Page 41 of Sounds Like Love
To which Dad kissed her on the cheek and replied, “Every day is a good day with you.”
While last night had been a nightmare.
It was like they had blinders on. They refused to face the storm, ignoring it as long as they could—and it was beginning to drive me mad. I couldn’t ignore the lists everywhere, the sticky notes on the refrigerator and on the door and the cabinet and the bathroom mirrors, the crumpled-up ones in the trash can. I peeled my banana and shoved it into my mouth before I could say something I’d regret, and listened as they worked through the rest of the crossword together.
After a while, their voices became white noise, and the earworm returned. It had a few more notes now, but the song still felt half-formed. Like a statue I was only seeing from one angle.
Faintly, I heard Sasha’s voice, too. At first I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but I really couldn’t help it. He was arguing with someone. Heatedly. Something about a birthday … or at leastsomesort of anniversary that was yesterday. He hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me—but then again, I didn’t hearallhis thoughts, just like he didn’t hear all of mine.
“You okay, daughter?” Dad asked, giving me a worried look. “Headache?”
I let go of the conversation. Sasha’s voice faded again into a dull murmur. “A little. I’m going to go take a shower. Wanna do something today, Mom?”
Mom sighed. “I would love to, but I have to go to the Rev early to set up for the show. Tonight’s Sexy Beaches, you know. They’re always a killer.”
“Well, I’ve got nothing to do today if you want me to help you set up—”
She held up her hand. “You’veyetto spend a day on the beach. Are you even my daughter anymore?”
“I’ve gone to the beach!” I defended. “To deliver your mixtape with you!”
Dad shook his head solemnly. “Wyn,” he told Mom, “I’m not sure where we went wrong …” And he gathered up her hands and squeezed them tightly. “Maybe we should try again.”
“Oh, Hank, I’m postmenopausal.”
“I love it when you use big words.”
“Pandiculation,” she said.
“Ooh, I got thetinglies.”
“Nudiustertian.”
“You saucy minx, you.”
“Absquatulate.”
I grimaced and pounded back the rest of my coffee. “Okay, this is getting gross. I get it, I’m gone.” I fled, my parents’ laughter carrying me up the steps to my room, where I dug out an old bathing suit from my suitcase, and did, in fact, go to the beach.
MOM WAS RIGHT—she usually was.
Ididneed to go to the beach. It was just me, the stretch of sand in front of my parents’ beach house, and a rusted beach chair pulled into the surf. Waves came up around my ankles and washed back out again. I’d stolen Mom’s sun hat, slathered on sunscreen, and sat watching the navy-colored waves crash in over and over, as constant as the white noise that came with them. The beach was really one of the only places where I felt like I could empty my head. Even in LA,when I felt like the city overwhelmed me, I fled to Santa Monica, dug my heels in the sand, and listened to the rush of ocean.
And it was perfectly calm and pleasant, right up until Sasha popped into my head.
“I booked a flight.”
My eyes snapped open. “What?”
“I’m on my way to the airport now.”
I sat up in the chair. “Wait—what?Now?”
“Is now not a good time?”
“I …” Honestly,neverwould be a good time. A tremor of anxiety pulsed through me, along with burning curiosity. I’d see what he looked like. I’d know. “I guess it’s fine? Do you know where I am?”
“Vienna Shores, North Carolina, right?”
