Ripped

  I turn into the parking lot of a sprawling office park, thinking about how Edie called yesterday to say that the tick she removed from Lindsay’s side did not test positive for Lyme disease. But that wasn’t sufficient evidence for Lindsay, who insists the spot where the tick was removed has become more swollen and itchy over the past few days.

  Once we’re inside and Lindsay is seated on the examination table in her hospital gown, Dr. Billings pulls the gown off her shoulder and asks her to lift her arm to expose her side. He tilts his head and runs his finger over the pink bump on her skin. Lindsay closes her eyes tightly, as if she’s mentally preparing herself to hear some bad news.

  Billings is a slender man with a bald head, which I assume is his way of hiding premature hair loss. I’m pretty certain he’s only in his mid- to late thirties. I try not to let my old insecurities take hold, but old habits die hard, and I always hate being in the room when Billings touches her. It’s not as if I think Lindsay enjoys being touched by another man. I just worry that Billings enjoys touching her.

  Billings pulls the gown back over her shoulder and smiles. “Nothing a little hydrocortisone shouldn’t fix. Just apply it three times a day and it should be gone in two to three days. If not, then you can give me a call.”

  I sigh with relief as I run my hand through my thick, sandy-brown hair, which I’ve grown out a bit over the past few months. I normally keep my hair cut pretty short, even opting for a buzz cut every now and then, but I missed my appointment with the barber before the Rip Curl Pro at Bells Beach, Australia four months ago. That was the first event during this tour that I came in first place. I decided to forego the haircut again until after Margaret River the following week, but then I got first place again.

  It’s not uncommon for me to place first in events, but it’s very uncommon for me to place first at two championship tour events. But two CT—championship tour—events in a row… That’s unheard of. I decided I’d let my hair grow out until the streak was broken. Sure enough, I placed second in Rio de Janeiro, first in Fiji, and third at J-Bay. And now first in Tahiti. For the first time since I was a teenager, I know what my hair looks like when it’s longer than an inch. I’ve got some risqué waves going on up there. I told Lindsay she’s going to have to get a billy club to fight off the girls at the Hurley Pro in Lower Trestles, California. She didn’t find that very amusing.

  “Are you sure the tick didn’t lay its eggs inside me?” Lindsay asks Dr. Billings. “They’re not going to hatch into a thousand ticks crawling under my skin, eating me from the inside out?”

  Billings chuckles as he types something on the keyboard of the computer that’s attached to a mechanical arm sticking out of the wall. “If that happens, you won’t have to go on any more trips to Tahiti.”

  Lindsay’s mouth drops open. “Because I’ll be dead?” she asks in a frightened voice.

  I get up from my chair and rub her back. “Calm down, baby. Dr. Billings made a joke. You like jokes, remember?”

  She rolls her eyes and pushes my hand away. “At least I won’t have to go to any more rainforests and third-world countries once you retire.”

  Billings looks up from his computer. “You’re retiring already, Adam?”

  I try not to let my inner frustration manifest on my face as Lindsay looks up at me, awaiting my response. “Not sure yet. Just thinking about it.”

  Lindsay cocks an eyebrow at me, but when she opens her mouth it’s Billings she addresses. “Can I have my ultrasound now before I pee my pants?”

  They get us into a room with an ultrasound tech quickly, and my heart races at the thought of seeing my little one for the first time. This will be the third ultrasound I’ve attended with Lindsay, but the novelty hasn’t worn off a single bit. That first look at your child is unlike any other feeling, surpassed only by the first time you see them after they’re born. It’s the moment where it becomes real. And, if you want to find out the sex, it becomes a he or a she.

  I can’t deny I’m hoping for a he. I love my girls, even—and maybe especially—Kaia, who’s biologically not my daughter, but her heart and soul will always be mine. At nine years old, she’s the perfect age to be daddy’s girl. I do not look forward to her becoming a teenager. And Mila is my perfect little devil. She’s as close as I can get to a boy in temperament, throwing the occasional fiery tantrum and pissing off her big sister by pulling her hair any chance she gets with those sticky toddler fingers. But I still want my boy.

  I know I have about as much chance of getting a girl interested in surfing as I do a boy, but Kaia has already made it clear she doesn’t want to surf. If Mila goes the same way, this third child may be my last chance to make a mini-me. I guess it’s kind of narcissistic to want a miniature version of myself, but that’s not really what I want. I want to watch my son grow up and learn all the things I learned on my own. But he’ll learn them from me, so he’ll learn them sooner and faster. I want to sit on the sand, point at the waves, and say, “That’s my boy. Taught him everything he knows.”

  Yeah, it’s stupid. Which is exactly why I don’t want to know the sex. I need this one to be a surprise. I won’t be sad or depressed if I find out we’re having another baby girl. But I don’t know how or if it will affect my performance in the next four events, assuming I don’t drop into no-man’s-land in the CT rankings after Trestles.

  Lindsay flinches a little when the ultrasound technician squeezes the jelly onto her abdomen. “That’s cold.”

  The tech grabs the transducer, which is attached to the giant ultrasound machine with a cable, and takes a seat on a stool next to where Lindsay is lying down. “Sorry about that. This machine is on loan while our other machine is being repaired, and it doesn’t have a built-in gel warmer. I didn’t realize that until you were already lying down, or I would have moved you to the other room.”

  “It’s okay,” Lindsay replies, though I can feel a slight tremble in her hand as she squeezes mine tightly.

  The tech moves the transducer over Lindsay’s belly, spreading the jelly over her skin as her gaze stays focused on the screen. A jumbled mix of black-and-white movement appears, though none of it makes sense to me. The tech’s eyebrows scrunch together and Lindsay’s grip on my hand immediately tightens.

  “What’s wrong? Is there something wrong with the baby?” she asks.

  “Oh, no. Don’t mind my expression. My face moves a lot when I’m thinking. Everything looks fine so far, there’s just something I see, but I want to be sure.”

  “What do you see?” I ask, hoping she sees a third leg.

  “Well, just a minute,” she replies, her left hand typing something on the keyboard as her right hand moves the transducer around. “It looks as if… you are the proud parents of twins.”

  “What?” Lindsay shrieks.

  My chest tightens at the thought of having two babies at once. I will definitely have to retire if that’s the case.

  “Are you… Are you sure?” I ask.

  The tech looks at me over the glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Yes, sir.” She points at something on the screen. “See here? That line is the division between the two amniotic sacs. You are having two babies. Would you like to know the sexes?”

  At the same time, Lindsay says yes while I say no. The tech looks at us, eyebrows raised, probably wondering why we didn’t agree on this beforehand. We did. We agreed we didn’t want to know the sex of the baby. It seems Lindsay is trying to renege on our agreement.

  “You said we’d let this one be a surprise since it’s our last,” I whisper.

  She looks at me with those wide blue eyes and pouty lips that always seem to get me to cave. “Adam, we’re having twins. I need to know the sex so I can start preparing. This is huge.”

  I draw in a deep breath as I try to think of a compromise. “Okay, how about this? What if we ask this kind woman if each baby is a different sex? If the answer is no, we won’t find out. If the answer is yes, then we’ll have our answer.
”

  The tech nods at my ingenious plan. “Very smart. Either you find out you’re getting both or you don’t find out at all.” She wags her finger at me. “I like you.”

  Lindsay sighs. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

  I lean over and kiss her forehead. “I love you, baby.”

  She suppresses a smile. “Love you more.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I reply, turning to the tech. “So what’s the answer? Are we getting a boy and a girl?”

  She moves the transducer around a bit more, pressing harder in certain areas as she types some stuff on the keyboard. It seems like forever before she finally announces, “Sorry. They’re fraternal, but they’re also the same sex. The good news is that you only have to buy one color of everything. Are you sure you don’t want to find out now?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” I reply immediately, then I turn to Lindsay. “I have to focus on the tour. You can find out at the second ultrasound. You can even schedule that one for when I’m in Portugal so I don’t have to see it.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “There’s almost two months between Portugal and Pipeline. Are you trying to tell me you’re going to pretend like you don’t notice me buying a bunch of blue or pink stuff… for two months?”

  “Maybe the addition will be done by then, and you can hide all the stuff in there.”

  She rolls her eyes and turns to the tech. “Can I go pee now?”

  The technician allows Lindsay to relieve herself halfway through the ultrasound, then she finishes by taking various measurements and photos before she sends us off to another room, where Lindsay will have blood drawn for a quad screen—a preliminary test to determine if amniocentesis is necessary.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the truck and back on the highway, heading toward Carolina Beach to pick up the kids at Lindsay’s mom’s house. I’m in the middle of telling Lindsay a story about something that happened while I was getting a massage from Edie earlier in the day, when she interrupts me.

  “I really wanted to know the sex of the babies,” she complains. “I don’t want to have to schedule the baby shower for after Portugal. Then I’ll have, like, six weeks to get everything ready for two babies. Do you know how insane that is?” She shakes her head. “We have to tell them to finish that addition on the house sooner. We can’t have two babies sleeping in the same room with us.”

  I grit my teeth as I realize she’s right. “Fuck. Why couldn’t we just wait to add on to the house until after the baby was born?”

  “Babies,” she corrects me. “And that’s exactly why we couldn’t wait. Now we’re paying for an addition on a house we’re going to have to move out of in just a couple of years, when the twins are older and they can’t share a room anymore.”

  An asshole in an Audi blares his horn, then he changes lanes to go around me. I’m driving too slow. Yeah, well, you’d be slowing your roll, too, if you realized your whole life is careening toward a dead end and you have no idea how to stop it.

  Fuck. In five months I’ll be retired, with four kids, at the age of thirty-three.

  “Can you please not tell anyone about how I’m thinking of retiring?”

  “Thinking of retiring?” Lindsay replies, but I don’t even bother looking at her to see what kind of dirty look she’s casting in my direction. “Your words to me were ‘I’ll retire.’ That sounds pretty definitive to me. I didn’t realize you were still thinking about it. Maybe I should think about fucking my vibrator tonight.”

  I turn to her, my mouth agape. “Can I watch?”

  She smacks my arm. “I hate you.”

  I laugh as I grab her hand, lacing my fingers through hers to prevent further assault. “You can’t tell anyone I’m retiring because it has to be done in an official announcement. If it leaks before the Hurley Pro, my sponsors will shit bricks. Especially Andy. And you know that. So don’t test me on this, okay?”

  She nods. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just really happy about the idea of you being home with the girls more often. You know how happy it will make them.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat as I realize she’s right. Again. My girls mean everything to me. I need them as much as they need me. If they’re going to be in Wilmington full-time, so am I.

  We arrive at Lillian’s house in Carolina Beach at a few minutes past six p.m. Just the sight of their house makes me miss our old beach house. We just moved into the new house in Wilmington a few weeks ago and we already have a construction crew working on an addition, tracking dirt all over the paper-lined wood floors. It doesn’t feel like a home yet, but it will eventually. This summer is either gonna kill me or make me crazier than Miley Fucking Cyrus. I’ll be riding my board naked at the final in Oahu this December—if I can hold my CT ranking until then.

  The girls are outside with their grandma, blowing bubbles with the giant bubbler. Their angelic faces are full of unadulterated joy as Lindsay’s stepdad, Michael, spins around on the lawn, his arm stretched out as he holds the bubble wand, leaving huge iridescent orbs in his wake. Lindsay hated Michael when she was in high school and college. I think it was because, in her mind, no one could ever compare to her father, Jacob Harris, who died of leukemia when Lindsay was eight. But Michael has shaped up to be a very good grandfather to Kaia and Mila. And in the process, he’s won over Lindsay as well.

  Lillian, on the other hand, is a whole different story. She still gets on Lindsay occasionally about working out and watching what she eats. Lindsay has never had a weight problem. In fact, she was anorexic before we met in college. But that doesn’t stop Lillian from reminding her she needs to count her calories or she’ll end up a fat, divorced old woman. I don’t give a fuck if Lindsay gains a hundred pounds. That girl would still have to fight me and my third leg off her every night.

  Lillian’s blonde shoulder-length hair bounces as she scurries across the lawn to meet us in the driveway. “So what is it?” she shrieks as she rounds the front of the truck toward Lindsay. “Is it a girl or a boy?”

  Lindsay glances at me before she turns to her mom. “We don’t know. We’re gonna wait until the next ultrasound… to be extra sure before we start going crazy buying stuff because… We’re having twins!”

  Lillian’s eyes widen as she claps her hands over her mouth. “Twins?” she says in a soft whimper as she begins to tear up. “I’m going to have two more grandchildren?”

  Lindsay nods and smiles as she wipes away tears of her own. “We’re having twins,” she replies, her voice a hoarse whisper.

  They hug for a moment, then Lillian lets go of her suddenly and looks down at her belly. “You’re going to get so big.”

  Lindsay sighs and walks away without a response.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Lillian says as she follows Lindsay around the truck toward me.

  I fold my arms around her shoulders and kiss her forehead as I pull her close to me. “I hope she gets morbidly obese, Lillian. Then she’ll never leave me.”

  Lillian waves off my comment. “Oh, please. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

  I take Lindsay’s face in my hands, looking her in the eye as I whisper, “Come on. Let’s get the girls and get the fuck out of here so I can watch you fuck yourself with a vibrator while I shout, ‘Whale on the shore! Whale on the shore!’”

  She shakes her head as she pushes me away. “You’re such a jerk.”

  I catch up to her so I can plant a loud kiss on her cheek. “And that’s why you love me.”

  “Daddy!” Kaia squeals when she sees us. “Look how big this bubble is. Hold on. Let me show. It’s so big.”

  The light bounces off her light-blonde curls, which she inherited from her biological father. She twirls around on the grass, her laughter as bubbly as the spheres she’s creating. I instantly feel at ease. Like all the question marks in my future are just that, question marks. They’re not periods. Just because I’m retiring doesn’t mean I can’t still surf, or teach my kids to surf. And ju
st because we’re having two kids instead of one, while I’m training for the competition of my life, it doesn’t mean I have to stress. Everything will happen exactly the way it’s supposed to happen.

  If I win, I win. If I lose… Fuck. I can’t allow myself to even consider that possibility. I’m going out on top. If that means I have to train longer hours for the next three and a half months, Lindsay will understand.

  I hope she’ll understand.

  Three

  My best friend Yuri Takahashi’s house in Carolina Beach is about two blocks from our old beach house. Since it’s only been a few weeks since we moved, I decide to drive by and see if the new owners are settled in. As I drive down Carolina Beach Avenue, I see there are no cars parked in the driveway at the back of the house. The front of the house faces the ocean, so I can’t see it from the street, but I get a strong feeling there wouldn’t be anyone there anyway. They just moved in and already they’re gone, maybe having dinner at a restaurant or visiting family. If I were them, I’d be here every day, out on those waves or sitting on the front porch, soaking in the sun, breathing in the salty air, appreciating this house for what it is: a diamond on the warm North Carolina sand.

  When I get to Yuri’s house, he and his girlfriend Lena—who looks like a female version of Yuri—are fighting, as usual, over whose turn it is to take their eight-year-old Siberian husky, Dioji, for a walk. Yuri’s five-foot-nine body is splayed across the sofa while Lena stands over him, dangling the dog’s leash above his face.