Summer of Seventeen (9 page)

“Let’s go find somewhere,” I whispered to her.

Her dark eyes burned and her cheeks flushed.

“I don’t know, Nick…”

“Please, Yans. Please.”

I could hear the desperate pleading in my voice.

“You know I want to…” she said quietly.

“Then let’s go.”

I was standing and tugging her hand, but she was resisting me.

“I want to … but I’m afraid I’ll let things go too far,” she said, staring up at me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before flopping down next to her again. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those guys who pressured their girl to have sex. But waiting was getting harder. No pun intended.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

Yansi bit her lip. “Don’t be mad.”

I opened my eyes and lifted my hand to her cheek. “I’m not mad, Yans. I can’t help wanting you—especially the way you look in those little shorts, but I can wait.”

God, I hoped I wouldn’t explode first
.

She sighed. “I know you could have pretty much anyone you wanted. I know half the girls in our class are sleeping with their boyfriends and…”

I stopped her words with a kiss. “I can wait. I promise. Just because I’m horny as hell, it doesn’t mean I’m going to screw anything that looks at me.”

“Are you sure?”

Her reply made me kind of pissed, and it wasn’t like Yansi to be insecure.

“I said so, didn’t I? Jeez, Yans, have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?”

“No, but…”

“But what?”

“I know it’s harder for guys.”

I stared at her in disbelief.

“For fuck’s sake!”

She shook her head. “Sorry, I know you’re not like that. I’m being dumb. Just kiss me.”

She pressed her warm lips against me and all the irritation rushed away. She kept kissing me, her tongue fighting with mine, her breasts crushed against my chest, until I’d forgotten my own name.

Eventually, she pulled back, flushed and breathless, and I could hear catcalls and cheering behind us.

“Oops!” Yansi giggled. “I did say it was too easy to get carried away with you, cariño.”

I lay back breathing hard.

“Yeah,” I croaked, then grabbed my t-shirt and draped it across my hips.

Yansi looked at me questioningly as I raised my eyebrows.

“Oh!” she laughed, her beautiful eyes glinting with mischief.

Yep, I was a goner. Could guys my age have heart attacks?

Then someone plopped down next to me.

“Get a room, you stallion,” slurred Sean, with a laugh.

Yansi threw him an irritated look then stalked off to talk to her girlfriends.

“How you doin’, bro?”

“Awesome! Your man Marcus is one cool fucker. He fixed me up with some grade-A shit. You want some?”

“Nah, I’m good,” I said, sitting up reluctantly. “If I smoke anything today, I’ll fall asleep.” I’d already felt my eyelids closing in the warm sunshine.

Sean laughed loudly. “Yeah, right! Nothing to do with the fact that your tight-assed
girlfriend
is here,” he spat the word venomously.

“Hey!” I said, elbowing him in the ribs. “Don’t talk about Yans like that.”

“Whatever,” he slurred, then lurched to his feet. “Let me know when she gives you your balls back.”

I watched him stagger away, crashing into the bunch of guys playing football.

“Asshole,” I muttered.

Yansi was right—something was up with Sean, but the mood he was in, I didn’t think he’d be letting me in on what was bugging him. Maybe we could hang later in the week—if I wasn’t working or sleeping.

I yawned and stretched. If I didn’t get up and do something, I’d be spending the day with my eyes closed. I watched Yansi talking to Esther and Megan. Esther saw me and shook her head.

“Girl time!” she yelled.

Yansi laughed at the expression on my face, then blew me a kiss. All the guys whooped and yelled, and I felt my cheeks heat up.
Fu
c
k ‘em; just because they didn’t have a girlfriend as hot as Yans.

I decided to go for a swim. The tide was way out, and the beach was wide and flat. The light gray-brown sand was soft as sugar and burning hot. I broke into a jog, relieved when the ripples splashed up my legs. I dove into the water, the light turning hazy as I opened my eyes, a slight sting from the salt, but one I was well used to.

The beach seemed distant when I surfaced, and I was amazed how far I’d swum. Yansi was right—even in just a week of yard work, my muscles had gotten stronger. It felt good. It felt really good. I swam further, enjoying the silky feel of the sun-warmed water on my skin. When I turned to look at the beach again, I could just make out a figure standing on the shore watching me.

She raised a hand and waved.

My girl. Looking out for me. And then the sudden realization hit me,
I love her
.

I was so surprised I nearly sank, and then panic started to set in. I must be wrong. I liked Yansi; I liked her a lot. But it wasn’t love, no way. I couldn’t love her. Love was too big, too risky, and people you loved died.

But the idea wouldn’t go away. With every beat of my heart, the truth pulsed through me,
You love her, you love her, you love her
.

It was the scariest fucking thing ever.

She was waiting for me, paddling at the edge of the water, stunning in a pale yellow bikini that showcased her curvy body; her long hair loose, begging for me to tangle my fingers in it.

I love her
.

“Hey, you,” she smiled. “The food’s ready. But I wasn’t going to put out the Yiyimbre till you got back in.”

I offered her a weak smile, afraid to meet her eyes, knowing that she was too good at reading me.

She frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Just … tired,” I stuttered.

Her raised eyebrows told me that she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t call me on it either.

“Okaaay,” she said slowly, and held out her hand.

Her skin was hot against mine and darker. I stared at our joined hands, feeling a jolt of painful pleasure, as if someone had jumpstarted my heart. Maybe she had.

She didn’t try to talk to me as we walked back to join the others. Unlike most girls who seemed to think they had to talk 24/7 to keep a guy interested, Yansi didn’t make me talk when I didn’t want to. And right now I couldn’t. Words kept sticking in my throat, and I felt dumb in more than one way.

When we joined the others, at least I had the distraction of loading up a plate with some food. I knew Yansi wasn’t buying the whole ‘tired’ excuse, but I knew she wouldn’t force the issue in front of other people either.

“Oh my God, my parents are so stupid!” laughed a girl. “They totally believed me when I told them I’d never smoked weed and I never would. Are they serious?”

“Yeah, well your mom thinks Santa Claus is real and that you’re still a virgin!”

“Bitch! Like you can talk?”

“At least your parents let you have your own car. Mine are so pathetic—they say I have to share with my sister. I really hate them.”

Yansi threw me a sympathetic look and moved our towels further away. She knew I couldn’t stand it when other kids whined about their parents, calling them losers and assholes. I’d have given anything to be able to complain about curfews or parent-teacher conferences. Julia did some of that stuff instead now, but it wasn’t the same; it never would be again.

I didn’t feel hungry anymore, so I set the plate down on the sand and pulled my sunglasses over my eyes.

“You never talk about your mom,” Yansi said quietly.

I didn’t reply.

“I wish I’d known her.”

Mom was already sick when Yansi and I started dating. We didn’t know at first. Or if Mom knew, she didn’t say anything. I guess I just hadn’t noticed, or noticed but not realized what it meant. I remember small things that she did or didn’t do—not finishing the take-out food, even though it was her favorite chicken enchiladas; losing weight even though she’d been on every diet known to woman, and it had never made any difference; and just being tired all the time.

I remember her asking me why I was late back from school one day. She knew I hadn’t been with Sean, because he’d stopped by on his way home, looking for me, pissed when I wasn’t there. And I admitted that I was seeing someone—someone I liked a lot.

I thought I’d get another lecture about respecting women and being safe—but I didn’t. She just gave a small smile and said she was glad that I’d found someone.

“When can I meet her?” she asked.

I told her,
Soon, maybe
, but I hadn’t meant it, and then it was too late.

Mom knew it as well, because in small ways, she started preparing us, me and Julia. Suddenly, it was important for her to tell me that that main valve for the house’s water supply was at the back of the garage, and that the electricity bill was monthly. I listened halfheartedly, itching to be outside, surfing or skating or shooting the breeze with Sean; Julia pursed her lips and kept looking at her watch. And I don’t know why Mom didn’t scream at us:
Pay attention! I’m not going to be here to hold your hand
.

And I didn’t bother to listen when she told us to wash dark loads and white loads separately in the machine; and Julia was impatient, saying she already knew that; Mom, tired and defeated, trying to pass on a lifetime of advice in just a few short weeks.

Because that’s the thing about cancer … even when the doctors give you a deadline, it still sneaks up on you. They don’t like to be too certain—I suppose they can’t. But they never say,
You’re not going to need to order a turkey for Thanksgiving this year,
or,
I don’t think you’ll get much use out of your Christmas sweater
.

So despite everything, I think dying took Mom by surprise. And she forgot to pay the phone bill. We only found out when the landline stopped working and it took weeks to reconnect. So we didn’t have any internet either. And that’s at the same time as having to pick out a coffin, even though Mom had left instructions that she wanted a cremation. She said not to pick a real expensive one because it’s only going to get all burned up anyway.

Julia said Mom wanted a cremation because she was afraid of the dark. I thought it was because she was creeped out by the thought of being in the ground with all the worms and bugs and then they’d … you know. But she’d always hated yard work too, even though she liked it to look nice. So it might have been because of that and because she didn’t want to put us in the position of tending her grave. But I’m just guessing because I was too chicken shit to ask her anything real when she was dying.

So Mom never met Yansi. I think she would have liked her though.

Mom always had a soft spot for Sean, even when he was the reason I got detention every afternoon for three weeks for putting saran wrap over the toilets in the staff restrooms when we were in ninth grade. I think she felt sorry for Sean. And he made her laugh.

The second to last thing Mom said to me was,
Don’t forget to put out the recycling
.

The last thing I said to her was after the nurse had given her a morphine shot because the pain-relief cannula didn’t seem to work anymore. I said,
Don’t rub where she’s injected, Mom, or it’ll bruise
.

So the very last thing she said was,
It hurts
.

Why didn’t she tell me about my dad? Why didn’t I ask? Because that would mean admitting something real. But I didn’t ask and now I’ll never know. But shouldn’t she have told me?

It really sucks being pissed at someone who’s dead.

In the days leading up to the funeral, I wondered what sort of things I’d tell people if I knew I was dying. Well, I wouldn’t tell Julia anything, because she already knew everything there was to know, or that’s what it seemed like. I didn’t even like the willow coffin she picked out because I thought it looked like a hamper. She said that was stupid and that Mom would have chosen it for herself. I don’t know—Mom hated doing laundry as much as I do, so I didn’t think she’d like being stuck in one, but Julia started crying again, so I didn’t say anything after that.

I guess I’d tell Sean that he always stops paddling for a wave about two seconds too soon, which means he’s never at the best place to pop up, which means he loses a lot of waves that he should have caught. I’d tell Mrs. McInnery, my math teacher, that all the students laugh at her because she has a mustache, and not because they don’t like her. I’d tell Erin Lenz that sleeping with half the guys in Junior class is never going to make her popular. I’d tell Yansi that asking her out is the smartest thing I’ve ever done, and that waiting for her to turn 17 before I could ask her out again is the second smartest thing I’ve ever done.

And I’d tell myself to ask my dying mom about my sperm donor father, because I’d never get the chance otherwise. But then again, maybe I’d tell myself not to bother, because I had one really great parent, and that’s more than some people get.

“She’d have liked you,” I said to Yansi.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I said. “She’d have loved you.”

Yansi smiled.

Maybe she knew that was the closest I could get to telling her myself.