“Don’t forget to drive on the right side of the road!” calls my dad before I close the door to the garage.
My dad is probably the only guy on the entire coast who owns an SUV that doesn’t have a grain of sand in it. His car is in pristine condition. It’s all sleek surfaces and soft cream leather interiors. I stamp my feet a few times to shake any dust or sand off my shoes before I get in and then I set off. It’s exhilarating being on the open road. It feels like freedom. My dad has the radio set to a station that heavily favors nineties rock. I don’t change it, I love it. I crank up the volume and open the windows. The sea breeze whips around the car and coastal views are so spectacular I feel like good things are not only possible, but probable. I head up the coast for ten miles or so and on my way back I make the stop I’ve been promising myself all week I wouldn’t make.
The store isn’t as seedy as I was expecting. The service is good. Great actually. The sales assistant, Laurel, sets me at ease. She has curly blond hair, loads of tattoos and wears librarian-style glasses. She’s reading what appears to be a hardcore BDSM romance novel when I walk in. Far from being embarrassed about it, she holds up a hand to me and says, “Give me a sec hun, I just got to the good part.”
I browse around, feeling like an odd combination of a pervert and someone who’s woefully sexually inexperienced. Despite my assurance that I don’t need any help, Laurel saunters over and makes a bunch of suggestions. I end up getting what I was looking for and a couple of things I had no idea I needed or wanted. Even though I already have my own (and I know for a fact Luke does too), I buy a bottle of lube on the strength of Laurel’s endorsement; “I’m telling you, hun, you could park a minivan in a garden hose with this stuff.”
When I get home, my dad is waiting on the front steps for me.
“What do you think of the car?” he asks.
“I love it. The steering is direct and it handles well on the open road.” To be clear, I have no idea what I’m talking about. I’ve heard guys talking this kind of nonsense in reference to cars and I’m emulating them just for the hell of it. I guess my little visit with Laurel has left me in high spirits or something.
My dad’s eyes crease deeply. “I was hoping you’d like it. Been thinking of getting a new car and was thinking it might be nice for you to have this one.”
I’m shocked. I can hardly believe it. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, I’m dead serious. You’re going to need a reliable car for school in LA. The X5 is only a couple of years old and has a list of safety features as long as my arm. I want you to have it.”
“Sweet!”
Oh Jesus. Itiscatching.
I don’t have time to mind though. My dad wraps his arms around me and crushes me against him. I close my arms around his neck and for the first time in a really, really long time I let myself inhale as I do it. The comforting scent of the man who used to smell like home hits me at once. It makes me feel like something deep inside me has been tensing, bracing for impact, and as I breathe in it starts to release.
When he lets me go my first thought is that I want to call my mom and tell her about my new car. My second is the all-too familiar sense of dread and inevitability, knowing beyond doubt that as much as she loves me and wants to be happy for me, she can’t find it within herself to hear my dad’s name and not get upset about it.
Instead, I send her a message asking her how she slept and leave it at that.
“Are you pumped to meet Izzy, or what?”
“Mm,” I say for the fourth time.
We’re on our way to Ribera Beach to meet the elusive Izzy. I don’t remember agreeing to go, but that doesn’t seem to matter. We park and pick our way down to the beach. I follow, both hands free, while he carries a huge YETI, two beach towels, and a picnic blanket. The beach is secluded, a mix of soft sand and pebbles with tide pools that empty and fill as the waves come in. I stand to the side and watch as he lays out the picnic blanket and snacks Rachel packed for us.
Izzy and Chase arrive a few minutes later.
“Itoldyou to take that first parking spot,” grumbles Chase as they approach us.
“What’s wrong with a little walk? Fresh air might do you good. Might get your head out of Overwatch and into real life.”
“There’s more chance of you getting your head out your ass.”
She cracks a smile, though I can tell she’s trying not to.
Luke bounds over to them, embracing Izzy and swinging her feet off the ground.
“Jessie! Get over here. Izzy’s here.”
He sets her down and points at her with both hands, as if she’s a prize on a game show, or something. The way he’s looking at me gives me the impression he fully expects me to slap both hands to my cheeks and squeal out loud at the pleasure, nay, privilege, of meeting such a creature. Since I consider that to be a very abnormal reaction, I opt for a simple, “Jessie.”
She steps towards me and meets my eye. Her gaze is steady, considered, it matches mine exactly.
“Izzy,” she says.
She’s wearing denim shorts and a crop top with an oversized flannel shirt. The shirt is open and so long it hangs down past her shorts. Her hair is dark and braided to one side. She has her sunglasses pushed up onto the top of her head. If her face isn’t completely perfect, the imperfection isn’t immediately obvious. Her looks are a lot, but they aren’t the most interesting thing about her. She has this presence about her, this way of holding space between herself and other people. I’ve known her for precisely ninety seconds and yet I understand innately that you’d have to have a death wish to mess with this girl. I give her a smile and a nod, surprised and somewhat relieved that after almost two full weeks in Carmel, I’ve just met the first person I don’t consider to be a complete dork.
Chase and I kick back on the sand and Izzy and Luke sit on the picnic blanket. Continuing the game show theme, Luke all but interviews Izzy in what I can only assume is an attempt to impress me.
