Finals week was over, but here in the frantically packing-up and transitioning town of Ellery, I was feeling like things were finally about to begin. Weird because technically a lot of big stuff in my life was up in the air and I wasn’t entirely sure how everything was gonna turn out. Despite this, I wasn’t panicking and I wasn’t getting all worried that I didn’t have a plan to cope if more bad crap happened. This uncharacteristically hopeful attitude likely had to do with how, as Dave said, I’d turned into “Ready-steady Ray”. And, as Dave liked to point out, “Ready-steady Ray” was more fun to hang with than “No-way Ray”. Made sense. Although every time he pointed this out I reminded him that I hardly ever told him “no”, even before I got a boyfriend who Dave thought was better than donuts and French fries and Mario and Star Wars combined.
Dave was on the back of the Vespa, sturdy arms squeezing the air from my lungs in a mostly good way. When he hollered at me to take the long circuit around the golf course—the narrow road with the loopy-dupey curves and hills—I obeyed. The day was late-May perfect and we were both wearing T-shirts with no jackets. The freedom of breezes blowing through a thin layer of cotton before reaching skin was still a groovy, good-time novelty. Also, Dave was leaving for Europe in a couple weeks and I wanted to get as much Goomba time as possible.
We were a bit late arriving at Fenton, but that was okay. In fact, I could deal with being so late to this gig that I missed it altogether. Even though I was Ready-steady Ray a lot of the time, I still resorted to my old, mostly asshat attitude when confronted with shit I hated. And I think anyone who knew about what happened at the carriage house a few weeks ago would understand why I hated the idea of going there to help Wyatt and Mike and a few of their buddies to figure out if there was anything salvageable in the apartment before a professional crew came to clean up the place.
After parking in my old space, we got off the scooter and took off our helmets. We stood at the base of the stairs, silently agreeing to pause and breathe for a moment in the light wind.
“The new stairs are ugly,” Dave remarked, squinting up at the bigger, safer, wider structure. The thing was so wide it had eaten up a couple of parking spaces. The boys wouldn’t be happy about that. The first landing was almost deck-like in width. Maybe they’d put a grill on it, branch out the partying to this part of the property.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Part of it is because the wood is so new and yellow. It will weather and blend in better with the shingles in a year or so.”
Dave shrugged. “Not like it matters, I guess. You won’t be living here anymore.” He sent me a grand grin.
“Nope.”
“You’re gonna have a kick-butt new place.”
“Yep. Well, not exactly new…” I’d signed a lease on a tiny one-bedroom on the second floor of a Victorian conversion between the Perlmutters’ house and campus. A couple hours ago, Dave had come with me to pick up the keys to the place. Before coming here, we’d done a walk-through. It was both better and worse than I remembered after seeing it briefly with Mike and Wyatt last week.
I’d found the place through a Fenton connection—the brother whose mom was a property management guru. His mom had recently bought the house and she was giving me a break on a deposit and the first six month’s rent if I agreed to do some rehab work. The place was in rough shape, but I knew the challenge would be satisfying. I was gonna make the old place shine. For another year or so, it would be all mine. And I’d get to share it a lot with Earp. Hopefully.
“New to you,” Dave qualified.
“Right.” I ruffled his hair. “You’re gonna help me pick out paint colors before you go, right? And you’ll get to see it in all its glory when you get back.”
“Yeah. No more white.”
“We’re all about the colors,” I said, nodding.
Something thunked inside the apartment. The door at the top of the stairs was standing wide open. “Should we go up?” I asked Dave. I reached for his hand even though he wasn’t much of a hand-holder these days.
“Let’s do it,” he said, fitting his fingers firmly against mine.
The stairs were wide enough that we could climb them side-by-side. A good thing because my head was floaty and my gut was churning, and Dave’s solid touch was keeping me in the moment, holding back the shitty memories of the last time I’d climbed up to this apartment.
My dream of a sinkhole forming beneath the place and sucking the entire building into its deep, dark gaping maw hadn’t come true.
The plan was to begin renting it to tenants—and they didn’t even have to be Fen-men or caretakers or maids or whatever—beginning in the fall. Money from various sources—my dad being one of them according to Tom (Tom had been acting as liaison between me and dear old Dad, a thing for which I was very grateful)—was making this happen. Money from these same sources had also smoothed things over so lawsuits didn’t happen. The legal stuff concerning the vandalism was still ongoing because that was more complicated. But I tried not to think about it, unless it was something that was happening in the moment—like a deposition or a visit to the police station—because it was one of those things I hated and I didn’t want hate to ruin my life.
Mike poked his head out the door when we got to the top step. “Z’up, dudes.” He stepped onto the landing and raised his fist for Dave to bump.
Dave bumped him, smiling big. “Z’up, Mike.”
Mike grinned. “Shaping up in here, man.”
“Cool,” Dave said.
The nasty nerve stew was gurgling big-time in my belly so I didn’t add anything to their greeting. We followed Mike through the door. I blinked. Dave dropped my hand, ran to the center of the room. He joined the crowd standing there and hollered, “Surprise!”
“Um, wow…” This was unexpected.
Earp and Mike and Hoke and Tyler and a couple of other guys were standing in the center of the big room, looking grungy and sweaty in dirty tees and jeans. Tom and Lauren were standing next to them in snappy suits; Lauren held a big box elegantly wrapped in silvery-blue paper. They were all grinning.
“Welcome to the apartment-cooling party!” Dave crowed. He ran toward me, taking my hand again. “Get it?” he asked, leading me to a card table that had been set up next to the range. “We’re gonna help you say adios to this place so you have good memories. It’s like the opposite of a housewarming thing.”
There were cupcakes on the table. From Dave’s favorite bakery. They were decorated like Goombas, but I only looked at them for a second. My gaze flicked around the room. The floors were shiny-pristine. The ceiling was perfect white. The walls were a fresh, pale gray.
Tears poked at the backs of my eyes. The ugly words were gone. The disgusting, broken stuff on the floor had been swept away. The windows were wide open and Mr. Prickles sat proudly in a new pot on one of the freshly painted sills.
“Do you like it?” Dave asked. “Or was it a bad idea? We weren’t sure.” He pressed his lips together and looked at Wyatt. I looked at Wyatt too. He was in one of my fave Earp poses—hands on hips, stance wide, eyes steady-Eddie and ultra-focused.
All the grins had become tentative. I swiped at my cheek. “It looks good,” I rasped.
“Yay!” Dave cheered. “Let’s have cupcakes!”
I laughed. “Okay.”
Everyone started talking at once and I was glad. Their voices bounced around the big room and filled in all the empty corners. As Dave dug into a cupcake, Wyatt approached and took over handholding duty.
“So where does this fall on the okay relativity scale?” Earp asked.
My smile went lopsided. I’d explained my dorkified theory of “okay relativity” to him a few days ago after a particularly vigorous hot boinking session in the back of his truck. My head had bonked against one of the tire bump thingies and he’d asked if I was okay. Since he’d just rocked my world (literally) with like the most amazing climax ever, I’d breathlessly explained that, yeah, I was okay in a universal, all-encompassing, spectacular way. And later, after he’d come down from his own universally, all-encompassingly, spectacularly okay orgasm I’d stretched out on top of him—he was way more cushy than the truck bed—and explained my theory of okay relativity.
“Um…fairly okay,” I answered. “Considering the setting and the moment.”
His lips twitched. I knew he wanted to kiss me, but, yeah, even though Lauren and Tom were standing at the window chatting and the guys were putting away paint supplies and Dave and Mike were discussing the finer points of butter cream versus marshmallow fluff frosting, kissing probably wasn’t a good idea. Lately kisses between me and the sheriff got intense superfast.
I bumped his hip with mine and squeezed his hand. “Thanks,” I murmured. “You’re a good sheriff. Vanquishing bad shit left and right.”
He laughed. “I had an excellent posse behind me on this one. And mostly it was Dave’s idea. We knew we couldn’t erase all the memories, but we thought we could at least try to give you a better final memory of the place. You’d worked so hard to make it great. We thought you deserved to see it great again.”
I looked over at the kid. He had a big smear of chocolate frosting on his shoulder. Who needed napkins? “Best hero ever.”
“But I’m the guy you’re gonna ride into the sunset with, right?”
“As long as we ride in your truck.”
“You got it. And right now it’s loaded up with some good stuff.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, come look.”
He led me to the window on the north side of the apartment. We looked down into the parking lot. “Couch-thing!” I crowed.
“You’re the only one who likes that thing. Figure you should have it.”
I turned to see Tom standing behind me. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll take good care of it.”
“You’ll probably have to break it down into pieces to get up the stairs in that new place of yours.”
“Probably,” I agreed. He had a grumpified look on his face. He wasn’t “one hundred percent behind” the idea of me moving to a “dilapidated hovel that needed way too much reno”. And he also wasn’t all the way behind the idea that I’d formally dropped out of Ellery without a bullet-pointed plan for my future other than to keep working at the diner. I was hoping the apartment rehabbing gig might turn into something bigger, but I hadn’t told Tom about that yet. I was easing him into things—getting him accustomed to the new Ready-steady Ray by “demonstrating responsible behavior”. Ha.
Lauren joined us and I was grateful because her presence de-grumpified Tom’s face fast. “Ray,” she said, smiling fabulously. “I know this is an ‘apartment-cooling’ party…” She laughed breathily and I could tell she didn’t solidly approve of the concept. I understood because I’d talked to her a few times—at her insistence—about what had happened. She’d gone through some bad shit a few years ago and wanted to make sure I was thinking about counseling and to let me know I could talk to her if I had any PTSD-type trauma. She was nice. Not patronizing or preachy. She was very serious about this issue and the guys’ irreverent approach to leaving behind crappy memories probably didn’t jibe completely with her ideas about moving on. But she was here and her eyes were kind. That was good.
She offered me the box. “This is more of a housewarming gift. For your new place. Tom told me you like cooking gadgets.”
I looked at Tom, surprised. He shrugged. “I pay attention more than you think.”
“Cool,” I said, smiling at Lauren. “Thanks.”
“Tom and Dave said you liked retro…”
“I do,” I said. Her expression was hopeful. I could tell she wanted me to open the box right away. I was up for it, so I sat down on the shiny floor and ripped open the box with kid-like enthusiasm. I liked presents. The stuff inside the box was perfect. A set of at least a half dozen utensils with big handles—pale cream with a funky mushroom motif in green and red and orange.
“They’re awesome,” I said. “I can’t wait to use them. You’ll have to come over for dinner when I get things set up.”
“That would be great.” She and Tom beamed down at me, proud and pleased in their spiffy suits. I laughed because it was kinda funny, but not altogether bizarre, to think about them coming to dinner in my tiny new apartment.
“Speaking of getting things set up,” Wyatt said, “we should drop off the load in the truck at your new place pretty soon. You have to work tonight, right?”
“Yeah.” I was excited for many reasons about moving couch-thing into the new place. I’d have an apartment and a bed. This fabulousness meant that I could talk Earp into spending the night with me. An entire night, just me and the sheriff. No frat, no stepdad, no little brother to put the kibosh on any raucousness. “Let’s get moving,” I said, holding out my hand so he could pull me up.
“You guys need help?” Tyler offered, talking around a blob of chocolate cupcake.
“No,” Wyatt said, tugging me to my feet, balancing me with his big hands. “Ray and I got this.”
Tom was right about couch-thing. We had to take it apart to get it up the narrow stairway. The stairs were creaky but they were sturdy and we only bonked the plaster in a couple of places. It was okay because I was a handydude of sorts now and I actually owned stuff like spackle and paint brushes.
We decided to save assembling couch-thing’s frame for another time. We were sweaty and dirty and all we wanted to do was flop down on the chunk of foam we’d wrestled to the floor. Flopping down on it and rolling around for a while would prove our dominance over the unwieldy, surprisingly unsquishy opponent.
Also, it gave us a good surface for making out.
Earp had my wrists pinned above my head. He licked my neck, tracing the tendon between my ear and shoulder with the tip of his tickly tongue. When I squirmed and giggled, he thrust his hips mightily against mine, holding me still for more tongue-torture.
“You smell good,” he murmured after pausing to press his nose against my temple.
I laughed. “No, I don’t.”
“You do,” he disagreed. He bit my earlobe and then soothed the nip with his tongue. “Taste good too.”
“Nope,” I said, tilting my chin, giving him a hint that I wanted a kiss on the lips. Or maybe the throat. Either one would be good. I got both.
“Why you always gotta be contrary, Ray-ry?”
I giggled. “Ray-ry?”
“Yeah.” He bussed my lips. “Rhymes with contrary.”
“I like rhymes.”
“I know.”
“Hard to think of things that rhyme with Wyatt. Or sheriff. Or Earp.”
“Burp rhymes with Earp. So does slurp…”
I giggled harder. “Okay. You asked for it Earp-burp-slurp.”
He laughed. We were both breathing hard and fast now. I wanted him so much. All the time. Forever. I freed my hands and attached my fingers to the bottom edge of his T-shirt. I tugged, but our torsos were still smashed together so I only managed to get the shirt up over his back. “Help me get this off,” I murmured against his lips.
His tongue dove behind my lower lip before riding the bumps of my teeth. We performed the tongue tango for a few moments before he said, “Can’t help. M’busy. Kissin’ you.”
“The kissing can continue.” I paused for another kiss. “In more ways and on more parts after we take off our clothes.”
He pulled back and smiled down at me. “How’d you get so smart?”
“I’m smarter about some things than others. Getting naked with you falls in the smart column.”
We sat up and took off each other’s T-shirts. We rested on our knees for a few moments, looking at each other. Wyatt’s chest was sheened with sweat in a few places—the upper curve of his left pectoral, the shallow groove between his abdominals. I licked my lips.
He cupped the side of my neck with his big palm, riding the line of my jaw with his thumb. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he said.
This made me smile. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Thanks, Ray-ry.”
“So Earp-slurp.” I draped my hand over his forearm, feeling the flex of muscle, the warmth and flow of life. “Are you gonna move in here with me?”
He fixed his gaze on his thumb, watching how it moved along with my lips.
“It’s nice, right?” I coaxed. “It’s got a bed and everything.”
“It is nice.” He smiled. “And it’s got you.”
“Yeah.”
“I could be here mostly full-time this summer, but you know I can’t officially move in during the school year. I’m still living at the house because I’m still gonna be treasurer.”
We’d had several conversations about whether he should quit the house. Even a couple about whether he should quit Ellery. But even though nasty, disillusioning stuff had happened, none of that changed Wyatt’s wish. He wanted to change big, impossibly entrenched ideas by working on them in cahoots with the guys who’d created them. The more he talked it out, the more he realized that the last few weeks had reinforced his ideas.
He was practical, my Earp. He knew he couldn’t change everything. But when I reminded him that in the course of a single month, he’d changed the policy on renting the carriage house and all the house rules about playing billiards, croquet, foosball and cards with girls, his eyes got some of their spark back. When I saw that spark I knew he needed to finish out his time here carrying out his plan. Or least continuing to try. I’d learned that trying was important. And that small steps still counted as steps.
“I know,” I told him. “But you can still be Fenton treasurer and spend time here being my most excellent Earp. It’s possible to be two things at once—even two things that seem really different.”
He leaned in for a kiss. Our skin pressed together and didn’t seem to want to come apart so we went with it, wrapping our arms around each other, holding on tight, giving each other crazy-good kisses. When we paused for breath, he said, “No matter how many things I do—no matter where or what or when I do ’em—I’ll always wanna be your most excellent Earp.”
“Okay.”
We kissed some more and then he said, “Hey, Ray.”
I said, “What?”
“Wanna take a shower with me?”
“Sure.”
He laughed. I wasn’t sure why. Probably just because of general happiness. That’s why I was laughing along with him, anyway.
“Hey, Ray,” he said again.
“What?”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.” I laughed again because now I understood that love could keep getting bigger and bigger and bigger until your heart filled and made your whole life floaty. And that might be cliché or dramatic or a whole bunch of eye-roll-worthy sap, but c’mon. I was in love.