Chapter Thirteen
My mother stands at a podium in the center of the gallery. She wears a pale-blue suit—Armani from the looks of it—accessorized with a statement necklace and gold knot earrings. Her short blond hair is curled perfectly at her chin, adding softness to her usually stern appearance. “Danny Capwell made the ordinary seem extraordinary through his photography,” she begins, her tone commanding our attention. “He had the eye of an artist and the soul of a poet.” Her voice catches, and I straighten with surprise. “Sorry,” she utters, glancing at the crowd. “Seeing all these photographs in one room is bittersweet. I’ve avoided looking at his work for years, though I’m arguably his biggest fan.” She hesitates and inhales quietly. “He was a rare talent and the love of my life. To say I miss him is a grave understatement. Please join me in celebrating the photography that embodies his spirit.” A tear spills down her cheek, and I dab my own eyes.
As the crowd applauds, I slink to the back, adjusting my cashmere sweater. I had imagined my mother and I would look at the display together, but at the moment, I want to be alone. I wander to the first grouping—a collection from a trip he took to Joshua Tree National Park. As I stand in front of the images, I can feel the heat wafting off the khaki landscape. The trees seem rooted by it, stuck forever in strange poses, like the Seven Dwarfs playing a game of freeze tag they can’t escape. A wave of loneliness hits me. Did he feel that way? Or was he simply capturing the feel of the place?
The photographs have been locked away until recently. My mother hired a company to size and frame them for the show. Initially, I thought it was because she couldn’t be bothered, but maybe it would’ve been too hard for her.
A shot of a red boulder grabs my attention. Tiny bright-yellow flowers push their way out from under the rock, working through the gritty dirt. I smile when I realize they’re at the center of the photo. He wasn’t capturing the rock—his eye was on the flowers.
The next grouping consists of his pictures from Africa. The old gorilla—a copy of the one I have in my room—stares at me with kind eyes. The familiarity of it reassures me. People murmur about the wisdom in the gorilla’s expression, the texture of his fur, and the way the light is captured. I wonder what my dad would think of all the fancy people discussing his work. In every memory I have of him, he’s dressed in green cargo pants and a T-shirt. Someone asks if it’s for sale, and another person claims it must be expensive. I slip away without responding to either.
As I turn the corner, a small crowd is gathered around a gilded frame. Not wanting to jockey for a good position, I hang back until they move to the next picture.
My heart stops as I see what they’ve just seen. It’s me. I’m four or five, and my face beams as I fly toward the camera, arms outstretched. My snow hat is midair, and my tangled hair blows behind me. I was running to my dad.
Hidden memories of the day come rushing back in vivid color. I was at the Central Park Zoo with Gran. We had just finished looking at the sea lions, and she said, “Turn around. I think you’ll like what you see even better than these little guys.” It was my dad. I squeeze my eyes shut and remember Gran’s words. They’re so clear that I turn, half expecting to see the ghost of my dad standing with open arms. But, of course, there are only well-dressed strangers. My eyes fill with tears as I turn to look at the photo again.
If only I could go back in time and be that little girl for just a moment longer. I touch a hand to my chest, feeling the staccato beat of my heart. There’s no sign of trouble, no evidence of breakage. But my heart aches for the girl in the picture. I want to reach through the glass and hug her.
Hands land on my shoulders, and I jump. I spin to see Ryan, and my hand flutters to my chest again. He smells different—musky—like he dabbed on a hint of cologne. He studies me as I study him, and I brush a finger below my eye. The track pants and T-shirt are replaced by black jeans, a bright-white Henley, and a smoky-gray leather jacket. A long silver chain hangs from his neck. He doesn’t blend in with the well-cut suits and designer ties, but I like how he looks. He turns to the photograph. “That’s you.”
“Yeah.”
“You look so happy. Why does it make you sad?” His voice is gentle.
I turn to face the picture again and press the backs of my hands to my face. “Because I miss my dad.”
It takes a moment for my words to register. When they do, his arms surround me in a hug. His hand shifts to my hair, and I sink in to him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” he whispers.
I press my eyes shut and breathe in. Ryan’s scent is intoxicating. “It’s okay.” I start to pull back from our hug, but he hangs on a second longer, touching his chin to my head before he lets go.
“This must be tough for you. How long ago did he…”
His words hang there, and I wait for him to say die, but he doesn’t. Not that it bothers me. I’m used to people faltering, like if they say it aloud, it could seep into the air around them, infecting them with a deadly poison. “It happened when I was ten. He had a heart attack.”
“Aw, man. You were young. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t know these would be here. I’m sorry you had to see me falling apart.” He starts to say something, but I look past him, wondering if his friend is hanging back somewhere. His friend who I hope wears pants instead of skirts. “Did you bring someone with you?”
“Uh, no.” He touches a hand to his neck. “I didn’t end up asking anyone to come with me.”
“I’m really happy you came.”
“Me, too.” Our eyes meet for a second too long, and he returns his gaze to the photo of me. “Where were you?”
Right. God, I shouldn’t read into every benign comment. “We were at the Central Park Zoo. Right after this, we went to the children’s zoo, and these little white goats kept trying to eat my jacket. I wonder if there’s a picture of that here.”
We inch our way to a photo of a barking sea lion. Just beyond is a shot of Gran holding me, my head resting on her shoulder. My breath catches in my throat, and tears threaten, but I don’t want to cry. Not now. “That’s my gran.”
He’s close enough that his arm brushes against mine. “You have her eyes.”
I look closer. “Really? Hers were so much lighter.”
He turns to me, studying my face. “Yours are light, too. They’re pretty.”
“Thank you.” I soak in his dark-green eyes and want to tell him I could happily drown in them. Someone bumps my arm and rushes an apology, breaking whatever spell was between us. “Uh, we should look at the other side. My mom said there’s a collection from Australia.”
He nods. “Awesome. Let’s go.”
Mom spots us from across the room. She tilts her head and walks over. “Katie. You didn’t tell me you invited a friend.”
Ryan holds his hand out to shake hers. “I’m Ryan Brincatt. It’s nice to meet you. This is a fantastic exhibit.”
Her mouth twitches as she eyes his knuckles. The handshake she gives him is slight, like she’s afraid his tattoos will rub off on her manicured hands. “Thank you.”
“We’re going to look at the Australia section. The ones of the Central Park Zoo were—” I break off, unable to finish. “I’m hoping the koalas will be easier to see.”
She nods, looking from Ryan to me. “Understood. I’ll see you at the house tomorrow evening for dinner?”
“I’ll be there.”
She presses a kiss to my cheek, but her eyes are on Ryan, her raised brow silently criticizing his jeans. He looks away, as though her gaze burns his retinas.
Once out of earshot, I say, “Sorry my mom is so—”
“Forget it. Not your fault. I should’ve thought to ask you what the dress code was. I don’t fit in.” His hand rests on the small of my back, and I lean in to it. Maybe I want him to know he fits in with me.
We ease away from the last photograph, and I wish I could grab Ryan’s hand and tell him how much it meant to have him here. He obviously didn’t know I’d be a mess. I’m sure he assumed he’d check out some cool shots—with his buddy, no less—and take off. “Your dad was so talented. I’m impressed.”
“He always had his camera with him. I only wish I would’ve taken it to get some pictures of him. There aren’t that many.” My voice breaks, and I turn away.
He touches my arm. “Do you need to stay, or can you get out of here?”
“I can leave. Why?”
He steps back. “You look like you need some fun, and to be honest, so do I. Can I drag you away for an hour?”
“What do you have in mind?” My imagination whirls with ideas.
Holding out a hand, he says, “Come with me.”
The scent of sticky sweet funnel cakes and popcorn greets us as we walk along the Santa Monica Pier. I breathe deeply. “This smell always reminds me of the first time I went to Disneyland.”
“Right? Me, too. What’s your favorite ride there?”
“That’s easy. Indiana Jones. What about you?”
“Small World.” He bumps his shoulder to mine.
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying. That ride’s legit. Everyone else in my family loved Pirates of the Caribbean, but it scared the shit out of me when I was a kid. Speaking of kids, you were a cutie.”
“Thanks. I still can’t believe I’d never seen that shot before. And to think I’d imagined bringing Brad to this when my mom first told me about it,” I say more to myself than to Ryan.
“Your ex?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking aloud.” Our pace slows as we work our way past a group of kids who are too busy with their cotton candy, popcorn, and swirly lollipops to notice us.
Ryan’s jaw tightens and relaxes, as though he’s battling with his mouth to speak or remain silent. Finally he says, “Do you miss him?”
It’s not what I expected. Shaking my head slowly, I answer. “No. For a while I missed the first-impression version of him, but that guy disappeared pretty quickly. I think I stayed in the relationship because I kept waiting for that guy to return.”
“Funny how that happens. Why the hell can’t people just be real from the start? It’d make dating easier.”
“Right? To be fair, I should’ve paid more attention to how I was feeling. For most of our relationship, it was like I was holding my breath, waiting for the all-clear sign.” I hug my arms around my middle. “It never came.”
He nods slowly. “The all-clear sign. I’m going to keep that in mind.”
It makes me wonder if he’s seeing someone who he’s unsure about. The outside Ryan, the one who exists beyond the gym, is someone I don’t know a lot about.
We stroll along in silence until we reach the Ferris wheel that rises high into the sky. “How about that one?”
“Hell no. I’ll vomit.”
Anyone else saying that would make me cringe, but with him, I laugh. “The tough guy taken down by a Ferris wheel, huh?”
“Don’t mock. Once that thing gets going and the chairs start to rock…” He shakes his arms and shudders. “Whatever. I’ll prove my manliness by doing the Pacific Plunge. Come on.”
I have no idea what the Pacific Plunge is, but it doesn’t matter. My mind’s stuck on him proving his manliness. He has me buzzing like the hundreds of lights that decorate the Ferris wheel.
We reach the ride and buy our tickets. It’s a drop tower ride that jolts up, up, up before falling at full speed. I shade my eyes as I follow its ascent to the top. It’s at the far end of the pier, and if it crashes, the passengers will likely land in the ocean. “Does the ride come equipped with life jackets?”
“Why?”
It blasts down, accompanied by shrieks and screams, and I try not to cower. “Safety purposes.” I turn to him as we hand the ticket taker our tickets. “This is really your idea of fun?”
“Absolutely. You’re not afraid of a little drop, are you?”
“No. Of course not.” We take our seats. They’re hard plastic, but what if they break? “Just like you’re not afraid of a little rocking.” I pull the over-the-shoulder restraint down and say a silent prayer.
Ryan pats my leg. “You’re a badass. You can handle it. Ready?”
“No.” We start to move up. “Is it better to close my eyes or keep them open?” My words come out in a panicked rush.
“Keep them open. Look at the ocean. It’s beautiful. I’m right next to you if you need to hold on.”
“Is now a good time to tell you I’m afraid of falling?”
And then we bolt down. A high-pitched shriek sounds, and I realize it’s me. I dig my fingers into Ryan’s leg and press my eyes shut as my stomach drops. The sensation makes me gasp, and I loosen my grasp. I feel free, weightless, and suddenly unafraid. We slow to a bouncing stop before jolting up again.
He covers my hand with his. “It’s awesome. Keep your eyes open this time.” As we start to drop again, his hand squeezes mine. My stomach flutters, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the ride, or because his hand is on mine… Oh, who am I kidding? It’s because his hand is on mine. The one that has love stamped across the knuckles.
It’s over too fast. The operator unfastens our restraints, and we step off. Ryan drapes an arm around my shoulder. My earlier words rush through my mind: is now a good time to tell you I’m afraid of falling?
Oh my God. I can’t fall for him. I absolutely, unequivocally cannot. Even though the Shell Room wasn’t what I’d imagined, Jasmine said he has ladies. I remember it so well from the first time I met him. “Dude, have your ladies call your cell. I’m not your social planner,” she said. He could be dating a new girl every night for all I know. Not to mention my mother looked like she’d eaten a piece of bad fish when she met him. And worse, if things were to go wrong, I’d lose him as my trainer and my friend. The thought terrifies me, and what’s left of my brain leaps in to rescue me. “We should head back. I’d love to stay all day, but I have a ton of work to get to.”
His jaw tightens ever so slightly as he glances at his watch. “I should get out of here, too.”
The walk back to the gallery takes only seconds. Or at least it seems to. Being with Ryan makes everything else disappear. But maybe he only represents an escape from my world. If feeling like this could exist in the real world, though, I would buy it in bulk.
As I drive home, snippets of my relationship with Brad play in my mind—our first date when he lifted the armrest in the movie theater so he could snuggle in and hold my hand. After a few minutes, it felt awkward, like I was a sixth grader trying to look cool, but in reality, all I wanted was to drop it and reach for the popcorn. But when I imagine Ryan doing the same thing in the same setting, butterflies swarm through me. I should’ve felt butterflies when Brad said I love you, but I was shocked instead. Maybe even a little terrified. Now I’m terrified I’ll never find anyone I like as much as Ryan.