Was my father spared a degree of pain by not having me? I nearly snort aloud. It’s different for him. As a sperm donor, he probably thinks he’s made some infertile couple very happy. But I will always wonder if there’s a part of me that failed to thrive in his absence, like an unrotated watermelon that stays yellow on one side.
Then again, I can’t imagine anyone brave enough to take on Mother. She’s a one-woman show, and though I may have my hang-ups over the running of said show, her moral virtue has never been one of them. In fact, I often wish I had her convictions. Somehow, I think it would make life easier.
Court stares into the ocean, his mouth a tight line.
“Certain people are supposed to be reliable, like rhubarb,” I tell him. “Once you plant the crowns in the ground, you don’t have to worry about them. They take care of themselves. Parents should be like that.”
“Yeah. Well, he was no rhubarb. More like . . .” He looks at me for help.
“Eggplant? They’re sensitive to flea beetles.”
“Right, eggplant.” He smiles. “You ready?”
A line of black cormorants swoop down to land on the beach. When we finally touch down on sand, they fly off again.
The noise of the ocean echoes off the cliff walls. Waves rush up to kiss our feet. I hiss in my breath at the arctic temperature, which freezes me all the way to my teeth. Suddenly, swimming doesn’t seem as easy as it did from above.
A crop of bull kelp pokes out of the water like Paul Bunyan–size jalapeño peppers, growing and shrinking with the flow of the tides. Massive fronds of giant kelp spread their arms over the surface, making me wonder if they’re hiding something. Water blocks my sense of smell so if something’s down there, I won’t know unless it surfaces.
Court sets down his board and the tiny No Fear sticker seems to thumb its nose at me. Well, I said I wanted to try surfing, and now it’s come back to bite me. At least I didn’t say crocodile wrestling.
He pulls on his gloves. “You okay?”
“Fine.” I try to keep my teeth from chattering.
As I work on Melanie’s gloves, Court stands the board in front of me. “After I get on, you’ll have to crawl on top of me. Think you can do that?”
If I didn’t, I definitely wouldn’t tell him. “Sure.”
The musty scent of elbow bush for awkwardness creeps from his direction. It eases my own awkwardness to smell some on him, too. He slings my collection bag across his own body, then secures the leash dangling from the bottom of the board to my ankle. “Always find the board if you fall off, okay? And try to relax.”
“Got it.” I take his neoprene-covered arm with my gloved hand, and into the ocean we go. The water shocks me again, but I grit my teeth and keep moving forward.
When the water comes to my waist, he drops the board. “At least it’s calm.”
“This is calm?”
He lifts his chin toward the open ocean beyond our cove. “Sure. Compared to out there, this is a swimming pool.”
I stare at the board, suddenly worrying that the dings in the side came from sharks. Big-teeth sharks whose sense of smell rivals my own.
But I don’t have time to obsess on it further because Court’s already rolled onto the board and now it’s my turn. I put one hand on the edge and the other on top of his waist, then hoist myself up. My top half lands in a crisscross over his midsection and I quickly try to scoot the rest of me on top. The board bobs, but he uses his arms to keep it in one place as I maneuver myself in fits and spurts.
I yelp as a wave splashes me from the side. But soon enough, I’m all the way on top of him. We float for a moment like a hastily made sandwich, and I worry that I’m crushing him, but then he paddles us off.
“Anchors aweigh,” he says.
More freezing water hits me in the face and stings my eyes, so I rest my cheek between his shoulder blades.
I never imagined I’d be this close to SGHS’s star soccer player, but if I had, it would not have been in this particular configuration. Or in this particular outfit. The warmth of his bodymakes even my hair tingle. I wonder if my inexperience with human touch makes me that much more sensitive to it, or perhaps it’s simply Court who, despite the two layers of neoprene, is setting off every alarm bell in my body. If I can feel every single bump, ridge, and dip on his body, then he can feel every one on mine. I stiffen. Just focus on finding the plant and getting the heck out of the water.
“Which way?” he asks. At least one of us is still using his brain.
I sniff. The miso-soup smell comes from somewhere farther right, near the rock with the sea lions. I lift my hand off the board to point. “Over there.”
Paddling with strong, even strokes, Court bears us toward the rock. It lies about twenty yards away, with the open sea another ten yards beyond. The movement of the water coming into the cove causes turbulence around the rock, forming mini-whirlpools.
Water sprays into my mouth, burning my tongue with its saltiness. I cry out.
