“You have?”
“Yeah. The color of them. The way they look so bright every time you look at Brook. I’ve never really had a girl look at me like that. It’s obvious you love him. So, I have part of it written. Unfortunately, not much rhymes with Keatyn. There’s beatin’, sweeten, tweetin’, meetin’, heatin’. Not very romantic, but I’ll figure it out eventually.”
“You’re funny.”
“Wanna hear what I have so far?”
“Sure, why not.”
I refill our glasses while he grabs his guitar, strums softy, and sings.
“Her eyes get bright every time he’s around.
The ocean waves beat out her heart’s sound.
Their love begins as a ripple and grows into a tidal wave.
But he’d surf through uncertainty just to see that gaze.
Oh baby, if you only knew,
Oh, baby, the feelings I have for you,
Oh baby, if you could only see,
Oh, baby, it needs to be you and me.”
He stops singing and knocks his fist on his guitar. “I can’t finish the song.”
“It’s beautiful so far. It really is. You wrote that about me and B?”
“Yeah, but I think I can’t finish it because you haven’t started it.”
“What do you mean?”
“You and Brook. You need to give it a chance. Then I think I’ll be able to finish the song.”
My phone vibrates with a text. I look down, read it, and smile.
B: The waves miss you.
“Who just texted you? Wait, I already know. Your eyes had that same look, that same light. It’s Brook, right?”
I clutch my phone to my chest. “Yeah, he says the waves miss me.”
“He misses you. Talk to him, Keats. Hang out with him this summer. Get away from your friends. I’m calling him.”
“Don’t you dare!”
He gets up and runs away from me.
I hear him say, “Brook, how’s it going?”
“Awesome. Guess who I’m sitting here with?”
“Our little surfer girl. Heard you two haven’t talked in a while. What’s up with that?”
Damian nods his head. “Yeah, so talk to her now.”
He shoves his phone in my face.
I shake my head no.
He mouths, Talk, to me.
I keep shaking my head. I can’t talk to him. I can’t.
Damian gives me an angry face and shakes his fist at me.
I take the phone and hold it up to my ear, but I can’t speak.
I don’t know what to say.
“Hey, B,” I finally say, since it’s all I could come up with.
“I lied,” he says. “The waves don’t miss you. I do.”
Tears instantly spring up in my eyes.
“I miss you too.”
“So I saw your Facebook status. That you’re single again.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a long story.”
“When will you be home?”
“I’m not sure. I was supposed to leave Saturday, but things have been kinda crazy. I was thinking about staying here longer.”
“Oh,” he says quietly. “I was looking forward to hanging out.”
Damian gives me big eyes. Then he whispers, “Why don’t you do both? Have him come here. You can hit some of Europe’s hot surfing spots and come to some of our shows.”
I smile.
That’s a brilliant idea!
“What would you think of coming here? Damian says we could hang with the band on tour. That we could surf Europe’s hot spots. What do you think? You up for an adventure?”
“That all depends,” Brooklyn says slowly.
“On what?”
“Us.”
“What about us?”
“I want there to be an us, Keats. Do you?”
I suck in my breath. Those are the words I’ve wanted to hear for so long.
The tears that were prickling my eyes start streaming down my face.
“I want there to be an us too,” I choke out.
“I’ll be on the first plane I can get.”
Tuesday, June 28th
Know when it’s right.
3pm
When I picked Brooklyn up from the airport, we were one of those couples who everyone hates. The couple that stands there making out because they are finally together. We spent our first days exploring the beaches near the house. It seems like when I’m here with my family, we tend to go to the same places over and over.
We spent days driving a little convertible around, lying in the sand, swimming in the ocean, and kissing.
Lots and lots of kissing.
We found a place to rent surf boards, and we played around in the water. We walked to little cafés and shopped in quaint stores. We spent our nights drinking wine from the wine cellar and kissing.
He found an old book of poetry in the library and recited poetry to me.
I was as happy as I’d ever been, but I sort of felt like I was hiding a secret.
Last Brooklyn had heard, I was a virgin.
In our short time together, Cush and I had quite a bit of sex, and I’ve been trying to decide if I should tell Brooklyn about it or not.
About a week after he arrived, we’re swaying on a hammock in the back yard doing nothing but holding hands and watching the clouds go by.
“Look at that one,” he says. “It looks like a parrot.”