The Unexpected Everything (32 page)

TOPHER

Hey—heard you were staying in town

You around this weekend?

Let me know. It's been a while

I looked up from my phone, but Clark was still in the water, and none of my friends seemed have to notice I'd gotten a text. I read the message again, then started typing fast, holding my phone off to the side.

ME

Hey—I'm around

But kind of with someone now

TOPHER

Got it. Let me know when you're free to hang again

ME

Sure. Yeah.

Will do.

I set the phone down, then turned it to silent and dropped it back in my bag, trying to figure out why this was bothering me. It wasn't like it was that unexpected for Topher to text me—so why did it suddenly feel like another part of my life had intruded when I didn't want it to? And I didn't want to compare the two, but the proof of how different Clark and Topher were was right in front of me—in the very fact that Clark was hanging out with my friends.

It wasn't like it had been great right from the beginning—and that was my fault. Normally I would have planned it better, but I was in full-on early-make-out haze and didn't think about what it would mean for Clark to meet all my friends at once. This had never been an issue for my other boyfriends, but they'd gone to school like normal people, in regular classrooms with more than just their sister. So when I introduced Clark at the diner, Toby, Bri, Wyatt, Palmer, and Tom were all there, which in retrospect was too much, too soon. Clark barely said a word the whole night, and when he did talk, it mostly seemed to be reciting facts I'd told him about my friends back to them. It didn't help that Tom was almost equally quiet, stunned into fanboy silence at the reality of sitting across from one of his favorite authors. So all in all, not a huge success.

And it wasn't that Clark couldn't talk to people—last week I'd come in from walking Bert to hear him on a conference call with his editor and publisher and something called a “marketing team” as they discussed a cover redesign. Even though I had a feeling he was the youngest person on the call by a decade, he was very much in charge, clearly running things. Which was hard to reconcile with the fact that he seemed really intimidated by my friends—especially, for some reason, Bri and Toby.

“They were kidding, right?” he asked one night as we sat outside Paradise Ice Cream, he with his with mocha almond ripple, me with my cookie dough and a pint of mint chip I was bringing home for my dad. “They don't really want me to call them Tobri.”

“They were kidding,” I assured him as I helped myself to a bite of his ice cream.

“They do kind of seem to share one brain, though,”
he said, reaching over for a spoonful of mine. “I swear, they had a conversation without ever saying anything.”

I nodded and moved my ice cream out of reach. “They do that. But they liked you. All my friends did.”

Clark nodded but didn't seem convinced, and even when I tried to do better the next time, and not present him with five people he'd never met before, just bowling with Tom, Palmer, and Toby, he was nervous and awkward, reminding me of how he'd been in the early days with me.

I was thinking that maybe it just wouldn't work out, but then, a few days after bowling, came what Bri later called “the beginning of a beautiful bromance.” I stopped by Clark's to pick up Bert and found Tom and Clark on the couch in the book room, eyes fixed on the TV, which the room did, it turned out, have. (It just looked like a mirror when it wasn't turned on.)

“Hi,” I said as I looked between them, trying to figure out how this had happened.

“Hey,” Tom said, nodding at me, like it was totally normal for him to be hanging out at Clark's house.

“Hi there,” Clark said, standing up and giving me a quick kiss. “Here to get the beast?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. I was actually a little disappointed to see Tom there, as I'd been hoping for a little prewalk kissing action. “What are you guys doing?”

“Well,” Clark said, nodding at the TV. It was paused, but I couldn't tell what was on it—it just looked like gray and raininess. “Tom doesn't have to rehearse today, so we're watching the Batsmen.”

“The what?”

“All the Batman movies,” Tom clarified. “We're still debating the plural.”

“Batmans?” Clark asked, heading back to the couch.

“Batmen,” Tom offered.

“I've got it,” Clark said triumphantly.
“Batsman.”

Tom shook his head. “I really don't think that sounds right.”

“Well, have fun,” I said, as I went off to find Bert. I was having better luck with him when I could sneak up on him with the leash. If he didn't know there was a walk afoot, he didn't have time to play the run-away-from-the-leash game. I waved at them when I left, but they were back to watching, and I wasn't even sure they noticed. I was happy to see it, though, Clark and Tom hanging out. It seemed like a good thing.

I was less convinced when I came by the next day—I was adding Bert into a group walk for the first time—to find Tom and Clark still on the couch, both of them looking a little glassy-eyed. “Are you guys still doing this?” I asked, feeling my jaw drop open. “How many Batmen are there?”

“We moved on from that,” Tom said, blinking at me a few times. “Now we're watching the James Bond movies.”

I looked from him to Clark, hoping for an explanation. “Why?”

“Well,” Clark said, pushing himself off the couch and coming over toward me, “we were talking about whether it was fundamentally wrong for a Brit to play Batman.”

“He's the closest thing we American actors,” Tom said, clearly including himself in this group, “have to a classic part. He's our Hamlet.”

“And then we were talking about how they'd never cast an American to play Bond.”

“Who's
they
?” I asked, feeling like I didn't have time for this, with four dogs waiting in the car.

“So we started watching them,” Tom finished, like this was the only logical explanation. “In order.”

“Shouldn't you really be watching the Supermans?” I asked, then paused. “Supermen?”

“See, it's hard,” Clark said.

“I wanted to,” Tom said, pointing in Clark's general direction. “It's not often you get a real live Clark in your midst. Especially one wearing glasses.”

“That's what I'm saying.”

“But then we remembered that Superman is kind of lame.”

“Bond versus Superman,” Clark said, looking over at Tom, then stopping to yawn hugely. “Who wins?”

“Which Bond?”

“Which Superman?” Clark countered.

“Have either one of you slept?” I asked. Bertie trotted around the corner, and I saw my opportunity and grabbed him by the collar.

“Sleep is overrated,” Tom said, yawning as well.

“I've got to take him out,” I said, stumbling a few steps behind Bertie, who was whining and stretching toward the door.

“I'll call you later,” Clark said, giving me a quick kiss, and even though he looked exhausted—his hair was sticking up all over the place and his eyes were bleary behind his glasses—he also looked really happy.

“Sure,” I said, giving his hand a squeeze. “We'll talk then.”

And while I was glad that Clark had found someone to discuss all the different Doctors Who with, I realized I was also
happy for Tom. Watching them crack each other up was making me realize that I hadn't ever seen him with a guy friend before.

“I think they're coming in,” Toby said now, her voice going immediately more high-pitched as she dug in her bag and emerged with a lip gloss. She uncapped it, then squinted out to the water, where Clark and Tom were starting to swim in with their boards. “Oh. Never mind. It's just Tark.”

I rolled over on my side to face her, already shaking my head. “Please don't give them a nickname.”

“I think it's catchy,” Bri said. “It sounds kind of badass.”

“You have to admit, it's better than Clom,” Palmer said, lowering her sunglasses. That had been Toby's first attempt, and I had done my best to quash it.

“It's not about what the nickname is,” I said, even though Clom had been pretty awful. “Why are you giving them one at all? Why not one with
my
name and Clark's?” All my friends looked at me at once, and I focused on smoothing out the wrinkles on my towel.

“Hold the phone,” Palmer said, sitting up straight and looking at me. “You're really in a couples-nickname kind of a place?”

“I didn't read anything about hell freezing over today,” Toby said, shaking her head.

“I'll check online,” Bri added.

“Never mind,” I said, hoping by now I'd gotten tan enough so they couldn't tell I was blushing.

“Candie,” Toby pronounced triumphantly, and I made a face.

“Ark?” Bri supplied.

I shook my head. “Just forget it,” I said. “I shouldn't have . . . um . . .” I lost total track of whatever I'd been about
to say next, because Clark emerged from the water and started walking toward me, and all ability to verbalize left my head.

I had made it clear to Clark early on that all we would be doing was kissing. He'd been a little taken aback, but seemed okay with it. And for the most part, that was all that had been happening. All our clothes had stayed put, so today was the first day I'd actually seen that Clark was in way better shape than writers of fantasy novels were supposed to be, as far as I'd been led to believe.

“Shouldn't have what?” Toby asked, then saw what I was looking at. “Oh.”

“I know,” I said, trying not to stare, but then giving up on that immediately. Clark's arms were muscular, his abs were defined, and his shoulders were much broader than I'd realized, now that they were out in the open and not hidden under one of his T-shirts. I was suddenly rethinking my clothes policy.

Clark and Tom walked up to our spot and tossed their boards down onto the sand, both of them talking fast, overlapping each other. “Not cool, man,” Tom said, brushing his wet hair back. “You can't just knock someone into the water like that. I could have died.”

“How could you have
died
?” Clark asked, laughing.

“Lots of ways,” Tom said, “like if I'd inhaled water . . . or if there had been a jellyfish . . .” He trailed off, then turned to his girlfriend. “Palmer?”

“I'm with Clark. I think you were fine, babe.”

“It's not my fault,” Clark said as he looked around, squinting. “I couldn't see anything. It was an accident.”

“Sure,” Tom said, coming to sit next to Palmer. “Likely story.”

Clark headed toward me, still squinting, and I pulled his glasses out from where I'd been holding them for him in my beach bag.

“This way,” I called, holding up my hand. “Walk toward my voice.”

Clark made his way over, and I handed him his glasses as he sat down next to me. “So much better,” he said when he put them on. He smiled at me. “Like now I can see the most beautiful girl on the beach.”

I rolled my eyes behind my sunglasses. “Stop it,” I said, even though I didn't want him to. It was the kind of thing I would have found beyond cheesy with any of my exes. But it was different coming from Clark. I leaned over to meet him for a quick kiss, feeling the sand on his arms and tasting the faint flavor of seawater on his lips.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Toby said, looking at me and Clark with her expression somewhere between annoyed and wistful.

“What's up?” I asked, gesturing for her to pass me the bag of chips we were sharing.

“I was just wondering if Wyatt said anything about me.” Toby handed me the bag and looked back out to the water, where Wyatt was standing on his board, balancing on one foot for a moment before wobbling and falling off. It looked like he was doing paddleboard yoga, which seemed like a terrible idea all around. “Like, when you guys were . . . having guy talk?”

“Sorry,” Clark said. It hadn't taken him long to pick up on her massive crush and Wyatt's complete lack of interest.

“I think you need to move on,” Palmer said gently, and
Tom, sitting behind her, nodded. “Because you're awesome, and if Wyatt can't see that, it's his loss.”

“Maybe he just can't see it
yet
,” Toby said, sitting up a little straighter. “It's like this in all the movies. You can't see what's been right in front of you the whole time until it's the right moment.”

I exchanged a look with Bri, who just shook her head quickly—telling me to let this go. “Maybe,” I said, but even I could hear it hadn't been all that convincing.

“Wasn't there a guy at the museum who liked you?” Tom asked. “Maybe he already can see what's been in front of him. Like, maybe he's already at the end of the movie.”

“But I don't like
him
,” Toby pointed out, her voice slow and clear, like all of us just weren't understanding this. She shook her head. “I swear to god, I'm—”

“You're not cursed,” Bri said without even looking up.

“Who's cursed?” I looked up and saw Wyatt, standing by Bri's towel, holding his paddleboard and dripping wet.

“Nobody,” Toby said, giving me a look that I knew meant I shouldn't say anything to contradict her. “Clark was just talking about his, um . . . dragon book.”

“Right,” Clark said quickly, with a nod. “That's me. Dragons and curses. That's what my books are all about.”

Wyatt nodded and then shook the water off his hands so that so that they dripped on Bri's bare back. “Hey,” Bri said, looking around and then pushing herself up. “What's going—” She scrambled to her feet. “Wyatt!”

“What?” he said, shaking more droplets on her. “Sure you don't need to cool off?”