Just Don't Mention It by Estelle Maskame
“So, Eden,” I hear Dave say, and I curiously glance up from my plate to listen in. I look across the table at Eden, and she must have already been staring at me because she instantly drops her gaze down to her food and grabs her cutlery, clattering it against her plate. “You’re being so quiet tonight. What are you thinking about?” Dave asks teasingly, and for once, he’s actually being okay. For the first time, I almost see him smile at her.
“I was—um—I was just—I—uhhh,” Eden babbles, and I suspiciously raise an eyebrow at her. What is up with her? She scoops up a tiny forkful of food and bites into it, but she’s hardly eaten anything so far. She never really does.
“How’s the lasagna?” Mom asks. Her gaze travels around the table, studying each of us one by one, her smile content. I can tell that having us all eat dinner together means a lot to her. It’s something normal, something that real families do.
“It’s great, Mom,” I say, mirroring her warm expression. Even though we aren’t a real family, I like that she seems happy tonight, so I’m not going to ruin that. Besides, I’m happy today too. I’m taking Eden to the pier after this. “It tastes so great that . . .” I sit up and pull my plate toward me, forking up a huge mouthful of what’s left, and I shove it into my mouth. As I do so, I spill half the lasagna on the table, but I just laugh and wipe my mouth as I swallow. “It tastes so great that now I’m totally full.”
“You’re in a good mood tonight, Tyler,” Dave comments.
I fold my arms and rest them on the table as I look at him. Dave can be alright when he wants to be. I don’t hate the guy or anything. We have just never seemed to click, and it doesn’t help that I’m not searching for a new father figure, either. Little does he know, however, that I am in a good mood because of his daughter. My eyes flick over to meet Eden’s and it is so hard not to smirk at her. “I guess I am,” I say in reply to Dave. I can’t wait to hang out with her, so instead of dithering around at the table any longer, I clear my throat and get to my feet, carrying my plate over to the dishwasher. “I’m gonna head out,” I announce when I turn back around to the table. Jamie and Chase are still eating with their mouths open.
“Where?” Mom asks. She looks up at me as her smile falters. Instead, concern takes over her expression. “You’re grounded.”
“But I’m seeing Tiffani,” I lie. Even though I’m permanently grounded, Mom usually doesn’t mind me heading out if it’s to see my girlfriend. Even though she knows it’s meaningless, she still thinks maintaining relationships with people is good for me—much better than cutting myself off from the world completely—but she has no idea how toxic this one is. “Didn’t you say you’re hanging out with Meghan, Eden?” Immediately, I fire Eden a look, one that tells her to say yes. I’m pretty certain that out of the two of us, I am the better liar.
“Yeah,” Eden says. She is still sitting at the table and I catch her glancing at her dad.
“I can give you a ride there,” I tell her. I’m keeping my voice loud and clear to ensure that our parents hear us. They’ll think I’m with Tiffani and they’ll think Eden is with Meghan, and they will never know that, actually, we are going to be together. I suppose they wouldn’t bat an eyelid anyway. Maybe they would just think I’m being nice for once and showing my stepsister around town. As if. It’s way more than that.
“Thanks,” Eden says, and she is getting the hang of this now. She is trying to play along, but the goofy smile on her face would be enough to raise suspicion. Suddenly, she seems way too happy to receive a ride from me. However, I don’t think our parents are even paying attention, which is good, because I am smiling back at her.
“Ten minutes?”
“Ten minutes is fine,” she says.
“I’ll just meet you at the car,” I say, and like a complete douchebag, I wink at her. It’s lame, but I can’t help it. I leave the kitchen and head upstairs to my room, rubbing at the back of my neck as the nerves roll in. Are you really taking Eden on a date? No, I’m not. You can’t take your stepsister on a date. We’re just . . . hanging out.
But you also don’t kiss her, either.
I should have told Eden twenty minutes, because ten is nowhere near enough. I’m in my bathroom, freshening up and spraying more cologne than usual and playing with my hair for too long. I even throw some gel into it before I raid my closet. I pull on a blue flannel shirt on top of the white T-shirt I’m wearing, and then a red one, and then the blue again. I settle on the red, but I am fumbling around with the buttons on my shirt, deciding whether or not I am closing the shirt or leaving it open, and I end up just telling myself to chill the fuck out. I leave the shirt open, grab my wallet and my keys, then head downstairs again and make my way outside to my car. I’m so busy overthinking all of this that I forget to say goodbye to Mom.
I sit in the car for a few minutes while I wait for Eden, but with every second that passes, the more anxious I get. I know Eden and I shouldn’t be doing this. Tiffani would kill me if she knew I was blowing her off tonight to hang with another girl, and although I still don’t really know why exactly I’m doing this, I know that I’m not doing it to hurt her. I just need to know, I guess. I have kissed other girls before, but that’s all it ever was. With Eden . . . I don’t want to just forget about it and move on, but do I even want anything more than that?
As I slip on my sunglasses and look over at the house, I spot Dave peering outside from the living room window. The front door opens and Eden emerges, running across the lawn toward me, and I roll down the passenger window as she nears. I lean forward to look up at her as I joke, “I’d open the door for you, but I think your dad would have something to say about it.”
Eden casts a glance over her shoulder at the house. She spots Dave too, and she throws her hand up into the air and waves across the lawn at him. Quickly, he disappears from the window after having been caught, and Eden pulls open the car door and joins me inside. “Yeah. I think he’d wonder where your new manners suddenly came from,” she says with a grin.
“Hey!” Defensively, I throw my hands up while she rolls up the window and pulls on her seatbelt. She angles her body to face me, and when her eyes meet mine, all of my nerves disappear entirely. “I’ll have you know I’m a true gentleman.”
She arches a brow at me. “Really?”
“Really,” I say. I look away from her as I switch on the engine and turn up the AC, then I pull down my sun visor and take off my shades so that I can see her without the sepia filter. My gaze shifts back to hers and I crack a smile. “Alright, I’m not,” I admit. I’m a jerk most of the time. Never a gentleman. “I’ve just heard that that’s what you’re supposed to do. Always get out of the car and open the door. Right?”
“Something like that,” she says quietly, but she is looking at my mouth.
And I would kiss her right there if I could, but I have to refrain myself. I shake my head and turn my attention to the road, slamming my foot to the floor out of habit and feeling the growl of my engine as we head off. It’s a nice drive down to the beach, mostly because it’s a perfectly average summer evening here in Santa Monica, with the sky becoming a golden haze as the evening sets in. I roll down the windows, letting the breeze hit our faces, and I even turn up the radio. Usually, I hate mainstream pop, but tonight, I nod my head in sync with the music.
“Why did you lie to your mom?” Eden asks. “Why didn’t you just say we’re going to the pier?”
Oh, she’s so innocent. “C’mon, Eden, keep up,” I say with a laugh. “We don’t want them to get suspicious.”
She chews at her lower lip, not quite smiling at me anymore. “What about Tiffani?”
“I’ve got it covered,” I reassure her, though I have to look away again, staring ahead at the traffic waiting to enter the pier. “She thinks I’m hanging out with the guys.” My tone is such a monotone as I say this, but I just can’t think about Tiffani right now. Not when she’s blackmailing me, not when I’m going behind her back. I swallow
The pier is packed, but it always is, so once we are finally parked up and heading down the boardwalk, we have to weave our way around the crowds. Eden sticks close by my side and her arm brushes against mine, and for a second, I almost slip my hand into hers like I would do if it were Tiffani by my side instead. It’s a habit, and tonight I make sure to break it. I cannot slip up and touch her tonight, at least not while we’re down here on the pier, so open and so public, practically begging to bump into someone I know.
“Alright,” I say, clearing my throat. I raise my voice and pull off the most official tone I can as I nod down to the amusement park. “So this is Pacific Park. And I am going to show you Pacific Park, because I used to love this place when I was a kid and I want to be the one to introduce you to it.” I still can’t believe she hasn’t come down here yet. Our pier is world famous and most definitely the city’s best feature.
Eden doesn’t say anything at first, only tilts her head up at me and smiles warmly as we walk, almost like she is waiting for me to say something more. After a minute, she asks, “Why is the rollercoaster yellow?”
I look down at her. She is several inches shorter than me, and as we walk side by side, she is eye-level with my shoulder. I shrug at her. “Honestly? No idea.”
She asks me more questions that I don’t know the answers to. Silly questions, like whether or not the food from the food trucks is garbage, and why all the benches are positioned the way they are. I wonder if she’s spluttering out random, pointless questions because she’s nervous.
“This guy right here used to scare the shit out of me,” I tell her as we reach the amusement park entrance. I point up to the Pacific Park’s sign and the giant, freakish purple octopus that wraps around it. I don’t know why, but I hate the damn thing. “It still kind of does,” I admit, and I shove my hands into my pockets as we head on inside.
“Ahhh,” Eden says with a teasing edge to her voice. “Not so badass anymore, are you?”
“Well,” I say, “would a badass tell you that he’s in love with cotton candy?” I grab my wallet and lead her over to the nearest food stall which is selling a wide array of amusement park favorites including, of course, cotton candy. When I was younger, way back when things with Dad were good, he would take my brothers and me down to the pier every once in a while and he’d buy us cotton candy once we got bored of messing around in the arcade. It’s one of the few memories I actually like, so it doesn’t bring my mood down as I buy Eden and me some.
“Are you sure you used to love this place?” she asks me as I pass her the stick of cotton candy. Her hazel eyes are sparkling as she watches my expression, and I realize that maybe I am smiling too wide. Even though Pacific Park is for kids, I do still like it. I’ll never admit to it, though.
“We need to go on the coaster,” I say as I shove a wad of cotton candy into my mouth, changing the subject. It melts on my tongue, and I set off again, searching for someplace to sit down while Eden follows close behind me.
I love the sound of the rollercoaster clattering around its track above us, the ocean breeze that whistles around us, the laughter that fills the air. There’s something so . . . happy about the pier. The street performers over on the boardwalk. The sun setting behind the mountains. It’s real nice just sitting here on a bench in the middle of it all, eating cotton candy with Eden right next to me. We’re quiet as we eat, and I realize that although we are relaxed and playful, there is also a more serious matter at hand.
“Eden,” I say quietly, angling my jaw toward her. She places the final piece of cotton candy on her tongue, and she stares back at me, her expression calm. I frown. “I wouldn’t mention this to anyone. It’s just easier if we, um . . . keep this whole thing a secret for now. God, please say you’re good at keeping secrets.”
Her expression changes slightly, like she is realizing too that what we’re doing here isn’t exactly right, and in more ways than one. “I am,” she says after a moment of silence. She offers me a small smile. “And I know that you’re good at keeping secrets, because you clearly have a lot of them.”
Oh, she does know me so well. I do have many secrets, and no matter how desperately she tries to crack them, most of them will remain that way. All I can do is smirk back at her, daring her to even attempt to figure me out, and I toss the remainder of my cotton candy into my mouth then get to my feet. “It’s time for these guys,” I tell her, then point out the rides around us.
And so we set off again, working our way around the park over the course of the evening, getting tokens for rides and standing in line and murmuring our thoughts at one another. At one point or another, I just stop caring entirely about the crowds around us and I focus solely on Eden at every moment. We are carefree and laughing, and it seriously feels good just to chill out for once and be myself. I don’t want the night to end, but eventually, we leave the park and make our way along the boardwalk toward the parking lot. I love the pier at night when it’s dark. Everything is lit up and you can hear the soft roll of the waves below.
When we get back to my car, there are a couple people snapping pictures of it, but when they see us approaching, they quickly walk away. I roll my eyes and unlock the car, and both Eden and I slide inside. I’m used to the attention. It’s why I bought the damn thing in the first place. The guy with the nice car has his life figured out.
“It happens all the time,” I tell Eden as I run my finger around the Audi badge on my steering wheel, frowning. The guy with the nice car is happy. “I don’t know why. It’s LA. There’s, like, Lambos and shit on every corner in Beverly Hills.”
“How did you even get this car?” she asks, narrowing her eyes curiously at me, and it’s a fair question. People ask me it all the time, and usually, I just shrug and tell them the truth. Or at least half of it.
“Because I got my trust fund early,” I finally say. I’m still staring at my steering wheel, slumped back in my seat and running my hands around its edge. “And when you suddenly have all this money, you’re not really going to be rational about it, are you? I’m a teenager, of course I’m gonna go out and blow it all on a supercar.” And it was a stupid idea.
“Why’d you get it early?”
“Because apparently money can make you feel better,” I mutter without thinking, and I immediately freeze. I shouldn’t be talking about this to anyone, but . . . she asked. And maybe, for once, I should be a little more honest. Bottling everything up hasn’t done many favors for me, and Eden at least seems genuinely interested, like she actually cares. “It’s a big trust fund,” I say after a minute. “I mean, my mom’s an attorney and my dad . . . My dad had his own company. Structural engineering. All up and down the West Coast.” I swallow the lump in my throat as I look sideways at her. I feel sick just talking about it, but I need to at least try the honest route. Mom always says talking about it would help, but I’ve never believed her.
“What was it called?”
“Grayson’s,” I say slowly, my tone hardening. Hearing that name . . . our name . . . It breaks me. It brings back too many memories of him, of the family that we used to be. “Because we were the Graysons.”
Eden must sense that I’m uncomfortable, because she angles her body to face me as she pulls her legs up onto the seat and crosses them. Her gaze never leaves mine and she offers me a few moments of silence before she asks, “Before the divorce?”
“Before the divorce,” I repeat. Before everything went wrong. I look away from her again, out to the thinning crowd of people mulling around the parking lot, and I slide further down in my seat and pull at my hair. It’s a habit I have learned from Dad. “I used to be Tyler Grayson. Mom didn’t want us to keep his name.”
Eden goes quiet. I don’t think she knows what to say, but I don’t need her to say anything at all. Just being able to talk about these things while knowing that someone is listening is enough. I can’t tell her anything more, though. At least not now. I don’t do this w
Eden is staring at me intensely, her gaze on my mouth. Silence surrounds us. Slowly, I sit up and lean toward her, moving my hand to her knee. I have been dying to touch her again all night, and now I am staring at her mouth too, and I can’t help but lick my lips. My eyes drift back to hers, and I dare myself to murmur, “Can I kiss you again?”
Suddenly, Eden gets up and climbs across the center console, swinging her body on top of mine. She straddles my lap, pressed between my body and my steering wheel, and she looks down at me with those wide, glistening hazel eyes of hers, and her plump lips are innocently parted. Her hands are pressed to my chest, and I don’t know where all of this confidence has come from, but it is the most attractive thing in the world.
I move my hands to her face, cupping her cheeks and winding my fingers into her hair as I press my lips to hers. Every time, it feels even more amazing than the last, and I just can’t get enough of her. I kiss her fast again, as best I can, showing her absolutely everything that I’ve got. My hands are in her hair, around her back, over her waist. After a minute, I tear my lips away from her mouth and tilt her chin up, moving her hair to one side as I move to her neck instead. I leave a path of kisses across her skin, breathing her in.
She is pressing her body into mine and running her hands through my hair, and then suddenly she reaches for my jaw and lifts my head back up as she leans in closer, her mouth hovering by my ear. Her breath is hot against my skin as she whispers, “You don’t even need to ask.”
43
FIVE YEARS EARLIER
Dad and me are wearing matching personalized 49ers’ jerseys that say Grayson on the back. He got them for us as a surprise, presenting me with them right before the game, and now we are sporting them proudly at the stadium. The game is well underway, and the 49ers have the lead, with the Chargers trailing behind. It’s my first ever football game and the atmosphere is amazing. The crowd is chanting, the stadium is rumbling. There are thousands upon thousands of people here, all packed in and cheering, and I’m on my feet with Dean by my side, both of us peering down at the field. Hugh takes him to games all the time. I wish my dad did the same.