost, and a part of me believes Mom might be the next person to barrel through that door. But I’m not that lucky today. I’ll never be that lucky again.

“Hey, princess.” He plants a kiss over my cheek. His hair shines like glass. It’s silver as a nickel, clean and white, no signs of yellowing. Dad’s face glows with a smooth even tan, and that tiny dimple by his eye cuts in as he smiles down at me. “Now what’s all this talk about love?” He gives a quick wink. “Speaking of Warren, how’s my boy doing? I hear he’s been running the show while I’ve been away.”

“He has,” I say, shooting a quick look to Kennedy. “Rumor has it he’s working very hard.” At committing an assault against your daughter I want to add but don’t. I haven’t forgotten the fact Warren tried to mow my field with his weed whacker. There’s no way in hell I’m giving him a pass on that one. In fact, I think I should kick his boys around the lake a time or two to get the message across. Not that I want to spend a moment of my time bothering with Warren or his wandering wiener.

“Good. About time he starts pulling his weight around the office.” Dad presses in another kiss. “Yeats has one of the best law schools in the country. I think he’ll make a fine addition to the firm one day. Until then he should blow off all the steam he can.” Assholes always do. “Enjoy academia while you’re able, girls. The corporate world is a cold, cruel place to be.”

I want to tell him that the whole world has been a cold, cruel place to be since my mother died, but now with Ace filling my days, my
nights,
it feels a lot less scary.

Just the thought of Warren setting up shop at the law firm feels like another link in the chain that will permanently bind us together. I curl into my father’s chest, so he won’t see the disappointment blooming over my face. I’ll never be rid of Warren in my life. Not that I really care. A part of me just wants him to find someone and be happy, the way I found someone—sort of.

“I missed you,” I whisper as I tighten my arms around my father’s waist. He feels solid as a tree trunk, immovable. He smells of cedar and leather, and I take him in, trying to memorize the way he feels and smells so that when fall rolls around, I can hold him in my heart.

Beverly drops her purse on the table with a thud, jolting me out of my moment like an ax falling over my neck. “You’ll never guess what I bought in Milan.” She pets Kennedy’s hair as if she were an exotic animal. Beverly and Kennedy look more like sisters thanks to all the Botox, the nip and tuck, the Pilates before dawn, but Beverly keeps her jet-black hair cut above the ears with long sweeping bangs up front.

“A new Louis Vuitton purse?” Kennedy hops when she says it like a child on Christmas. “The oversized one I want as a beach bag?” It’s a sad day when a handbag that costs more than some used cars is relegated to fun in the sun.

“
No
.” Bev swats away the thought like she were vying for an eco-tote from the dollar store. “We can pick one of those up over lunch one afternoon if you like.” She taps her acrylic nails over the veneer of the table and creates a death rattle. “I’ve finally found a decent replacement for this God-awful table.”

I glance up at my father. This is the final material piece of my mother that’s left in this house. She loved this hunk of mahogany as if she grew it from the ground and hewn it herself.

“It’s a done deal.” Dad holds up a hand. “It’s already being shipped.”

“But this is Mom’s table,” I say it low for my dad’s ear only, but the room stills because the passive-aggressive bitch in me made damn sure everyone around us heard.

“Oh, hon.” Beverly pours out her faux sense of sorrow, thick as vomit. “I’ll have it stored for you, and when you and Warren buy your first home, we’ll have it ready and waiting.” She winks over at me, and I wonder if that’s her socialite way of saying F.U. and your dead mother’s table, too. “See? You’re already on your way to starting a family of your own.” She tilts into a peaceable smile. Deep down inside I’m convinced she knows I’m not into Warren. Maybe that’s what she and Kennedy discuss over lunch before they buy overpriced beach bags. “It’ll all work out. I promise.”

I don’t think it’ll all work out. What I do think is that my Step Bitch isn’t quite done booting my mother out of my father’s life. When Beverly moved in, she had the wrought-iron railing plucked right off the stairwell and replaced it with sheet glass and a metallic track that lined the top, and now it has no more feeling than a rain gutter. As soon as she took over the house, she systematically removed every last piece of my mother that I cherished and replaced them with cold, unfeeling works of questionable “art.” I can’t bear the thought of losing this table to some faraway storage unit. They might as well bury it in the cemetery right next to my mother. I don’t want to wait until I finish with graduate school one day and finally move out to see it again. God knows I’ll never share a home with Warren.

“Speaking of homes”—Dad nods out the window at the neighbor’s property—“the Nicholson’s house is up for sale.” The exact one nestled between our house and the McCarthy’s.

I roll my eyes at the thought of shacking up with Warren, now or ever, and sandwiched between our parents no less. Just the thought makes me want to stab my eye out with a fork.

Nope—not happening.

I’m so head over heels in love with Ace, I can’t see straight.

This is the start of something spectacular. I can feel it.

Ace Waterman is the one for me, and there is no other—never was, never will be.