resurface

6

By the time I went back to the boardwalk for my bike and rode it to our apartment, my grandmother was positioned in her chair sleeping to Law & Order SVU reruns. I didn't try to wake her. Once she fell asleep, the house could fall down around her and she wouldn't stir, unless you turned off the television. Around three in the morning she would wake up to infomercials and move into the bedroom she shared with my mother and go back to sleep (then she'd complain about her back in the morning and swear it hurt from the bed).

I grabbed the remote and turned the volume down from 94 to 30 so the room didn't shake to the soundtrack every time the scene changed.

Some people had grandmas who spoiled them with gifts, homemade dinners and deserts, hugs, and compliments. Mine chain-smoked, told dirty jokes, and tried to fix me up with every hot guy she saw. If they didn't want me, she'd offer to go out with them instead.

I wouldn't have wanted her any other way.

As I slapped some peanut butter on a piece of toast, I scribbled a note for Ellen telling her that Ivy was back. If she didn't hear it tonight at Luke's Place, she'd want to know. She hadn't spoken to Jacqueline Anderson or even acknowledged her existence for as long as I could remember, something that was a pretty tough feat, since the Andersons owned almost everything in this town, but they had been at least friendly once. Maybe it had been mostly because of Matt or maybe there weren't any other options. Seaside was that small. Whatever the reason though, they spent time together. I'd seen the proof in at least five years worth of pictures that she kept in a shoebox under her bed. Ellen, her older sister Linda, and Jacqueline, all with tanned skin, wide smiles, and skimpy bikinis and too short denim cut offs.

I'd never met Linda. She was another closed topic for conversation, though my grandmother would sometimes reminisce about her if it was just the two of us. I'd tried to get information about my dad out of her too, but she didn't have anything to give up (it must have been a short or a secret relationship, and my money was on short).

I didn't need the note. Ellen came in, letting the door slam shut behind her, when I was almost finished.

She had been beautiful once. I'd also seen that in the pictures.

Like me she'd been tall and blond, but she had curves that I didn't and lips that looked good in red lipstick and a flirty smile.

Now she looked older than she was. Her skin had been exposed to the sun for too long, and she'd gone too many days without eating, drinking too much coffee and cheap whiskey and smoking too many cigarettes.

"You're home early," I said. "Want a sandwich?"

We didn't cook in this house. We used our oven for storage space, for old newspaper clippings about Seaside that my grandmother had to save and our snow boots. We'd lived here since I was born and I could count on my hands how many times we'd used it. Those three times had been Matt making dinner for us—all before Ivy's abduction.

Ellen shook her head, dug into her purse for her Virginia Slims then dumped it on the floor next to the door. "How come you're not at Luke's for Danny's birthday? Everybody's there."

"I have homework," I lied as I opened the kitchen window.

"Can't that wait?" she asked, coming over to stand by it, as she lit the cigarette. "I thought you liked him."

I smiled. "I do. He's fine."

She shrugged and made a poor attempt to exhale the smoke out the window. "He's your best option around here."

I didn't argue. Dan was the best option around here. He was cute in a shaggy sun-bleached way, and he had a steady year round job. He wasn't a drunk and he wasn't mean. He had issues like everyone else, but they weren't debilitating. All of which to say, he wasn't Macon. But that meant he didn't make my heart race either.

Ellen's point, though, was that he wasn't going anywhere. Not like the summer guys who came in, whispered in your ear, bought you candy and drinks, flirted, kissed, and then left. I'd heard the stories and seen it happen. I was proof of it.

"You should snap him up before it's too late," she said. "This apartment gets smaller by the day and you'll never be younger or prettier than you are right now."

This was my mother. Youth, beauty, and a man to take care of everything: that's what was important to her. That's what she thought I needed to be happy. It's what she had wanted. She wasn't alone. Plenty of Seaside locals shared the same opinions.

I didn't, and I think deep down, Ellen knew that. We'd had this conversation so many times before, but she never gave up. She didn't want to admit that I might want something more than Seaside.

But I did.

I hadn't figured out exactly what I wanted yet, but I knew it was more.

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This is the hardest thing for me about Emma. She doesn't really know what she wants. She just knows it isn't this. Sometimes it's really hard to convey that on the page, but I've definitely felt like that. Thanks for reading!