Page 40 of The Kiss Principle

“Igz and I will meet you outside.” He leveled a cool challenge of a look at me. “Unless you didn’t need to buy new clothes.”

I paid. And the clothes cost a fucking fortune.

Zé and Igz and I covered the last hundred yards to the beach in silence. The waves crashed. A gull cried. People thronged the beach, and their voices competed with each other—and, of course, with the music from portable speakers. Since this had been an impromptu trip to the beach-slash-escape fromthe house, we didn’t have any of the right gear. No blankets. No sunscreen, which I didn’t think about until Zé tugged the stroller’s little awning into place to cover Igz. Not even my sunglasses from the car. Zé was shading his eyes.

“Can you watch Igz?” His voice was its usual even calm. “I need to pee.”

I grunted and tried to find a way to stash the new clothes in the stroller’s cargo area—which was a losing battle because that diaper bag was so damn big. Zé moved off toward the public restrooms. He was limping. We’d walked a lot, and of course, I hadn’t thought about what that might do to his knee. He never said anything about it. He never complained. But the way he moved now—the unsteadiness, the stiffness—told me he’d been actively working to hide the strain.

Because he didn’t want to be a burden. That thought rang clearly in my head. Like he hadn’t wanted to accept the offer of room and board. Like he hadn’t wanted to accept the new clothes, even though I thought I’d done a pretty fucking fine job of making that seem casual. You do so much for—

I caught myself almost thinkingour family. And that’s what I meant, of course. Igz and I were family. But it sounded different in my head. Like that wasn’t the family I was thinking of.

You do so much for all of us, I tried again. You cook and clean. You get up with Igz when you don’t have to. You gave me that massage (although the less said about that, the better). You found those weird taro chips and tried to convince me I’d like them, even though they tasted like cardboard ass. You make me laugh. I wake up in the morning thinking about things I want to tell you.

I texted Zé,We’re running a quick errand.Then I wheeled Igz around, and we crossed the street to a strip of shops facing the water. The closest one was a sunglasses store, and the guy working—white, twentyish, with a great tan and long, blond hairand off-the-radar fuckboy vibes—was happy to sell me a pair of sunglasses. I bought myself something cheap, another pair I could throw in the glove box, but I picked out a nice pair of Ray-Bans for Zé. They were the right shape for his face, I could already tell. As the guy put everything in a bag, I ran through my list of reasons. This is a gift, I’d say. I want you to have this because I’m grateful for all the things you do for our family. It wouldn’t sound as weird, I was pretty sure, when I said it out loud.

Igz and I found him in front of a surf shop. He was staring at a longboard in the display window—an elegant piece with a wood deck and impossibly perfect lines. We got closer, and he stood there, staring. A woman bumped him, and he shifted his weight, but otherwise he didn’t even seem to notice. I recognized the look on his face. I had one junkie brother and another I’d spoiled shamelessly (well, once I could afford to). I knew what pure, unadulterated desire looked like, and I was seeing it right then on Zé’s face.

“Do you surf?” I asked.

He startled, turned, and for a moment his face was blank. Then he looked like Zé again, and he bent to check Igz as he said, “It’s been a while.”

“Because of the surgery?”

His voice was guarded when he said, “Yeah.”

“Do you like that board?”

Zé’s laugh tried a little too hard. “Anyone would like that board. It’s one of the best longboards out there.”

“Let’s go in and look at it.”

I turned Igz toward the surf shop’s door, and he grabbed the frame of the stroller.

“What?” I asked. “It’ll be fun.”

“I think Igz might be hungry,” he said. “And I could use something to eat.”

“We’re going to look.” And then I grinned. “And maybe get an idea for your birthday present.”

“No.”

A couple of middle-aged beach bums, shirtless and leathery, passed us. One of them, I shit you not, was talking about “that gnarly wave.”

“It was a joke,” I said.

“I know. Why don’t we find somewhere to eat?”

“But if I want to buy you something for your birthday, I’m going to.”

He looked out at the water.

For some reason, that only made me angrier. I took the Ray-Bans out of the bag and tossed them, still in their case, toward him. He caught them reflexively.

“I bought you those,” I said.

“I don’t want you to buy me anything.”

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