Page 13 of Malibu Rising

Nina threw on a pair of cuffed jeans and a faded Blondie T-shirt that she’d cut the arms off of. She left her hair damp and dripping slightly down her back. She grabbed her silver watch and put it on, noticing that it would be 10:00 soon. She was meeting her brothers and sister for lunch at the restaurant at noon.

While technically all of the Riva kids had inherited it, it was Ninawho felt an obligation to make sure it continued to thrive. She did it not only for the people of Malibu but for her mother and her grandparents, who ran it before her. The weight of their sacrifices to keep it standing pushed her to do the same.

And so she usually went over for an hour or two Saturday mornings, to do the spot checks and greet customers. This morning, she didn’t really feel like going. Lately, she almost never felt like going. But her mere presence brought in customers and she felt an obligation to be there.

So Nina slid her feet into her favorite leather flip-flops, grabbed the keys to her Saab, and hopped in the car.

1956

Every Saturday night for three months, Mick took June to dinner.

They went out for burgers and fries, or Italian, or steak. And they always shared dessert afterward, fighting for the last bite of pie or ice cream. It had become a joke between the two of them, their mutual love for sugar.

Once, Mick picked June up for a date with his hand closed into a fist. “I have a gift for you,” he said with a smile.

June pried open his fingers to find a sugar cube on his palm.

“Sugar for my sugar, sweet for my sweet,” he said.

June smiled. “Quite the charmer,” she said as she took the cube from his hand. She’d put it right into her mouth and sucked on it. “I understand you brought it as a joke but I’m not going to let it go to waste.”

He kissed her, right then, still tasting it on her lips. “I brought a whole box actually,” he said, gesturing to the front seat, where a box of Domino sugar cubes was resting against the back of the seat next to a bottle of rye.

They didn’t even go out for dinner that night. They drove up the coast eating sugar cubes, drinking whiskey right out of the bottle, and teasing each other over who could control the radio. When the sun set, they parked at El Matador—a pristine and stunning beach hidden under the bluffs, home to rock formations so massive and breathtaking it looked as if the ocean had made its own Stonehenge.

Mick’s windshield framed the waves coming in down the shore, a beautiful movie they weren’t watching. The two of them were drunk and sugar-rushed in the backseat.

“I love you,” Mick said in June’s ear.

June could smell the whiskey on his breath, could smell it coming out of her pores. They’d had so much, hadn’t they? Too much,she thought. But it had gone down so easy. It scared her sometimes, just how good it tasted.

His body was pressing against hers and it was, she thought, the most miraculous feeling. If only he could press into her farther, hold her tighter, if only they could fuse together.

Mick put his hand up her skirt slowly, testing the waters. He got up to the top of her stockings before she pushed him away.

“I’m starting to feel like I can’t live without you,” he said.

June looked at him. She knew that was the sort of thing men said to women just to get what they wanted. But what if she wanted it, too? They didn’t give you any answers for that part. All they said was to bat his hand away until you were married. Nobody told you what to do if you felt like you’d die without his hand pushing farther up your legs.

“If you can’t live without me,” she said, regaining some control of herself, “then you know what to do.”

Mick released his head onto her neck, in defeat. And then he pulled away ever so slightly and smiled. “Why are you saying that? Are you saying that because you think I won’t ask you to marry me right now?”

June’s heart began to beat light and fast as if trying to fly. “I have no idea what you’ll do, Mick. You’re going to have to show me.”

Mick buried his head into her shoulder once more and kissed her collarbone. She hummed with the delight of his lips on her.

“I want to be your first,” she said. She knew exactly what she was doing, making a statement like that. It would allow him to give her the answer she wanted and make her think it was the truth.

“You will be,” he told her. He would tell her whatever she wanted to hear. That was the way that he loved her.

June kissed him. “I love you,” she said. “With all of my heart.”

“I love you, too,” he said, as he tried one more time. She shook her head and he nodded and let up.

That night, when he dropped her off, he kissed her and said, “Soon.”

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