Page 100 of Britta & the Beach Boy
The next morning, we oversleep fifteen minutes and have to both rush out the door with only a quicksee you soon. Maybe if we’d had time, there would have been a kiss. Last night feels like a bit of a turning point. We didn’t say it explicitly, but I think we both want to go back on our decision to keep things professional. I think we agree that a business marriage sucks.
At least I hope we do, because by the time I get toFrothed,my chest is cinched so tight I can hardly breathe, and I think I understand what Bear meant when he said being in love means aching when you’re not with your person.
I’ve just unlocked the door when my phone pings. Once I’m inside, and I’ve flipped on the lights, I pull up my messages.
Wanted to kiss you goodbye. I’m a sook. Can I kiss you hello when I’m back?
Always.
It turns out that Hawaii has much better reception than the Azores, and there’s only a three-hour time difference instead of seven. That means some late nights for me, but we call every day. Our conversations are usually short, because three hours is still a big difference, but we text throughout the day as well.
Being able to talk to Dex makes the first week go faster than it should have. I still miss him, but I’m not as lonely as I was during his Azores trip. And the second week he’s gone, my family and Stella’s family arrive on Monday to prep for the Thanksgiving holiday. The chaos and commotion that arrive with them don’t leave any space for loneliness and barely any to miss Dex.
I don’t hear from him on Monday, but the date circled on our calendar gets one day closer as I make an X through the Monday square at the end of the night. Dad nods when he sees it, but his approval quickly disappears after asking when Dex will be home for the holiday, and I have to tell him he won’t.
“Australians don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. He didn’t realize he was training over the holiday.” I shrug off Dad’s question and the eyes of everyone else waiting for my answer. “He’s in Hawaii prepping for his big competition in January.”
When more questions come, I use some of Dex’s explanations he’s given me. “Surfing isn’t the same as football where you have a field or a stadium in every town—he has to go where the waves are.”
Georgia and Evie both try to dig into the relationship part, but I give quick, shallow answers. Then Stella comes to my rescue and redirects the conversation like a boss. I suspect Georgia picks up on what we’re doing, but by Tuesday she stops pushing, and I stop feeling so anxious about my family discovering the real reason I married Dex.
That worry is replaced with a different one when Dex hasn’t returned any of my texts or calls for the second day in a row. I tryto push my concern aside by telling myself he’s just busy surfing, but something feels wrong.
The day before Thanksgiving, I closeFrotheda few hours early so I can cook with my family. This is how we celebrate: cooking and eating together. This is the first big holiday we’ll be celebrating without Mom, but we’ve felt her loss for years. She used to be at the center of all the holiday cooking, but the last few years we couldn’t even let her in the kitchen for fear she’d hurt herself.
In a way, it helps that we’re not at home celebrating. Her absence is less noticeable in this house where we’ve never had a family celebration before. But that only lasts until we start baking and cooking. When the smells of her recipes for cider-brined turkey, stuffing with apples and sausage, and candied sweet potatoes waft through the air, we feel Mom there with us. But there’s something different about it. Sorrow, of course, but maybe we’ve all worked through enough that the joyful memories—that I think were harder to focus on when she was here, but not herself—rise to the surface.
Pretty soon we’re swapping stories about the mom she’d been, along with bites of whatever dish we’re working on. We talk over each other, laughing at our different versions of events from our childhood. An occasional leak springs from our eyes as we talk about Mom, but it hurts less. As much as we all miss her, we’re eventually able to talk about what she went through with Alzheimer’s and how grateful we are she’s not suffering anymore.
We’re able to remember her how she’d want to be remembered instead of watching her slip away right before our eyes. In a way, it feels like we have her back, and I’m grateful to have my family around me for Thanksgiving. It wasn’t easy for them to arrange this trip, but they did it and I can feel so much healing from this time together.
It’s amid all the chaos in the kitchen that I feel my phone buzz in my apron pocket. I pull it out, relieved to see Dex’s name.
“Hey,” I answer, then walk outside to the back patio for some privacy.
“Britta?” Instead of Dex, Archie’s on the line, the worry in his voice loud and clear from the other side of the ocean I’m looking at.
“Archie?” My heart is already in my throat. “What’s wrong?”
“Dex is hurt.”
Chapter thirty-eight
Britta
I clutch the phone closer to my ear, hoping I’ve misheard while sure that I haven’t. “How hurt?”
Archie’s pause wipes away any thread of hope I might have held onto. “Bad. He’s in hospital.”
“What do you mean, hospital? What hospital? Here?” On some level, I realize that’s not possible, but I throw out a desperate wish that Dex is closer than the middle of the Pacific Ocean.
“He’s in the ICU at Queen’s Medical Center in Honolulu.”
So still in Hawaii. Worse, the Intensive Care Unit.
“What happened?” I whisper and sink into a patio chair.
The sun dips orange and pink rays into the horizon, painting the surface of the ocean with reds, violets, and hints of blue. I want Dex here to see it, his arms wrapped around my back and shoulders so we can watch it together.
