She nods, the determined-parent expression falling a little. Jonah isn’t the opponent now—a possible threat to her daughter. He’s another child, as I am to her.
Jonah stands in the driveway with his hands still in the pockets of his khakis, which are rolled up to his ankle. I like this—that even when he dressed himself and left his house, he knew for sure he’d be taking me to the beach. I grin as I walk gently across the asphalt, leery of rogue pebbles. There’s just no ever-loving way that I’m wearing shoes on a night like this; it’s bottom-line insulting to the gorgeousness of a summer night.
“Hey,” Jonah says, before I can reach him.
“Hey. Perfect timing; I was just thinking about you.” I clutch his hand, pressing my lips together. “But, just one thing. My mom wants to meet you.”
“Oh. Um. Now?”
“Yeah—I know, she’s being so weird. Do you mind coming in really quick? I swear she’s not going to interrogate you. She just wants to see that you’re a normal, functioning person, and then we can do whatever we want.”
“Sure.” I can see it in his eyes, though, that this is not the evening he had in mind. Ugh, Mom! This would have been so romantic without interference.
Inside, the French actors are discussing something passionately on the TV. My mom rises from the couch, wine still in one hand. I forget, because I’m with her all the time, that my mother is sort of a presence. She has waist-length, ’70s-queen hair and this sweeping way of walking, in flowy blouses.
I can almost hear Jonah swallow. “Mom, this is Jonah.”
“Hello, Jonah,” my mom says, taking him in. And I can guess what she’s thinking: Huh. A guy in khakis. No half-shorn hair or visible piercings or tattoos—not that she minds those things. Jonah’s just the first . . . unadorned guy who’s made it to “meet my mom” status. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or impressed.
“See?” I present Jonah like he’s a prize on The Price Is Right. “Normal. And cute! Good job, me. Let’s go.”
I grab his hand and try to tug, but his feet stay planted.
“Nice to meet you.” He reaches his other hand out to my mom. “Sorry—Vivi just told me outside that I had to be normal. I haven’t had adequate time to prepare for this role.”
My mom smiles genuinely at this, amused as she shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, too. I’m Carrie. Vivi tells me that she’s been spending time with your five brothers and sisters.”
“Oh. Yeah.” He glances at me, almost sympathetically, as if I do not adore every moment with them. “There are a lot of us.”
“And where do you fall in the lineup?”
Is this really more important than me walking on the beach with this very cute boy?! I ask my mom in an attempt at telepathy. What are you doing to me?!
But Jonah’s already answering the question, perfectly comfortable standing here while I am clenching his hand like, Let’s go. “In the middle. We separate it into three oldest and three youngest, bigs and littles. I’m the youngest big.”
“Sounds like fun. I’m glad Vivi found you all. Okay.” She smiles at Jonah, then at me, dismissing us. “Thank you for indulging me. Not too late, Viv. Just a walk.”
“Hmph,” I say, my back already to my mom, while Jonah calls, “Nice to meet you!”
There’s a path of worn wooden steps down to the ocean, and we take it. Jonah tells me about working at the restaurant, about the bustle and the customers and the funny line cooks who work with him. When we reach the part of the beach that is littered with driftwood debris, he bends his knees, offering himself for a piggyback, and I climb on. He hitches me up and steers us until we hit the shoreline, and I clamber down from his back and press my feet into the sand.
A single yellow flag beats against the ocean wind, and the sky stretches for every mile of ocean, and then longer and farther. We’re the only people as far as the eye can see, and all the world feels like a private show, screened on the endless black sky. The universe is unfurling its whole self to us, arms wide and beckoning.
My feet veer toward the water. “I just have to touch it, you know? It’s the former dolphin in me.”
“Careful.” His voice is soft, a warning in the warm air. He’s such a dad, I swear to God; it’s like he can’t stop himself. “The riptide can be really strong.”
I know this, of course. That’s what the yellow flag is for—to notify vacationers that the water at night can be grasping and ironfisted.
“I’ve always loved that the tides are caused by the moon,” I explain. I give him my most enticing grin, trying to melt him into a more relaxed version of himself. “So far away, but so beautiful. So powerful. I can always feel it tugging at me, too.”
“Umm . . .” He laughs, but he’s not mocking me. No, I’m not sure if Jonah could ever really mock someone, not the way that other people do.