The Wild One (27 page)

When I'm done, there's silence on the other end of the phone.

“What if you're wrong, honey?” he asks quietly. “What if it doesn't make you happy? What then?”

“Then … I'll deal with it,” I say. There's silence on the other end of the phone.

He doesn't believe in me. But maybe that's okay. I believe in myself. “Hey, Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“What makes you happy?”

“Me?” Dad pauses, thinking. “Golf. Wine. Knowing you and your sister are safe. But especially you, I guess, you were just so young when Mom…” His sentence trails off, and then he clears his throat. “After everything you had to go through, knowing you don't have anything to worry about, or be scared about, is really the only thing that makes me happy.”

“I'll be safe here, Daddy,” I say. “I promise.”

“Okay, well, I think I just have to trust that you're right,” he says. “You know, Coco … you sound different. You sound like an adult.”

I smile. “I am.”

After we hang up, his words about his idea of happiness echo in my mind.

That's the reason he always told me what to do.

My dad didn't think I was stupid.

He just wanted to protect me. I was only a little girl, such a dreamy, bookish, softhearted little girl, when Mom died. He never wanted anything to hurt me ever again. That's why he's always treated me like a baby. To him, I
was
just a baby.

And the scary thing is, until recently, I liked it. It's nice to be taken care of.

But it's far, far nicer to take care of yourself.

“You okay, girlie?”

I stand up and look over to see Vic sitting on that little chair outside his door.

“You just heard my whole conversation, didn't you?” I say, grinning.

Vic smirks. “You want privacy, girlie, don't talk on the stoop.” He looks up at me with a smile. “Sounds like you've figured out what you're gonna do with your life.”

“No, I still don't know what I'm going to do with my entire life,” I say. “And that's okay. Because I know what I'm doing next. Everything else I'll just figure out as I go along.”

Vic nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

“And, Vic, just so you know, I like myself now. For the first time in maybe my whole life. I like being me.”

“Now you sound like me. Next you'll be talking about the loves of your life. How you can only be truly happy when they're happy.”

Joe flashes into my heads again. But—

Before I can finish my thought, Angie runs out of Rookhaven, slamming the front door behind her. It's the first time I've seen her in over a week, since that awful fight with Julia. Shouldn't she be at work?

“Hi, Vic! Oh, Coco, thank God. I need you. Can you help me?”

“Of course!” I say.

“We're going to TriBeCa,” she says. “I'll explain on the way.”

 

CHAPTER
34

The memory of what happened with Joe this morning is like a bruise somewhere deep in my soul. If I press it, it hurts.

Is that just the guilt of hurting someone so important to me, someone who knew me better than anyone, someone who had become my best friend? What else could I do? I had to tell him the truth.

I just need to keep telling myself that every time I think I'm going to cry.

“Are you okay?” asks Angie, as we get on the train. She's practically buzzing with excitement, but she hasn't explained why. “Coco? Is something going on with you?”

“Yes, no, sorry,” I say, shaking my head to clear the thoughts. “I'm fine. What are we doing?”

“Sam is coming home today.”

Angie is so happy she almost can't get the words out.

“He's arriving this afternoon. They made really good time on the crossing and got here a few days early. I only just found out. So we're going to welcome him. But first, we're stopping at the Balloon Saloon on West Broadway. I have a plan.”

Apparently, Angie's plan involves a dozen perfectly round red helium balloons, each over five feet in diameter. The balloon store guy has to take us out the back to get them, because they're too big to carry out the front door of the store. Then we walk down West Broadway, with six giant balloons each, in the scorching sunshine. Cars honk at us, kids squeal with excitement, and a small dog goes beserk, barking hysterically.

“God, I love attention,” says Angie.

I laugh. “You'd think they'd never seen two grown women carrying giant red balloons before.” I pause for a moment, and glance at her. “Why the hell
are
we carrying giant red balloons, by the way?”

“Well,” Angie says. “Sam said that whenever he pictures himself returning to New York, he thinks about that moment when he's sailing up the Hudson, staring at the marina, looking for me, and how it almost stresses him out imagining it, because, you know, it's hard to see people well until you're pretty close, so you could be staring at the wrong person … I figured that with the balloons, he'd know exactly where I am.”

“Wow. That's so romantic.”

“Do you think it's lame?” Angie looks uncharacteristically insecure. “Be honest. I can take it.”

I shake my head. “It's perfect.”

When we stop, holding our giant red balloons and waiting to cross the street, Angie turns to me again. “Are you
sure
there's nothing going on with you?”

I take a deep breath. “Well, I think I'm going to stay at Rookhaven.”

“Yay!” Angie hugs me, our balloons colliding in the air.

“And I'm going to NYU this year. Officially, this time. No more faking it.”

“Fuck, yeah.” Angie grins. “So why do you look so damn unhappy?”

“I ended things with Joe,” I say. “Remember when you said it was okay to just be friends with benefits, as long as it was all he wanted too? Well, he wanted more.”

“And you don't?” says Angie. “That's weird.”

“Why?”

“We all thought that you and Joe just had so much chemistry. I mean, I know Julia wanted you to be with Topher, but of course she would; he's her friend. If you dated him she'd be able to feel like she was in charge of your relationship.”

Wow. She's right. She's totally right. Just like my dad, Julia has always tried to protect me. How much did Julia influence my decisions even when I thought I was acting for myself?

I'm not even sure it was deliberate. I guess Julia subconsciously imitated how our father treated me: like someone who always needed to be looked after and told what to do. Maybe the dynamics of family relationships are embedded long before the kids are really aware of them. No wonder she was so upset when I started acting out: she's practically programmed to protect me. It's not conscious. It's just the way it is … or was.

I'm sure it comes from a good, loving place. When you think about it, it's tradition. Families have always had to protect their daughters, because if they didn't, bad things happened to us. For centuries, that's how it's been. But that meant we couldn't work, we couldn't live alone or own property, we couldn't do
anything
without someone looking after us, giving us permission to exist and excuses not to think for ourselves. We were small and vulnerable and powerless.

But those days are gone. I am strong. And I don't need someone to tell me how to live my life anymore.

By the time we get to the marina at the bottom of Battery Park, Angie is almost beside herself with nerves about seeing Sam. She keeps checking her phone, but he hasn't texted.

“Sam was supposed to be here by now,” she mutters as we walk past the yachts bobbing peacefully in the water. “I can't see his boat. Can you see it?”

I look out to the Hudson. Ferries and sailboats and tourist boats zip back and forth. But no Sam.

Our balloons are tied to long ribbons, bopping gently against each other in the wind. We must look pretty hilarious, like we're about to lift right up off the ground. Tourists going past keep taking photos of us.

“Where is he?” Angie mutters. “Look for a speedboat, Coco. They're leaving the
Peripety
over in Liberty Harbor Marina in Jersey City for repairs, but he said he'd get a lift straight here. Either that or hijack a fishing boat.”

“Why doesn't he just come to Rookhaven?” I say.

“This is where we said good-bye,” says Angie. “Right here, right on this very spot. This is where I last saw him. So this is where we're going to say hello … Oh, God, where is he?”

Angie is peering so hard into the horizon, scanning every boat that comes near, that her eyes must be aching from the effort.

“Is that him?” she says as a speedboat approaches. “Shit. It's not.”

“I see him,” I exclaim. “Oh, no. Fisherman. Who the hell would fish in the Hudson River? Can you imagine how gross the fish must be?”

Angie doesn't respond. I suddenly realize just how much she loves Sam. How much she must have missed him the past few months, and how much it must have hurt her to say good-bye.

“How did you do it?” I ask. “How did you say good-bye to Sam, when he probably would have stayed here if you asked him? You'd just fallen in love. It must have been so hard.”

Angie turns her gaze to me for a second, her face more serious than I've ever seen it.

“It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I knew he'd come back to me. And I knew he had to go. When you love someone, you want him to be happy in every way, even if that means he needs to leave you to realize his dreams. That's why we thought you liked Joe, you know. You've been working so hard on that prom. It's all for him, right?”

I don't even know what to say.

She's right.

I want to make him happy. I really do. The whole Potstill Prom idea was just to make him happy. I found Ian James, just to make him happy. But does that mean—

“That's Sam,” Angie chokes out the words. “There he is! I can see the shape of his head, I can see him! He's on that little speedboat!”

We both start waving madly, jumping up and down with our gigantic red balloons bobbing over our heads. Sam waves back. He's seen our balloons. He knows exactly where we are.

As the speedboat gets closer, Angie is almost in tears, she's so overwhelmed with excitement and anticipation. I slip my hand into hers, and she grips it tightly.

Sam is standing up, holding on to the boat with one hand, waving at us with the other. He's usually very clean-cut—Angie sometimes refers to him as “the Boy Scout”—but he's grown a beard while he's been away. His face is lit up with a huge smile.

The speedboat comes to a stop about fifty feet down the pier, and Angie rushes toward him, letting go of her balloons as she runs so they float up into the air. She throws her arms around Sam and they start kissing furiously.

Feeling like I'm intruding, I shift my gaze up to the blue afternoon sky, let go of my balloons, and watch them join Angie's, floating away over the city, becoming tiny dots together. It's so beautiful.

I wonder how many people across New York City can see the balloons right now. I bet they're all smiling as they look at them.

I wonder if Joe can see them. I hope so.

And suddenly I am punched in the gut by the realization everyone else seems to have known forever.

I love Joe.

 

CHAPTER
35

On the way to the subway, I take out my phone and call Joe. But he doesn't answer.

And unfortunately, I don't think “I love you I'm sorry please love me again” is the kind of thing you can leave on a voice mail or send in a text.

But I can't turn up to Potstill to tell him how I feel about him, and beg him to forgive me, while I'm looking like shit, all windswept and subway-sweaty. I know people do that in the movies, but this is real life. In fact, if this was a movie, I would have fallen in love with Joe the moment I met him, or the moment I kissed him, or the moment he told me he loved me.

But I didn't.

Or maybe I did fall. But I didn't realize. Whatever.

And if I'm going to really do this, I need to do it looking as good as I can.

So I need to go home to Rookhaven.

I also have some other amends to make. I need to talk to Madeleine. And my sister. They're just as important as Joe.

When I walk into the kitchen at Rookhaven, Julia is there. She's sitting at the kitchen table in her suit, staring blankly into space.

It's midafternoon on a Friday. Why isn't she at work?

“I was fired,” Julia says, before I can ask.

“Oh, shitballs.”

“Made redundant, officially. They got rid of my whole team, and more. Eight thousand people across the company.”

“Shitballs,” I say again.

Julia grins, finally swiveling her eyes up to meet mine. “It's weird hearing you swear. But kind of cute.”

“I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I think I'm in shock. I mean, I'm fine. They've given us an amazing severance package, and I'm sure I'll get another job. I'm just … unemployed.” Julia's giggle is just this side of hysterical. “This was not part of my plan.”

I sit down next to her at the table and grab her hand.

“It'll be okay, Ju-ju.”

“I know. It's just … unexpected. I'm not good with unexpected.”

“I'm so sorry that I didn't call you,” I say. “I don't think we've ever not spoken for this long.”

“I should have called you.” Julia looks at me, a little smile on her face. “I hate fighting with you. I'm glad you're going home to Rochester, I think it's a smart move. I'm so sorry about Eric and everything that you went through. I wish I'd known, I would have been there for you, I wouldn't … I wouldn't have judged you, I swear. I love you. And I'll … I'll miss you.”