Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Holden

What the heck is this?

I picked up the envelope my parents had mailed me and looked again at the smaller envelope I’d found inside. The bigger one had definitely been addressed by my mother. But the handwriting on the other one looked a hell of a lot like mine, only messier. I hadn’t mailed myself anything, though, and definitely not to my parents’ house in Philly. And why would someone send me mail at my parents’ place and then also put my name as the return address?

Then it hit me.

Holy shit!

No freaking way!

I had addressed the envelope, a long-ass time ago!

Back in tenth grade, my creative writing teacher, Mr. Wolf, had made all of his students write a letter to our thirty-year-old selves about what was important to us at the time. We’d handed them in, sealed and stamped, and he’d promised to mail them all the year we turned thirty. Of course, I’d lived at my parents’ house then, so that’s where I’d addressed my envelope.

Holy shit. I had zero recollection of what the hell I’d written, but I was definitely curious to find out. Fifteen-year-old me hadn’t been so well behaved. So I tore the letter open and unfolded a ratty piece of loose leaf.

Dude,

In case you’ve forgotten—because by the time you receive this letter, you’re going to be ancient—Mr. Wolf made us write letters to ourselves. We’re supposed to write about what’s important to us, because he thinks our priorities will be different when we’re thirty. This might be the one homework assignment I actually liked this year, mostly because it’s about me, and I’m damn awesome. So here goes…

What is important to HoldenCatalano today? Well, this is a very easy question to answer. HEAD. It’s fucking amazing. Laurie Rexler introduced me to it last month, and it’s pretty much all I’ve been able to think about since. She’s in eleventh grade, and she said it was her first time giving it. But I think she’s full of shit since she didn’t gag or anything. Anyway, HEAD is glorious. It’s probably why there are so many names for it—blowjob, blowie, slurping the gherkin, fellatio, oral, deep throating, knob gobbling, hummer gummer, jingle bob, sucked off, dome polish, playing the skin flute… Notice, there is only ONE word for homework. Why? Because homework sucks and HEAD is THE SHIT.

Side note—Mr. Wolf, you said you weren’t going to open these. But in case you do, I hope you’re getting lots of HEAD. Especially from Ms. Damarco, across the hall. Because she’s smoking hot and looks like she’d give a good BJ. I bet she even swallows. Laurie Rexler doesn’t…yet. But I’m working on that. If we write ourselves another letter, I’ll let you know how that turns out.

Anyway…back to me and what’s important these days… The drums are right up there with HEAD. I couldn’t live without music. And of course, my bros—Colby, Ryan, Owen, and Brayden. They’re pretty high on the list, too. Though let’s not tell them that, because I’d get my balls busted for a month for saying they were important to me. Other things...

Freedom

My hair (which I better still have when I’m thirty)

My parents

Lastly, drums. (I know I said that already, but everything begins and ends with drums. Note to self—playing the drums while getting HEAD just went to the top of my to-do list. How has it taken me this long to think of it?)

What else is important? I’m almost afraid to write this in case I drop this letter and Ryan somehow gets ahold of it. But Mr. Wolf said if we couldn’t be honest with ourselves in a letter, we’d never be. So I have to mention Lala. AKA Laney Ellison, my best friend Ryan’s little sister. She’s the only girl I can really talk to about life. I’ve had a thing for her as long as I can remember. But she’s eighteen months younger, and Ryan would KICK MY ASS if I tried to go there. I can’t say I’d blame him, either. Because Lala Ellison can do a fuck of a lot better than me. She’s a brainiac, a real genius. She’ll probably wind up curing cancer or something someday. But even though she’s off limits, she still makes the list of things that are important to me. In fact, I like her so much, if I were putting these things in order, Lala Ellison would come before HEAD. Now that’s saying something, isn’t it?

I guess that’s about it. Not much else I give two shits about. Plus, I’m getting bored. This is more writing than I’ve done in the last two years.

Later,

Holden

P.S. If you haven’t been on the cover of Rolling Stone by now, please kick your own ass.

P.P.S. If Lala is single when you get this, and you still haven’t taken your shot, you’re a giant pussy.

***

“It’s about damn time.” Colby shook his head. “We were about to start our meeting without you. You know the old ball and chain only lets me out once a month, and I need to take advantage and get my post-meeting drinking started.”

I shook my head. This guy was so full of shit. Old ball and chain my ass… He was the happiest married man I knew, married to one of the coolest women I’d ever met. But since I was late, I didn’t call him on his shit, and instead shook hands with Owen and Brayden before taking a seat at the table. My three best friends and I owned an apartment building together. Once a month, we met at the local bar to discuss building business. Our meetings generally only lasted about a half hour. Then we’d move on to a night of drinking.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said. “The band’s van broke down again.”

One of the regular waitresses walked by and brought me a beer, without my even having to ask.

I winked at her. “Thanks, gorgeous.” Leaning forward, I held out the bottle and the four of us clinked—our version of a gavel calling the meeting to order.

“Before we start,” Owen said. “Did you guys get the letters Mr. Wolf made us write to ourselves in tenth grade?”

Colby nodded and laughed. “You guys got yours? I got mine last year since I’m a year older than you babies. But I wrote a lot about my hair and the importance of a clean bong.”

We chuckled. “I shouldn’t tell you guys this, because it’s an open invitation for ball busting,” Owen said. “But I wrote that my SAT score was important to me. Then I dedicated a half page to Mrs. Wagner’s tits. I forgot I had a big crush on her.”

My face wrinkled. “Mrs. Wagner? The math teacher? She was like fifty, dude.”

Owen crumpled up the napkin under his beer and chucked it at me. “She wasn’t fifty, you idiot. She was like thirty, and she had a great rack.”

“Sorry,” I said with a shrug. “Guess I was too busy noticing girls closer to our age. You know, because I could actually get girls our age, unlike you.”

“Bite me.” Owen chugged half his beer and lifted his chin to me. “What did yours say? Your dream was to have a car that worked.” He elbowed Brayden, who sat next to him. “Some things never change.”

No way was I going to mention that I’d written about our buddy Ryan’s little sister, Lala. I’d either get punched or lectured, probably both. And I was definitely not going to share that I’d had a little too much to drink last night and called her. Thank God she didn’t answer. What the hell would I have even said, calling her like that out of the blue?

“Mine was about the truly important things in life, gentlemen,” I told them. “Apparently I was mature for my age, because my priorities haven’t changed.”

Brayden nodded and grinned. “You wrote about jerking off, huh?”

“No, dumbass. I wrote about playing the drums and getting head.”

The guys all laughed. “Sounds about right,” Owen said.

I pointed to Brayden. “What’d yours say?”

He grinned. “I wrote two sentences: It’s important to me to do less homework. Therefore, this is the end of my letter.”

I shook my head. “Figures.”

We ordered another round of beers and got down to business. Colby talked about replacing some of the old air conditioners in the building with new, energy-efficient ones. He thought we could make the cost back in electric-bill savings in only two years. Owen told us about a building a few doors down that had sold for way more than we thought it was worth, and I passed around the estimates I’d gotten for the new roof we desperately needed.

We’d just moved on to talking about the tenant leases up for renewal and how much we were going to raise rents, when my cell buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and my heart leapt into my throat. Lala’s name flashed on the screen. My first instinct was to let it go to voicemail, but then I’d be up all night tonight wondering if everything was okay with her. It was bad enough that I’d had to get myself wasted last night to stop thinking about her long enough to crash. So I excused myself from the table and walked outside the bar to take the call.

“Hello?”

“Holden?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s Laney…Lala.”

I tried to play it off cool. “Oh, hey, Lala. Long time no talk. What’s up?”

“I just saw your name in my missed calls from late last night. I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

Shit.“Uhh…sorry. I must’ve butt-dialed you or something.” I lied straight through my teeth. “I didn’t even know I’d called.”

“Oh, that’s funny. Because I was actually going to call you this weekend.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, I’m coming into town for a night next week. I have an interview in the City for a research grant I’m trying to get. I thought maybe I’d stop by the apartment building you guys bought and check it out and say hi to everyone while I’m there. You all live in the building, right?”

“We do. Which night are you coming?”

“Wednesday. My interview is early Thursday morning.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I didn’t book a hotel yet. I just got the call about the interview yesterday afternoon.”

“Stay with me.” I shook my head. “I mean, you can stay with us. We use one of the units in the building for short-term rentals. We’re testing out renting it as an Airbnb. The rates are higher, and so far the demand seems to be there.”

“Oh, wow. Do you think it’s open next Wednesday for the night?”

If it isn’t, I’ll be canceling a reservation. “I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Alright. That would be great. Then I can see you guys and won’t have to rush to find my hotel. I get so lost in Manhattan.”

“Are you driving or taking the train?”

“I think I’m going to drive.”

“I’ll text you a good place to park near the building that isn’t too expensive.”

“Perfect. Thanks so much, Holden. I’m looking forward to seeing you guys.”

After I hung up, I stared at my phone for a while. Growing up, my mom’s favorite saying was, There’s no such thing as a coincidence. I never paid it much attention, but right now, I was kind of hoping she was right…

***

I hadn’t gone on Facebook in probably two years. But that’s exactly where I found myself after getting home from the bar with a buzz at midnight and re-reading the letter I’d written to myself three times. One sentence in particular I read over and over:

If Lala is single when you get this, and you still haven’t taken your shot, you’re a giant pussy.

I typed Laney Ellison into the search bar and frowned at the profile picture that popped up. It was of her and Dr. Douchebag, so I grabbed another beer. The photo must’ve been taken the day she’d gotten engaged, because the cardigan-wearing scientist had one arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she was holding her hand out to the camera, showing off a ring. I zoomed in on her finger as I guzzled back half my beer. That’s a fucking pebble. Lala deserves a rock.

It made me dislike Dr. Douchebag even more that he hadn’t bought her a decent ring. “Cheap bastard,” I muttered and clicked over to the rest of her photos.

The next picture was of her graduating Brown with her PhD. Her mom and dad stood proudly by her side. I zoomed in and noticed the small cross around her neck. It had been Ryan’s, a gift from his parents when he’d made his first communion—the same day as me. He used to wear it all the time. After he died, Lala put it on, but I hadn’t realized she was still wearing it. I wasn’t surprised. Those two weren’t like most siblings. Ryan and Lala had actually gotten along, even when they were younger, before his diagnosis. He’d been super protective of her. Hence the reason that on one of his final days, he’d asked me to keep an eye on his little sister…but not “too good of an eye.” My buddy was probably looking down right now, cursing me just for stalking.

I clicked over to the next picture, and my eyes grew wide. Holy shit. Bully is still alive! Ryan had adopted that fat bulldog when we were in high school, so it had to be at least fifteen by now. I couldn’t believe he was still kicking. The picture showed Lala kneeling in front of the Christmas tree with one arm around Bully, and the dog was wearing a Christmas sweater. If Ryan wasn’t already pissed off that I was stalking his baby sister, this photo of his dog wearing a sweater was certainly gonna do it. I raised my beer can to the sky. “Sorry, buddy. I didn’t know.”

I spent the next fifteen minutes going through the rest of Lala’s photos, though I may have stalled on one in particular for most of that time. There was a shot of Lala in a bikini. She’d always been beautiful, with a nice figure, but the years that had passed since I’d stolen glances of her in a bathing suit in Ryan’s backyard had turned the skinny girl into a woman with dangerous curves. Curves that would definitely get me into trouble if I went too close.

When I clicked onto the very last picture, it felt like the breath had been knocked out of my lungs. It was of Ryan and Lala sitting on a piece of driftwood on the beach, and I was the one who’d taken it. Ryan had no hair from his third round of treatments. I remember he wasn’t supposed to be released from the hospital for a few more days, but he’d convinced everyone to let him go early so he could spend his twenty-second birthday with his crew. Me, Owen, Brayden, Colby, Ryan, and Lala had driven to Ocean City—the place we’d all gone to after prom that had so many good memories. We’d spent the entire day on the beach and then made a bonfire, which didn’t go out until after the sun came up. It was a day I’d never forget, especially because it was the last good day we’d all have for a while since Ryan passed away the very next night.

On that note, I closed my laptop. I guess the upside of seeing that picture was that it stopped me from stalking Lala. If the photo of her in a bikini had gotten me hot and bothered, that last one had poured a cold bucket of water over me. Which was exactly what I needed. Lala Ellison was off limits, the one woman in the world I wasn’t allowed to go near with a ten-foot pole. Well, at least until she arrived next week…and stayed the night in the apartment that happened to be right next door to mine.

***

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Jesus Christ, my palms actually started to sweat. What was I, twelve?

Lala had texted a few hours ago to say she’d probably arrive around five o’clock, and the time on the microwave read 5:01. The last time I felt this nervous was when my band played at a festival in front of ten-thousand people. I had to wipe my palms on my jeans.

“Hey.” I smiled as I opened the door. But my smile wilted when I realized Lala wasn’t alone. There was someone standing next to her.

Lala looked over at the buxom redhead and motioned between the two of them with a hesitant smile. “We took the elevator up together and got off on the same floor. Turns out, we were going to the same place.”

Fiona—the woman I’d met at a bar last weekend—shrugged. “Sorry to stop over without calling, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d see if you were home. I forgot something at your apartment when I was here.”

“You did?”

She winked and pointed inside. “I believe they might still be attached to your headboard.” Fiona looked over at Lala and back to me. “Can I just go grab them, and I’ll be out of your hair?”

Not knowing what else to do, I stepped aside for Fiona to enter. Meanwhile, Lala remained outside my door with her suitcase. I shook my head and reached for the handle. “Sorry about that. Come on in.”

Before I could wheel in Lala’s luggage and shut the door behind us, Fiona came strutting back out from my bedroom. She held up a set of handcuffs. “Found ’em.”

I shut my eyes. Great. Just fucking great.