Dirty Rowdy Thing

I WAKE UP TUESDAY and immediately know I’ve gotten my period, which of course brings a huge wave of relief . . . which of course makes me pissed-off all over again that Finn just hopped in his truck and drove north, leaving the mess between us behind.

One of the things I appreciated most about Finn was the plain assumption he seemed to always have that he sees things through with work, friends, and family. Apparently, that didn’t apply to the fight he had with the girl he’d married for twelve hours, loved for a day, and potentially knocked up.

But remembering that makes it clear why I appreciated that about him: because it’s the way I was raised, too. Take care of your own. Don’t leave loose strings. Clean up your messes. And, as my father has told me countless times, “Worrying is not preparation.”

So I drive to my parents’ house at the break of dawn to check in, reconnect, or, as Dad would probably say, be a meddling worrywart.

Dad is already up, eating cereal and staring out the window in his typical pre-coffee zombie zone, so I jog upstairs and crawl into bed with Mom. I don’t want to get so wrapped up in my own internal drama that I forget what she’s going through and that, at the end of the day every day, she’s still a mom who needs cuddles.

She hasn’t lost her hair yet, but I already mourn it. I inherited my father’s olive skin, but my mother’s auburn hair, and hers spills out over her pillowcase, just as long and full as it was when I was little. Mom’s trademark during the peak of her career was her hair. Once she even did a shampoo commercial, which Bellamy and I love to give her endless shit about because there was a lot of shine and hair flipping.

“Morning, Tulip,” she sleepy-mumbles.

“Morning, Pantene.”

She giggles, rolling to press her face into her pillow. “You’re never going to let me live that down.”

“Nope.”

“That commercial paid for the—”

“The camera that Dad used to film Caged,” I finish for her. “Which got him lined up at Universal for Willow Rush, for which he won his first Oscar. I know. I’m just being a menace.”

But there’s the rub. Mom’s work paid for Dad’s work, which moved our family forward, and nowhere in there did pride come into play, even though Dad is one of the most prideful men I’ve ever known. Mom came from a rich family in Pasadena. Dad came from a poor single-mother household in Spain. He never cared that his career took off because of the money and connections Madeline Vega made first. Once he’d convinced the love of his life to marry him, only three things mattered to my dad: that my mother took his name, that he could make her happy, and that they both got to do what they loved for a living.

“Why are boys so stupid?” I ask.

She laughs. “I’ve literally never heard you sound upset over a guy. I was worried.”

“Worried I was into girls?”

“No,” she says, laughing harder now. “That would have been fine. I was worried you were a cold-blooded man-eater.”

“Dad’s a tough act to follow,” I explain, pressing my face into her hair. Beneath the scent of her shampoo and face cream, she smells the slightest bit different—not bad, but . . . different—a result of the chemo and all the other things they’re currently doing to her body. It’s not like I go even an hour without thinking about it, but it hits me in this moment like a physical blow, this reminder that my mom is sick and my world is different than it was just two months ago. It makes me miss Finn and the strength he provided so acutely, that for a flash, I can’t breathe. “It was hard to take anyone seriously before now.”

“Before Finn, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

She rolls to face me. “What happened?”

I tell her—vaguely—about the hooking up, about my need for distraction, about how he was too distracting. I tell her about the real feelings, the I love you’s. She already knows about the potential deal with Salvatore, but apparently she doesn’t know how it unfolded.

“Sweetie,” she says, putting her warm hand on my cheek. “Your heart is always in the right place. But a partnership always starts at the beginning. I did the commercial to help Dad, but we decided that I would do that together.”

“I understand that Finn was upset that I didn’t loop him in,” I say, “but I still don’t understand why he couldn’t have stepped back and realized it was a good thing, or at least had a discussion with me about it. It isn’t like there’s a contract with Sal that has been drafted. He’s just interested. Finn flew off the handle.”

“What do you think Dad would have done if I’d come home from the Pantene shoot and handed him a check, saying, ‘Go get your camera, babe’?”

I roll my face into the pillow and groan. “Dammit.”

“What are we ‘dammiting’?” Dad asks from the doorway, lifting his mug to his lips to sip his coffee.

“Your daughter is learning relationship rules,” Mom says.

He snorts. “Finally.”

“Are you two done giving me crap?” I ask, climbing out of bed in a half-feigned huff. “I am very busy and have important things to do.”

“You work today?” Dad calls to me as I stomp down the stairs. I can hear from his tone he doesn’t think I am.

I pause on the third step, shooting Dad a dirty look he can’t see. “No!” I yell back.

“Call Finn!” Dad shouts at me down the stairs. “I like him!”

THE PROBLEM IS, I don’t want to call Finn. I want to drive to Canada, kick him in the nuts, and then drive home. He’s acting like a giant baby, and leaving town the way he did showed his ass. I’m tempted to mail him a care package with a plastic halibut, a copy of Salvatore’s latest film on DVD, and a box of tampons.

I officially leave my internship at NBC, and I swear no one will even notice I’m gone, or if they do, the narrative will be Hollywood Child Can’t Hack Being Coffee Girl. Salvatore sets up an office for me in his Del Mar building, and when I promise him I’ll be the best coffee girl he’s ever had, he laughs and tells me that’s great, but I’ll probably be up at the Los Angeles offices with him at least three days a week so someone else can handle coffee duty.

This news is dropped like a bomb full of glitter and puppies in my lap: Not only has he given me a job, but he’s made me his primary assistant. I went from NBC coffee-pourer to the right-hand woman of one of Hollywood’s biggest producers. My dad doesn’t even blink when I tell him the news.

“Knew it was just a matter of time,” he tells me instead, and gives me that smile that makes me feel like I’m the brightest, most beautiful star in the entire sky.

But even with this big change on the horizon and a week full of phone calls and contracts and picking out office furniture . . . a whole week without Finn around is weird. I almost call him about a thousand times, just to tell him what I did all day, or share my excitement with him about the job with Sal.

But as soon as I pull my phone from my purse and notice the complete lack of texts, calls, or emails from him, I manage to fight the urge to let him back in.

Salvatore mentions him at lunch, just over a week after Finn split town. “Your boyfriend is quite—”

I point my fork at him. “Finn is not my boyfriend.”

Sal holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, your friend, Finn—is that better?—is a class act. He worried the damage on his boat might cost more than the value of using it for the set and said he was unable to work with us at this time, but he did suggest some great options up in the area and agreed to be our primary consultant for Release Horizon.”

“Oh?” I can’t tell if the maniacal drumming of my heart means I’m elated that Finn will be involved in some way and has taken the professional initiative to call Salvatore, or if I’m terrified that I am going to completely lose my shit when I inevitably see him at some point.

“We’ll head up there next week to check out some boats.” Salvatore looks up when my fork clangs loudly on my plate.

“Next week? But filming doesn’t start until April.”

“You work for me now, Tulip,” Salvatore reminds me, using my family’s pet name for me to take the edge off his gentle chastisement. “I need you up there. Is coming along to Canada a problem for you?”

“Obviously what’s going on with me and Finn has nothing to do with any of this. Sorry, Sal. I just had a moment. I’m fine.”

He pushes his chin out, doing his best Godfather. “You want I should break his face?”

“No, I’d be devastated if you took the opportunity from me.”

I take a bite of sandwich, chew, and swallow. I leave out the part where I actually like Finn’s face.

“God, I hope you’re not making a mistake bringing me on for all this,” I say. “I know the business, but are you sure you wouldn’t like someone with more—”

“I’ve got enough experience for the both of us,” he says, shrugging as he spears a green bean. “You know how these things work, and I get to train you to be exactly what I need you to be. I like your backbone and I’ll get you up to speed. It’s hard to find people with your combination of loyal, smart, and ballsy.”

I take a second to stare adoringly at Sal. “I love you, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He takes a sip of his iced tea. “So what happened with Finn?”

Sighing, I drop my napkin on the table. “I didn’t exactly tell him I was talking to you about using his boats to film a huge multimillion-dollar Hollywood production. He was angry. Blah blah.”

His eyes lift back to me, half amused, half incredulous. “You’re kidding.”

“Before you say anything else, please note that I’ve heard from everyone that I’m wrong here. I feel like an idiot, actually.”

His face relaxes and he gives a little shrug before taking a bite of his salad.

“And then he just left,” I tell him. “That’s why I’m angry. It felt . . .”

He swallows, and then finishes the sentence for me: “Shitty?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you can tell him all about how you feel next week. We’re taking him out to lunch.” Sal meets my eyes and bats his lashes innocently.

Fuck.

“SERIOUSLY, ANSEL,” I say, slipping into the booth at Great Maple for Saturday breakfast with the crew. “How much are you paying to fly here practically every week?”

“A lot,” he admits with a laugh and his obscene dimple poking into his cheek. “But actually I’m here this weekend because we are house hunting.”

“Uh, pardon?” I ask, leaning forward to stare at Mia.

“Say what?” Lola adds.

“The lawsuit from hell settled this week!” Mia squeals, and she’s beaming so enormously I could count every single one of her teeth. “Ansel is officially free to look for jobs here and he already has an interview at UCSD!”

“Holy crap, that’s amazing!” I jump out of the booth and make Oliver get up so I can tackle Mia on the other side. “I am so happy for you guys!”

Lola joins the girl pile and I hear Ansel say something about getting a video camera and maple syrup.

I climb off the tangle and smack Ansel’s arm before straightening my shirt. “I can’t believe it. It’s like we’re all going to be together!”

“Well. Almost,” Lola says, making a this-is-awkward face.

“Right. Except for Finn,” I say, and everyone kind of looks over at me like I’m made of glued-together eggshells and am rolling toward the edge of the table. I laugh, too loudly, sounding completely mental. The effect is to make it even more awkward. “Obviously I realize he’s not here anymore.” And then I add for no reason other than my mouth is still moving and no one else is coming to my rescue: “He left without saying goodbye.”

Lola snorts, petting my shoulder. “Shh, crazypants.”

I bite back a laugh. “That came out a little Glenn Close, didn’t it?”

“A little,” Ansel agrees, laughing.

“I went and saw him last weekend,” Oliver says, and I swear the sound of screeching brakes tears through my head.

“You saw Finn?”

“Yeah. I flew up to see what the hell was going on with him since no one here told me anything.” He gives me a pointed look, but then winks.

And see? This is what I mean by Oliver’s poker face. I’d never have known from his reaction nearly two weeks ago that he was so concerned over why Finn left that he would leave his new store in Not-Joe’s questionably capable hands and fly up to Canada just to check in.

I want to say something to show I’m not completely consumed with pain at the thought of someone else flying up and checking on Finn. And by the way they’re all looking at me, I can tell they expect me to make some quip and lighten the mood . . . but I can’t.

I’m done being mad. Trying to stay mad is exhausting, and I’ve never been good at it. I fucking miss Finn, I miss My Person, and I can feel my jealousy that Oliver got to see him for a weekend climbing in a hot flush up my neck.

“You okay over there?” Lola asks gently.

“Not really,” I admit. “I have to go up there next week to look at boats with Sal and we’re taking Finn to lunch to thank him for coming on as a consultant. I already know it will be awkward and hard to see him because he’s so good at being distant and professional. This whole thing is making me sad.”

God, I hate how honest I get when I’m feeling devastated. It’s like I’ve been trained under some Pavlovian trigger by my parents to talk it all out as soon as I have feelings too big to stuff into a sarcasm cannoli.

“If it helps,” Oliver says, “he looked just like you do now when I told him you stopped by the house, looking for him the day he split town.”

“Did you tell him the part about how I was mad, or the part about how I was sad?” I ask. “Because I want him to imagine me with a chain saw and ass-kicking boots.”

Oliver laughs, shaking his head and returning to his waffle.

“Did he tell you why he was mad?”

“A bit,” Oliver says around a bite.

“So it’s at least a little bit of an overreaction, right?” I can hear in my own voice that not even I am convinced.

Ansel pokes at his breakfast and asks, “Did he ever tell you why he dropped out of college?”

“Yeah, briefly. I mean we never really talked about it, but I know he left to start fishing with the family business.”

“Not exactly,” he says, putting down his fork. “He dropped out to run the family business.”

“Wait,” I say, holding up my hand. “In college he did? I thought he took over after Bike and Build?”

“No,” Oliver says. “When he was nineteen his dad had the heart attack and then a stroke a year later. Colton was sixteen. Levi was like eleven? There was literally no other choice for Finn but to take over.”

“His father is better now,” Ansel continues. “But there’s a lot he still can’t do, and Finn has basically run the entire thing since he was a kid. He took the summer off one year for Bike and Build when Colton was old enough to give Finn a break, and he came to Vegas, but other than that, this trip to San Diego was his only time away from the water.”

I nod, lifting my water glass with a shaky hand. I want to see him now, want to kiss him and help him and fix all of this.

“I actually like what you tried to do,” Ansel says. “When I talked to him a couple of nights ago he told me about it.”

“Did he use lots of four-letter words?”

“None, actually.”

I raise my eyebrows, impressed.

I look over at Oliver. “When you saw him this weekend, did he tell you what he’s going to do about the business?”

Oliver tilts his head, blinking. “Harlow.”

So he’s not going to tell me. Fine. I go for broke; I have no more pride: “Did he even mention me?”

Oliver shrugs. “Not much. But remember this is Finn we’re talking about here. He usually says the least about the things he’s thinking about the most.”

I laugh. Well played, Aussie.

OUR FLIGHT TO Victoria on Monday lands at four in the afternoon, and Sal and I ride to the Magnolia Hotel together in a cab, discussing the plans for the next two days: meetings, boat visits, and more meetings. The air here smells like ocean, but so different from home. It’s heavier, saltier somehow, and the winds feel more substantial, making me think of San Diego as a sweet, docile beach town. This place is on the edge of the ocean frontier.

I’m so nervous to be here, so close to Finn again that even in the October sun, I feel chilled. The last time I came here, I had nothing but the champagne bubbles of excitement, effervescent in my stomach and giving me a secret smile the entire trip. I barely noticed the wilderness, the space between houses, and how much water there is, everywhere.

This time, I notice everything. Even as we discuss work, and names I need to know and what kinds of notes Sal needs me to gather on this trip, I notice it all.

Finn lives here, I can’t stop thinking it. He lives here, in this otherworld, this alternate life surrounded by green and the sapphire-blue of the ocean. Fred’s bar and Starbucks and Downtown Graffick feel so far away from all of this. Finn must have felt like he was stepping into Tokyo when he came and stayed with Oliver. Into a video game.

I can’t even imagine how he felt about Vegas.

We check in, and as we wait for the elevator, Sal looks down at his phone and makes a little hm sound in the back of his throat.

“What?”

He smiles, handing me his iPhone open to Variety and I begin reading as we step into the elevator.

Adventure Channel Signs Roberts Brothers for “The Fisher Men”

The Adventure Channel has signed on for an unprecedented two full seasons of a new reality series following a family of four men—three single brothers and their ­father—as they navigate the fishing industry off Vancouver Island’s west coast.

The program, featuring Stephen, Finn, Colton, and Levi Roberts, will be an “exploration of family responsibility and the complex dynamics binding these men by love and the business they run together. The story of each son’s quest to both save the family business and build a life off the water in the often-brutal Pacific Northwest fishing industry is what drew the Adventure Channel to this show,” according to the co-executive producer, Matt Stevenson-John.

Along with Stevenson-John, Giles Manchego is on board to produce. The deal was finalized on Friday, according to an Adventure Channel spokesperson. “The Fisher Men” is slated to begin filming in the spring when the salmon season begins, with episodes premiering July 1.

“Wow.” I feel every particle of air evacuate my chest in a gust with that single word. Handing Sal back his phone, I say in a tight voice, “They signed on.”

“Looks like it.”

I’d told Sal there was a possibility, so he’s clearly not surprised by any of this, but I don’t know what to feel. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why I’m surprised, but seeing it like this—in the crisp digital font accompanied by one of the promo shots Finn hated so much—I’m unprepared for the way it hits me like a physical blow to the center of my chest.

I’m not entirely sure my legs will keep me upright and I lean against the wall of the elevator.

“You all right over there?”

“I just . . .” I close my eyes, take three deep breaths the way my father always told me to when I felt overwhelmed. Oliver and Ansel probably knew, and didn’t tell me. Finn didn’t call me. I feel so . . . insignificant. “I didn’t expect him to do this.”

But didn’t I? Didn’t I sense he was leaning this way, knowing it’s what his family wanted? If he didn’t take Sal’s offer, what else could he have done?

“It’s a great move, if you ask me,” Sal says, and I know him well enough to know that he’s choosing to act oblivious to my internal meltdown. “From what I hear, the AC is putting a huge amount of money into this one. Finn’s family will get up-front costs, of course. But a cut of the merchandise, too.”

I nod numbly. It is a good thing. It’s an amazing thing. I repeat this thought over and over.

We arrive at my floor and Sal tells me to meet him at eight the next morning in the hotel executive lounge. “I’m sure you’ll find something to do,” he says, as I step out and he remains in the elevator because he’s staying on the Fancy Ass People floor.

“We don’t have plans tonight?” To be honest, with this new information, I want nothing more than to be distracted by Sal’s sharp wit and endless industry stories.

“I’m having dinner with some friends,” he says, with a casual wave of his hand.

I only have time to realize that he planned this so I’d have a free night here and to get out the words “You jackass! Did you talk to my dad?” before Sal grins and the elevator doors slide closed.

“I’m not going to see Finn!” I yell at the sealed doors anyway, just as an older gentleman steps forward and presses the down call button. “I’m not,” I tell the stranger before glancing at my room key and stomping down the hall.

I PUT MY bag down and after a quick search on my phone leave almost immediately to find him.

The sun setting over the water is nearly too beautiful to describe, and I wish someone was here with me to agree that it’s unreal. The sky is fire orange at the horizon, fading to a deep blue-lavender with dappled clouds. The taxi drives me up along the coast from Victoria, past Port Renfrew toward Finn’s house in Bamfield, situated right on Barkley Sound.

My head is still spinning and I want to see him more than I want anything else at this moment. I ask the driver to leave me at the dock, knowing if there’s any light left that Finn is likely to be on his boat. But when I look out at the scores of boats tied to their slips, I realize finding him will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

I wander along the slips, looking for the Linda, looking for someone who looks like they might know where to find Finn Roberts, Adventure Channel star-to-be. But the pier is quiet, and only the creaking of ropes against their ties and the water lapping at the hulls of hundreds of boats surrounds me. The thought that some of these boats are sitting here because their owners can’t afford to take them out is sobering.

“You need some help?”

I turn, looking up into the sun-kissed face of Finn twenty years from now. I know his dad from the picture, but also because Finn looks exactly like his father: looming, broad-­shouldered, hazel eyes steady and unblinking.

“You must be Mr. Roberts.”

He shakes my hand, brows drawn in curiosity. “I am. And you are?”

“I’m Harlow Vega.”

Stephen Roberts’s face freezes, eyes going wide before he breaks into an elated smile. “Well, look at you.” And he does. He takes my hands, holds my arms to the side, and looks me up and down. “You sure are somethin’. He know you’re here?”

Shaking my head, I say, “He has no idea.”

“Oh, you bet I’m going to enjoy this one.”

Whether anyone else will enjoy this reunion? Remains to be seen.

He takes my arm and leads me down the dock, turning left to head down a long rickety pier. We reach the end, and stop in front of a boat with Linda painted across the stern.

“Hey, Finn,” his dad calls out. “Got somethin’ to show ya.”

A blond head appears around a corner and I immediately recognize Finn’s youngest brother, Levi. He’s as tall as Finn, but not nearly as broad, and has messy blond hair and a baby face that I’m sure the television producers will lose their mind over.

Levi stares at me for a beat before busting out laughing. “Oh, shit. Finn! Come down.”

Footsteps clomp on the stairs leading down from the top house and I see his tall rubber boots over waders, and then his torso covered only by a soaking wet white T-shirt that is marked with grease stains. He’s holding some type of gear in a greasy rag and his shirt is so wet I can see every single line of his chest. I can see his nipples. I can see the trail of hair that leads from his belly button down to his . . . good Lord.

Universe, you’ve got to be kidding me.

His face appears then, and my chest seems to cave in on itself. He has a grease smear across his chin, too, and his tanned face glistens with sweat. He sees me immediately, his face transitioning in a millisecond from relaxed curiosity to tight confusion. “Harlow?”

“Hey.”

He glances at his dad and then over at Levi before looking back at me. I swear when our eyes meet my heart is pounding so hard I’m tempted to look down and check to see whether it’s actually moving my shirt. He looks like he’s in pain, and I want to know: Is it me? Or did you actually hurt yourself fixing the boat?

“What are you doing here?” he asks, carefully putting the gear down on a broad railing. He uses the dirty rag to futilely wipe his hands clean.

“I’m working with Sal. I had a free night, and since you left without saying goodbye to me, I figured I would come do it for you.”

He closes his eyes, rubbing his forearm across his face as his dad lets out a low whistle, saying, “Didn’t tell me that bit, Finn.”

Finn’s eyes snap to his father. “Dad, come on.”

The eldest Mr. Roberts leans over, kisses my temple, and murmurs, “Keep at him, sweetheart.”

My hands are shaking, my pulse racing, and Finn walks along the deck to the narrow ladder leading to the dock. Turning, he climbs down and slowly approaches me as if I’m either going to vanish or punch him.

He seems even more massive in his heavy waders, his muscles bunched from hours of exertion. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I can imagine,” I say. “I didn’t expect you to leave so unexpectedly.”

“It wasn’t that unexpected, was it? You knew I was heading up soon.”

I wince, looking away, and he takes a step closer to me before stopping.

I want so much to reach forward and put my hands on his face and kiss him. I miss him, and despite how angry I am that he left the way he did, I love him. I feel awful for betraying him and talking to Salvatore alone.

“I heard about the show.”

He nods, pulling his cap off his head and scratching his scalp. “Yep.”

“You okay about it?” I ask. Because yeah, I’m still angry, and yeah, I still want to hit him with something that will leave his voice about two octaves higher but, fuck, I love him and I want him to be okay.

Shrugging, he murmurs, “I suppose. Everyone else felt pretty strongly in favor. Made the most sense.” He looks up at the boat and then back to me. “Had some news people out here earlier today.”

“That must have been wild.”

He lets a smile flicker across his lips. “Yeah.”

Seagulls call in the distance and the moment feels so eerily familiar though I know it’s never happened. I just feel calm here with him. I like seeing him like this: near his boat, filthy, probably hungry. I ache with how much I want to take care of him.

“Finn?” I start, and he looks up from where he’s wiping a spot off the back of his hand to meet my eyes.

“Hm?”

“I came here because the way you left town was really hard on me. I think I needed to tell you that.” Swallowing, I say, “But the main thing I had wanted to tell you is that I feel really horrible for what I did.”

His eyebrows slowly inch up but he doesn’t say anything.

“I should never have gone to Sal without talking to you first. I should never have offered your boat up to anyone. It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

Nodding slowly, he says, “Okay, then.”

I close my eyes, wincing at the sharp pain in my chest. He’s so closed off. He’s so finished with me.

“I just want you to know that I didn’t do that because I thought you needed my help. I did it because that’s what we do in my family when we love someone. It wasn’t about trying to save you, it was about trying to find a way to save us.”

He swallows thickly, his eyes dipping to my lips for a beat. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

I was hoping there would be more said. I was hoping he would give me more than this, more than a handful of words that leave me nowhere to go. He’s standing like a brick wall at a dead end, his posture telling me there’s no emotion to be found here.

As we stand in silence, he looks me over, from head to toe, and under his inspection I realize how my outfit must look to him: cream jeans, navy sweater, red scarf. I must look like a WASP portrait of Out for a Day on the Boat. And I know I’m right when his lips curl into a sharp smirk and he says, “You look so out of place here, Snap.”

Fire ignites in my belly and I suck in a breath, so wounded by his tone and his complete one-eighty and his ability to shut off his feelings like a switch. My problem? He was capital-I It for me. I don’t know where to go from here.

“I might have thought the same thing once about you, in my town,” I tell him, “but I never would have said it. I liked seeing you there too much. I liked the way you stood out.”

“Harlow—”

I wrap my arms around my middle, turning to leave. But then I stop, and look back at him. “Before I forget,” I say, “I’m not pregnant. Thanks for checking in.”