“Right, because you got arrested for drinking and driving,” she says.
It’s going to be a long hour.
“Yes,” I say, flat toned. “So I lived at home and worked at that golf course down the street, since it was within walking distance. I did one hundred hours of community service and three months of therapy—that was a hoot. I went to some weekend course about why you shouldn’t drink and drive. I had to go back to driving school because if your license expires while it’s suspended you have to retake your driving test. So, that was my summer.” Oh, and I slept with my best friend behind my other best friends’ backs because it would be catastrophic to the dynamic of our group if they knew. But I didn’t say that.
Adrienne was quiet, taking it all in. “Huh. Well, are you glad it’s over?”
I rest my head on the window, watching the trees blur in the distance. “Very.”
“Have you heard from that professor at all?”
I can’t help but flinch at the mere mention of Professor Miles Holland. “No.”
I regret drunkenly sharing that little tidbit with her last year.Adrienne and I used to be close. In high school we were not only stepcousins after my mom married Don but best friends and neighbors. When we left for Pembroke, we started to drift apart. But you always have a soft spot for that one friend that you grew up with. After all, we were girls together.
When I told her about Miles at the end of last year, I made her promise not to tell anyone in the family. I could hardly deal with the disappointed looks they gave me over the DUI; I couldn’t imagine what they’d say if they also knew I was a homewrecker. A life ruiner.
“Let’s just talk about your summer.”
I never want to hear the wordValentinoagain as Adrienne pulls up to my house.
“I’ll pick you back up at five?” she asks as I step out of the car.
“Yeah, that’s fine.” I shut the door and watch her back out and drive the ten seconds over to her house. Don and his family all built houses on the same sprawling expanse of land, with one long driveway to connect us. Nothing says family like a shared driveway.
My mom opens the door and envelops me in a hug. I hear her sniff me. “You smell like smoke and alcohol,” she says, pulling away with a frown.
“Oh, lay off of her, will you, Iris?” My stepdad comes up behind her, hugging me next.
“Your sisters are upstairs,” my mom says. “Go say hi. And take a shower before the calling hours please.”
I roll my eyes when I’m out of view, trudging up the stairs to see the girls.
Claire is in her room reading a book. I round the corner of her large four-poster bed to see Sofie on the floor playing on her iPad.
“Oh, I didn’t expect to see you in here, Sof,” I say. Sofie looks up at me with her deep, dark eyes but doesn’t say anything, just goes back to whatever is on the iPad. She looks so much like Don, with those strong Italian features. She was born with a full head of hair and a summer tan. Until then I never thought you could be jealous of a baby.
Claire sits up in bed, setting her book down. “She just comes in here to sit on the floor and watch TikTok sometimes.”
“I see.” I nudge Sofie with my foot. “What are you watching?”
“Makeup hauls,” Sofie says, kicking her feet back and forth behind her.
“Makeup? You’re only eleven,” I say.
“For your information, I’ll be twelve in six months.”
“For your information, I knew that. Also for your information, twelve is still too young for makeup.”
“No it’s not,” she argues.
“Yes it is,” I argue back.
Sofie sits up from the ground. “Go back to school. You’re annoying.” She leaves Claire’s room and slams the door.
“And that’s how it’s done.” I smile at Claire.
She laughs. “You know I really don’t mind her in here. She doesn’t bother me.” Though even if she did, I don’t think Claire would say it.
