Against my better judgement, I drag myself out of bed and pay a hellish price for the choices I made yesterday. The run does nothing to help me feel better. A brain being jostled around in a skull isn’t known to be a good hangover cure. My dad and Luke run beside me, slowing their pace to match mine. They chat easily as they run. I spend most of my time trying not to throw up.
The beach is quiet. It’s still early. The sand is still cool and damp under my feet and there are barely any footsteps cutting into the dune, like the beach was wiped clean overnight. A blank slate. A new beginning. The water is crystal clear and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. It’s gearing up to be a perfect California summer’s day. Luke drops his top and his shoes and socks on the sand and sprints into the water. Gasping and letting out a strangled laugh as the water hits his midriff. He splashes around for a while, and now and again he catches a wave and body surfs all the way back to shore. He moves through the water like a seal. Graceful and fast. He comes up for air, running a big hand through his hair, brushing it off his face. Water runs down his face and off his chin, forming a stream down his chest. He has a massive, stupid smile on his face. It’s as bad as the time I had to watch him dance at the shit show that was the pizza party during my first few days here. It’s like that, but it’s worse. There’s no-one around him, he’s the only one in the water yet every time he floats over a wave, he emits this high-pitched, gleeful sound I can hear from all the way over here. He doesn’t do it for anyone else. He does it for the sheer joy of being alive.
I have my sunglasses on, and I turn my head so it doesn’t look like I’m watching him. I don’t take my eyes off him. I can’t. I watch him the whole time he’s in the water. When he finally gets out and starts walking back to where my dad and I are sitting, I realize with a jolt that the entire time I’ve been watching him, I’ve had a huge smile plastered all over my face. It’s just as big and dumb as the smile on his face.
Maybe bigger and dumber, if I’m being totally honest.
I wipe it off and replace it with a scowl.
“…busy day. I’ve got so much to get ready for tonight. We better head back,” says my dad.
I nod in agreement and get to my feet. It’s my dad and Rachel’s fourth wedding anniversary today. It’s a big day for them. We’re going for brunch as a family and then Rachel is being sent off to the spa while the three of us carry out a ‘top secret’ plan.
Don’t get too excited, best I can tell there’s nothing top secret about it. Seems like every year my dad and Luke hang fairy lights in the acacia tree and put out loads of candles, making the garden look the way it did on the day of their wedding. It’s so pathetic I actually feel sorry for Rachel. This will be the fourth time in a row that she has to leave home for the afternoon and then come back and act mightily surprised by the state of the garden. Personally, I can’t think of anything worse. It’s so sad, I can’t even muster the energy to try to ruin it for them.
Well, okay then.
I’m officially shocked. I imagined this whole sad endeavor to involve stringing a couple of packs of lights in the tree and scattering a few candles around. What’s transpired is a hell of a lot more involved than that. Luke and my dad have had two ladders out and have spent the better part of the afternoon clambering around in the tree. Every branch they’re able to reach has been intricately woven with lights. They’ve wrapped all the thick branches and have left trails of lights spilling down from the low ones. By the time they’re done it’s going to look exactly as over the top as it looked at the wedding.
Luke is in the highest spirits imaginable, and my dad is sweating through the back of his T-shirt. I’ve been running from pillar to post, handing them strings of lights and replacing bulbs that have blown since last year. Luke and I dot the battery-operated candles around the garden, while my dad looks at a wedding photo on his phone and says things like, “No, not there, son, a little more to your left.”
By the time we’re done, it’s getting dark.
“Okay, so Luke, you know the drill. I’m going to shower. If your mom gets home before I get out, don’t let her come out here. Keep the lights off until I give you the signal. Oh, and don’t forget the song, whatever you do.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” smiles Luke, looking idiotically happy to be included in this idiotic plan.
Luke and I wait in the kitchen, so we can divert Rachel when she comes in through the garage.
“They’re cute, huh?” says Luke.
“They’re not cute, Luke. They’re gross and sad and very pathetic. If you tell anyone I had any involvement in this, I’ll kick your ass.”
He looks up through his lashes, opening his mouth a little and letting his tongue run along his back teeth, “Bet you’d enjoy tha…”
The garage door sounds and sends quakes through the ground floor of the house.
“It’s go time!” cries Luke.
He’s looking so excited it’s making me feel weird. Woozy and sick, like maybe my hangover hasn’t left me after all. As we divert Rachel and send her upstairs to get ready, she has the decency to give me a sheepish little shrug and the slightest of eyerolls. It makes me feel a little better, but not a lot.
My dad comes downstairs wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and a pair of navy slacks. I don’t know if it’s the exact same outfit he wore to the wedding but if not, it’s remarkably similar. The three of us go out into the garden and my dad takes his mark, standing under the acacia, right where he stood as he waited for Rachel to walk down the aisle. Luke and I stand back, under the pergola at the guest house. Close enough to see what’s happening but far enough not to crowd our cringeworthy parents.
“Three…” mutters my dad as we see Rachel approach through the kitchen windows.
“Two…”
She throws open the French doors, and steps out onto the garden path.
“One!”
Luke hits the lights and I flick the switch on the remote control. Flameless candles flicker to life throughout the garden and the tree bursts into an opulent mass of tiny, flickering lights. Luke gives Siri a quiet instruction and the first strains ofFaithfullyby Journey float through the air.
I manage to stifle a groan, but only just.
Rachel has her hair down. Sandy blond streaks light up as she walks down the path. She’s wearing a red dress that falls to her knee and hugs her body tightly. The heels she’s wearing make her walk differently. Her hips sway in a way that almost makes me take pity on my dad. This look is miles from her usual messy bun and jeans. I can’t tell if she’s completely comfortable dressed like this or not. She’s halfway down the path when she stops. She gives my dad a look. He smiles like he’s been struck by something. Something strong. Something life altering. Far from minding, he seems to like it.
Oh, Jesus.
