The Co-op

Chapter Thirty-Seven

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

L A RYNN

I wake up on Deacon’s birthday to an email from my mom.

From: Allison Lavigne Edwards

To: LaRynn Lavigne

LaRynn,

I am coming to California for three days over the last weekend in September and would very much like to see you. I will be staying at the Dream Inn so that it’s easy for us to get together.

Love,

Mom

I read it over and over again. Trying to pick up some kind of inflection somewhere. Trying to decide if she meant this as a soft request, or if it’s an irritated demand. I toggle the screen like more information might load before I read it again.

“Hey, you okay?”

I jump at the sound of Deacon’s voice at my side, spilling my coffee and dropping my phone in the movement. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright. Here, let me help you—”

“I got it, I got it.” I clamber for some paper towels and jerk down, my head smacking into his face with a thud.

He falls back on his ass and holds his hand against his eye. “Ow.”

I try to blink away the bright spots popping in my vision. “You okay? Sorry.” I rub at my forehead.

“I’m good. Are you ? Looked like you went somewhere for a minute.” He squints my way and helps me wipe up the spilled coffee.

Shit. His birthday. “Yeah, totally. Just needed the caffeine to hit, you know?” I try to brush it off. “Um. Happy birthday.”

He grins and stands, holding out a palm to help me up. “Thank you. Can’t wait for dessert.” He pulls me in for a hug that I think I hold on to for too long. My hair catches in his stubble when we part.

I wince when I step out of his arms. “It’s certainly… ready.” I made it last night and then fretted when I went to bed, trying to think of how I could make it less of an ugly dish. I think I’ll toss some fresh peach slices on top, or maybe some raspberries in powdered sugar to break up the gelatin layer.

Fuck. I can’t believe my mom is coming into town.

“You sure you’re good?” Deacon asks.

I remember a time when his ability to read me would’ve aggravated me. Now I’m just annoyed that anything else is taking away from a day to celebrate him.

“My mom emailed me today. She’s coming into town to stay next month,” I confess.

“Here?!”

“That was my reaction, too, but no. She says she’s staying at the Dream Inn.” I sigh.

“What’s with your parents and surprising you on my birthday, huh?” he asks. His tone is light and fun, but my shoulders immediately tense.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have brought that up,” Deacon says.

“No, stop. Stop. It’s—” I give his thick wrist a quick squeeze, before I drop it like a hot iron. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We can laugh about it now, right?”

He inspects my face for a moment. “Yeah, we can laugh about it now.”

Neither of us does, though.

And since the anxiety over the email won’t settle in me unless I address it, I sigh and hit reply.

Okay, Mom. I’d like to see you, too.

Love,

LaRynn

The dessert is fucking delicious.

I eat my words, along with a third helping, sitting at a picnic table with Jensen, Elyse, Sally, Deacon, and Macy (who insists that we sing “Happy Birthday” despite the fact that he’s twenty-eight).

“Make a wish,” she teases when she sets the only remaining sliver of pie in front of him with a lone candle.

He looks at me as he blows it out.

A little while later, he catches me in the hallway, looking at the pictures of him growing up.

“Now this, ” I say, “this one is my favorite.” I point out the frame that holds a tiny version of him, I’d guess maybe age four or five. He’s sporting a cast up to his elbow on each arm, glowering at the camera and holding a single green balloon in a bandaged hand. “How on earth did you manage to break both arms?” I chuckle.

He laughs through his nose. “They weren’t broken, actually. We lived on some property back then and had burn days once in a while. There’d been one the day before, and I was out playing with my brother. I, uh… I thought it was a pile of sand and reached my hands into it. Turns out it was ash, and was still very hot in the center.”

My stomach loops. “Oh my god, Deacon. That had to be awful. ”

“It’s okay. I don’t remember the pain at all anymore, and the scars are very rarely noticeable. Sometimes in summer when I’m tanner you can see the ones between my fingers, where the skin’s thinner.” He smiles softly. “This girl I once knew still told me my hands were the sexiest thing about me.”

This girl. I believe I followed this particular observation with aside from your dick. It was a sweet and sexy moment that we’d seemed happy in back then, and I’m glad he’s laughing about it now. But it just… doesn’t sound as nice, anymore. He does have the best hands, and yeah— that, as well… but he’s also got the best mind and spirit. He works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. He can look at anything and find a way to figure it out or tackle it with enough time. He can dance and isn’t one of those men who will stand off on the sidelines. He’s playful. He makes mundane things fun and indulges me in my silly games.

I feel like I’ve swallowed acid at the thought, the dessert going sour in my gut, and have to blink rapidly. “That why you got the tattoo there?” I ask. My voice sounds throttled.

“Honestly? Yeah, kinda.” He shrugs and laughs. “I almost got a different one in Vegas, first. Went there to celebrate when Jensen got accepted to med school. We were drunk and I was flipping through a book, about to pick something random when a guy wandered in and shamed me.”

“Shamed you?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Jensen swears he was someone famous but there’s no way. This guy was just as hammered, and he asked me, ‘Are you just picking something like an idiot?’ And when I shrugged he told me I’d regret it. That I better get something that would mean something to me. Made me give him my slot because he needed to have something worthwhile inked onto him. When I asked him what his was about, you know what he told me?”

“What?”

“He said it was for a girl. ” He shakes his head and rolls his lips.

“What a chump,” I snicker. “Did you see what he got?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. I think it was an umbrella or something. Like I said—he was hammered.” He chuckles. “Anyway. When I got home I started thinking about it more.” He gives it a wistful look. “The octopus is adaptable. Can look at circumstances and flex, stretch, find a creative or strategic way to make them better. Damned things can lose an arm and find a way to grow it back.

“Plus, I still am and will forever be fucking terrified of actually going in the ocean, so this is probably as close as I’ll ever get to one.” He holds up his hand.

“You ever wanna go in the ocean, I’ll go with you, Deacon,” I say. Though our mutual fear and respect for the ocean is one of the first things we found out we had in common when we spent that summer together. We’ve spent our most defining days near the water, and we both prefer to keep it that way—near and not in. Too many lurking mysteries in those waters.

“Would you punch a shark for me?” he asks.

“I’d bite a shark for you,” I say. I’m a little scared of how much I mean it.

He snorts. “Thank the grands you’re on my side these days, Larry.”

Always, my heart says.

He turns his hand over and continues to give it an appraising look, bandages on multiple fingers. He’s merciless on those hands. Sacrifices them for every single one of our tasks. Keeps on going no matter how many times he gets a metal splinter in one or hits another with a hammer.

“ And, it just looks cool,” I say.

He smiles. “And it just looks cool.”

We fall into a cloud of silence and I search for a path out. “So… you having a good birthday?” I wish I had thrown him a party. I didn’t even think about it until last night, but I could have asked Elyse if we could host something at the café, I could’ve asked Anya or Oscar to do music and we could have drawn a crowd. I did invite June today, too, but she’s succumbed to the summer cold that’s making the rounds. I also tried to see if his brother could make it into town, but it’s apparently a bad time in the season. Ramsey FaceTimed him this morning, and it sounded friendly, albeit lukewarm. I just know he deserves to be celebrated.

He blinks and his jaw works. “I’m having a great birthday, but… I did think of something else I want.”

My thoughts trip into something hopeful. “Yeah?”

“I want you to talk to Elyse.”

I exhale. “Deacon—”

“ Talk to her. You’re a dreamer and a fighter, LaRynn Cecelia. I know you can do it. Let yourself dream a bit and at least ask.”

A dreamer and a fighter. I want to be just that. He does make me feel that way, like I could dream and then fight for those dreams to come true. Like I could belong to whatever home and whatever life I want to make. I let his words bolster me, let him turn my shoulders and march me toward the back door. I can deliver on his birthday wish.