November 9: A Novel

We’re in my bathroom and I’m leaning against the counter as she dabs the wet washcloth against my eye, wiping away the blood.

I can’t believe Kyle hit me in front of her. I’m so pissed and I’m trying to relax, but it’s hard. Especially when she’s pressed against me in the bathroom like this, touching my face with her fingertips.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She reaches down for a Band-Aid and begins tearing it open.

“No.”

She presses the Band-Aid to my face and smooths it out. “Should I be worried?” She tosses the paper in the trash can and puts the washcloth in the sink.

I face the mirror and finger the swelling around my eye. “No, Fallon. You should never be worried when it comes to me. Or Kyle, for that matter.”

I still can’t believe he hit me. In all my life, he’s never hit me. He’s come very close a time or two. Either he’s really stressed about his wedding or I’ve really pissed him off this time.

“Can we get out of here?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I guess. Where do you want to go?”

“Wherever you are.”

Just seeing her smile releases so much of my tension. “I have an idea,” she says.

• • •

“Are you cold?”

It’s the third time I’ve asked her and she keeps saying no, but she’s shivering. I pull her against me and wrap the blanket more securely around us.

She wanted to come to the beach, despite the fact that it’s almost dark and November. We got takeout from Chipotle, of course, and she set up a makeshift picnic with blankets we took from my house. We finished eating about half an hour ago and we’ve just been making small talk, getting to know more about each other. But with the heaviness of what happened back at the house, all of the questions so far have been safe. But neither of us has asked the other a question in at least two minutes, so we may be all out of small talk. Or maybe the silence is a question in itself.

I’m holding her hand under the blanket and we’re both just staring at the waves as they crash against the rocks. After a while, she lays her head on my shoulder.

“I haven’t been to the beach since I was sixteen,” she says.

“Are you scared of the ocean?”

She lifts her head off my shoulder and pulls her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “I used to come all the time. Whenever I had a day off, this is where I’d be. But then the fire happened and it took a long time to recover. I was in and out of the hospital and physical therapy. The sun isn’t good for skin when it’s trying to heal, so I just . . . never came back. Even after it was okay to be in direct sunlight again, I no longer had the confidence to show up to a place where everyone revealed the most amount of skin they could get away with.”

Once again, I’m at a loss for what to say to her. I hate knowing the fire took away so much of her confidence, but I think I’m still clueless when it comes to how much it actually took away from her life.

“It feels good to be back,” she whispers.

I squeeze her hand, because I’m sure that’s all she really wants.

We sit in silence again, and my mind keeps going back to what happened with Kyle in the hallway. I don’t know how much she heard, but she’s still here, so it couldn’t have been much. However, to say she saw a different side to Kyle than I would have wanted her to see is an understatement. She probably thinks he’s an asshole, and based on the few minutes she witnessed of him, I wouldn’t blame her.

“When I was in fourth grade, there was this older kid who used to pick on me,” I tell her. “Every day on the bus he would either hit me or say mean things to me. It went on for months, and there were a couple of times I would actually get off the bus with a bloody nose.”

“Jesus,” she says.

“Kyle is a couple years older than me. He was in middle school, but we rode the same bus because we went to a fairly small school. One day, after the kid hit me right in front of Kyle, I expected him to take up for me. To beat the kid’s ass, because I’m his little brother. That’s what big brothers are supposed to do. Protect their little brothers from bullies.” I stretch my legs out in front of me and sigh. “But Kyle just sat there, staring at me. He never intervened. And when we got home, I was so angry with him. I told him it was his job as my brother to teach the bullies a lesson. He laughed and said, ‘And how will that teach you anything?’

“I didn’t know what to say, because what the hell was I supposed to be learning by getting my ass kicked every day? Kyle said, ‘What is stopping one bully going to teach you? Nothing. If I intervened, what would you gain from that besides learning to rely on someone else rather than yourself? There will always be bullies, Ben. You need to learn how to deal with them yourself. You need to learn how to not let them get to you. And me beating up some kid for you isn’t going to teach you a damn thing.’ ”

Fallon faces me. “Did you listen to him?”

I shake my head. “No, I went to my room and cried because I thought he was just being mean. And the kid continued to pick on me for weeks after that. But then one day, it just clicked. I don’t know what it was, but I slowly started defending myself. I stopped letting him get to me as much as he did. Stopped acting so scared around him. And after a while, when he realized his insults didn’t bother me, he finally backed off.”

She’s quiet, but I can tell she’s wondering why I’m telling her this story.

“He’s a good brother,” I say to her. “He’s a good person. I hate that you saw the side of him you did today, because that’s not him. He had a right to be upset with me and no, I don’t want to talk about it. But my brothers are really good people and I just wanted you to know that.”

She’s looking at me appreciatively. I wrap my arm around her and pull her to my chest as I lay down on the blanket beneath us. I’m looking up at the stars now, surprised at how long it’s been since I’ve actually seen them.

“I was excited about the idea of having a sibling,” she says. “I know I acted like I wasn’t happy when my dad told me last year, but I’ve always wanted a sister or brother. Unfortunately, the girl my dad was engaged to wasn’t pregnant after all. She thought he had money thanks to his semi-celebrity status. When she found out he was actually broke, she left him.”

Wow. I don’t feel so bad about my family drama she witnessed today. “That’s awful,” I say to her. “Was he upset?” Not that I care if he was upset. The man deserves any negative karma that’s returned to him with the way he treated her that day.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. My mom told me all that. I haven’t even spoken to him since last year.”

That makes me sad for her. As much of a douchebag as he is, he’s still her father, so I know that has to hurt. “What kind of person fakes pregnancy to trap a man? That’s messed up. Although it does sound like a great plotline for a book.”

She laughs against my chest. “It’s tripe and way overused as a subplot.” She rests her chin on her arms and smiles at me. The moonlight is hitting her face, shining down on her like she’s on a stage.

Which reminds me . . .

“Are you ever going to tell me about this rehearsal you mentioned earlier? What’s it for?”

She loses the smile. “Community theater,” she says. “Tomorrow is opening day and we have dress rehearsals in the morning, which is why I need to be back so early. I don’t have a lead role and it doesn’t pay anything, but I enjoy it because a lot of the actors look to me for advice. I don’t know why, maybe because I’ve had a lot of experience in the past, but it feels good. It’s nice that I’m not cooped up in my apartment all the time.”

I like hearing that. “What about work?”

“My schedule is flexible. I’m still recording audiobooks and I get enough work to pay the bills, so that’s good. Although I did have to move apartments because my rent was a little steep, but . . . overall things are going well. I’m happy there.”

“Good,” I say to her, running my fingers through her hair. “I’m happy you’re happy there.”

And I am. But I’m not going to lie, a part of me was selfishly hoping I’d see her today and she’d tell me New York didn’t work out. That she lives in L.A. again and she thinks her five-year rule is stupid and that she wants to see me tomorrow.

“Do you even have a job?” she asks. “I can’t believe I don’t know that about you. I let you fondle my breasts and I don’t even know what you do for a living.”

I laugh. “I go to UCLA. Full-time student with a double major, so it doesn’t leave much time for work. But I don’t have many bills. I have enough money left over from my mom’s inheritance to support myself through college, so it works for now.”

I almost ask him how old he was when his mother died, but I’m not sure he wants the conversation to take that turn right now. “What are your two majors?”

“Creative writing and Communications. The majority of writers don’t have much luck finding a career to sustain themselves, so I want to have a backup plan.”

She smiles. “You don’t need a backup plan because in a few years, you’ll have a bestselling novel to pay your bills.”

I hope she doesn’t actually think that.

“What’s it called?” she asks.

“What’s what called?”

“Our book. What’s the title going to be?”

“November Nine.”

I watch her reaction, but her expression reveals nothing of what she thinks of the title. After a few seconds, she lays her head on my chest so I can’t see her face anymore.

“I didn’t tell you this last year,” she says, her voice much quieter than before. “But November 9th is the anniversary of the fire. And being able to look forward to seeing you on this date makes me not dread the anniversary as much as I used to. So thank you for that.”

I suck in a quiet breath, but before I can even give her a response, she scoots closer and presses her lips firmly to mine.