So, I honestly can’t remember that first Christmas at Disneyland. I can’t remember much from that first year. I can vaguely visualize flashes of holiday lights, the sound of too-cheerful music, the smell of the theme-park food. I don’t remember the people I met, though. Not even Leo Graham.
Except... there is still a lingering glimpse ofher.
The sound of her laugh. The smell of the churro in her hand. Her face. Hair split at the center of her forehead, twisted into braids that hung over her shoulders, the blue Mickey Mouse ears on top of her head. The denim overalls that stopped mid-thigh, the cut-off tee beneath that displayed hints of her waist on the sides. Her matching baby-blue high-top Converse that were custom-painted in aLilo & Stitchtheme. Ones she painted herself, according to Penelope.
“What was her name?” I ask, suddenly desperate to remember. “The blond around the same age as me.”
“Willow,” Carter says. “Leo’s daughter.”
Willow.
“Is it the loud noises? Or the music?”
“What?” I asked.
“You seem like you’re experiencing sensory overload.” She chuckled. “It’s the music for me. Is it the same for you?”
She tilted her head while she waited for me to answer, but the only word in my mind wasblue. Her ears and her shirt and her shoes—most of all, her eyes. Blue. So much blue.
“It’s everything, I think,” I finally responded.
She smiled, and suddenly my stomach was caught in my throat.
“Theme parks are a little overwhelming for me too. I get it.” She nudged my shoulder with hers, and I don’t think I’ve welcomed a touch so much since my mom was still breathing. “But you get used to it. I promise.”
“Wes?” Carter’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“What?”
“I said you probably won’t see Willow much this summer, if at all. She’s living in Berkeley now.”
I nod, confused by the sting of disappointment that pinches my gut. It’s a good thing. I’ve never been distracted by girls before. Not when I was a teenager, not that I had the opportunity to be when I was on trial, and I’m certainly not in a place to start now.
Surfing is my only focus. My only purpose.
This is my last chance.
“Right.” I clear my throat. “I just forgot her name. Figured that might set me off on the wrong foot with her dad, y’know?”
Penelope gives me an unconvinced look, her lips clustering in the corner of her mouth like she’s fighting back a smile. Whatever she’s thinking, she doesn’t voice, throwing her arms out wide once more. “Give me another hug before you go.”
She says she lacks motherly instincts, and it’s why she never had kids. I don’t know if I believe that though, because as much as I loved my mom, Penelope is the most nurturing woman I’ve ever met.
I embrace her one more time as Carter steps beside her and pulls me in himself.
“We’ll come visit next week,” he says.
“And I’m offering a summer course at Golden State next month, so I’ll be stopping by for lunch after my classes every Wednesday!” Penelope chimes.
“If I’m not working.” I laugh.
She deadpans, “I’ll ensure our schedules align, don’t worry.”
A smile springs to my cheeks, the expression something foreign enough to me that when it happens, I find my brain wanting to catalog the reason why. In the past three years, the two people standing in front of me are the only reason for any rare smile I’ve worn.
My throat is thick when I step off the curb and toward the driver’s side door of my truck. “I’ll call you tonight!” I call as I slip inside, taking a last glance at the two of them.
They’re waving, the white stucco town house with the terracotta roofing beneath a piercing blue sky as the backdrop behind them—the only place that’s ever felt like home to me.
