Page 6 of I Can't Even

“No, no, no,” I cried.

Lurching upright, I stretched, fingers tingling in the hand that had been trapped under my head while I’d slept. I shook out my arm, trying to get the blood flowing. I scowled at the window where the sky was just turning the color of a sun-kissed peach.

Why hadn’t anyone woken me up? This was so bad. I was never going to sleep tonight and tomorrow would be even worse than today had been. If things kept up this way, by the end of the visit I was going be on the same sleep schedule as the area bats.

Climbing off the bed, I crossed the room and glanced in the mirror. Ye god, my hair had woven itself into some sort of funky hair hat. The corkscrew curls that were the bane of my existence had broken free of the braid I’d wrestled them into and now looked like individual antenna desperately seeking life out in the cosmos. I slapped a hand to my forehead, dreading my next meeting with Babs.

One of my earliest childhood memories was of my mother coming at me with a straightening iron, determined to tame my dark curls once and for all. Four-year-old me had sobbed and cried, terrified that she was going to burn me. Of course, now I realized she wouldn’t have but at the time the fear was a very real thing.

It was one of the more significant instances of my childhood. My father had stepped up in a rare moment of parenting and told Babs to leave me alone. I had inherited his wild curls, and I knew he liked seeing that trait in one of his girls. He had unplugged the straightener and told my mother to back off—yes, in those exact words. To me, he was my hero, my shining knight, the slayer of my dragons. To Babs, he had crossed a line and she’d looked at him in shock, as if he had slapped her. In retrospect, that was most likely the moment where her intense dislike for me began, shaping our relationship for years to come.

My father, who had always called me Peanut, died when I was ten. My larger than life dad with the big booming laugh, gentle hugs, and a charmer’s smile left me. He’d been the one person who was always on my side and who loved me unconditionally. The day he died my entire world crumbled. Dad suffered a cardiac arrest at his corporate muckety-muck job and was dead before the ambulance arrived. Luckily for Babs, who had never worked a day in her life, he had left her a very, very wealthy woman.

Babs would argue, of course, and say that being a good wife to my father had been a full time job. This I had difficulty believing, given that she had a housekeeper, a gardener, and for the big life events, an entire catering staff.

Babs had bagged my father with her va-va-va-voom figure, her thick honey-blond hair, her cute little upturned nose and her big blue eyes. That was the only feature of hers which I had inherited, a variation of her eyes. Hers were a pale blue, mine were darker, but we were the only ones in the family with blue eyes so I always felt it was a bond of sorts. You would think this would give me a pass with her. No.

In deference to Babs, I took my straightening iron out of my bag and plugged it in. It would take a while, but maybe I could tame my wild mane enough to mollify her. Although, why I cared what she thought I had no idea, thus the hours spent in my therapist’s office talking about the crazy train breaking down at the dysfunction junction which was my childhood.

While I waited for the iron to heat, I unpacked, putting my meager clothing into two of the four empty dresser drawers. My laptop bag which also functioned as my purse was next. I set up my computer on the desk in front of the window, plugging it into the outlet below.

I sat at my old desk, wondering how much my back was going to hurt with the crappy ergonomics of this situation. Since I designed websites for a living, the amount of hours I spent hunched over a keyboard was significant. Truly, it was a small wonder that I didn’t already resemble a one hump camel.

I popped open my laptop, planning to check my email and see if any of my clients were having a meltdown due to my surprise unavailability today. While I waited for my computer to boot up, I glanced over the top of the monitor at the neighbor’s house. Much like putting on lipstick to appease Babs, memory was guiding my actions, reminding me of how I functioned in this space.

How many hours had I spent sitting right here, dreaming of the boy next door? Countless. Endless. Years worth. Liam Mahony was my first crush or “Trouble” as Babs called him. She’d been right. He was trouble in the best possible way.

I’d been fifteen when this brash, wild new boy had appeared in the window across the yard. He had a thick thatch of dark brown hair, a ridiculously ripped torso from hours spent taming the surf, and a smile that literally melted my shorts.

Our houses mirrored each other and California real estate being what it was with houses built spitting distance from each other, our rooms were only fifteen feet apart. Plenty close enough for a teen girl to get her fill of teen boy eye candy.

The tomboy in me had no idea what to make of the feelings the guy with the killer smile caused to flutter up inside of me like bubbles in a soda pop. One part of me wanted to run away from him as far and as fast as I could, but another part of me was fascinated like a diver facing a shark. I was both attracted by the mystery of this unknown species of boy and terrified of the same.

It took a few days for Liam Mahony to notice that we had the same walking route to school, sat in the same algebra class, and surfed the same waves in the afternoons and on weekends. When he stopped in front of me and introduced himself one afternoon, I panicked. We’re talking full-on brain stutter, tripping over my own feet, complete neuro shut-down mother fluffing panic.

I’d probably looked like I’d been hit with a Taser. It sure felt like it and I was forever grateful that I didn’t start to slobber and drool on the spot or even worse pee myself. Terrified, unable to speak, and at a loss for any coolness I might ever have possessed, I nodded at him once and fled the scene on foot like a criminal trying to outrun the law.

I spent the next two weeks avoiding him while covertly spying on him. I surfed different beaches, rode my skateboard to school, and refused to look at him during class. I couldn’t handle the sizzle and zip I felt whenever he was near me. Even when he started hanging around with one of my closest friends, Jessie Lopez, I still couldn’t be near him without being rendered utterly stupid.

It did not stop me from watching him when I thought he wasn’t looking, however. From the cover of my darkened bedroom, I studied him in his room across the way. He did his homework at a desk in front of his window just like me. He also paced a lot, cranked his music, and, lord-a-mercy, lifted weights. The boy worked out every day, and I spied on him behind the cover of my sheer curtains, every day. Still, I never spoke to him and avoided any sort of contact, even ditching my friend Jessie if it meant I’d have to be in the same orbit as Liam.

And then everything changed. On a rainy Saturday, I took my board to one of the less popular beaches. It was called Devil’s Backbone because there was a line of treacherous rocks hidden below the surf. Only the locals knew how to navigate the area, but the waves were decent, no ankle busters, and it was worth the risk if you knew what you were doing.

I was out alone for most of the morning, enjoying the rides I’d caught, the sound of the waves, the pelicans flying overhead while they fished for their lunch with dramatic diving catches. It was all very peaceful and Zen, until he showed up. Jogging out into the surf with his board tucked under his arm, I recognized him right away. Liam Mahony.

I glanced behind me, praying for a wave to appear that I could ride in to get away from him. The sea was as calm as glass. What the hell?

Liam climbed onto his board and paddled right for me. My heart started to pound in my chest and I was sweating despite the chill of the sea water my feet were dangling in. I could paddle back to shore to avoid him, but that would probably look weird, and I desperately did not want him to think I was any weirder than I was sure he already thought I was.

When he slowed alongside me, I glanced in both directions. There was a vast open ocean out here. He could surf anywhere. Why was he in my space, making my insides melt and my outsides shiver? I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the laundry goddess, also known as Helena our housekeeper, that I was wearing my best bikini, the purple one that made my bazooms look way bigger than they actually were.

“Hi, Julia.” Liam’s voice was low and gravelly. It hooked into the center of me, and I realized I really liked hearing my name on his lips.

He hauled himself up to straddle his board, and I watched as the water poured off his body. I wasn’t positive but I was pretty sure I went momentarily cross-eyed at the sight.

“So, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Huh?” I had to drag my gaze away from his chest to meet his warm brown eyes.

---