“When you started thinking with your hormones instead of your head. Was he with you yesterday?”
“Mom—”
“He was, wasn’t he? Howdareyou take him to Nicky.”
God, her nerve infuriates me. “Why do you care? It’s not like you ever visit him.”
Her eyes flash, and her fingers flex. For an instant, I think she’s going to strike me, and I take a step back. “It’s blasphemous,” she seethes, “the way you’re inviting that boy into your life.Ourlives. Your brother would be disappointed.”
“No he wouldn’t. Nicky accepted differences—embraceddifferences.”
“Oh, Elise. Think of Audrey.”
“Think ofme!” It’s all streaming out of me at once—the grief and the anger I’ve kept on lockdown over the last three years, along with the resentment I’ve felt since Mom insisted on moving to Cypress Beach. “It’s thanks to you I’m stuck in this town,” I say, pointing a finger in her face. “It’s thanks to you I met Mati.”
She sets her mouth in a firm line. Her arms are crossed and her shoulders are squared; she’s exhaling puffs of air in quick succession, like an angry bull. She was like this after Nick died: insensitive to anyone’s needs but her own, paranoid, and so distressed,depressed, years passed before she could write again.
She’s afraid—stupidly afraid.
“I mean it,” she says, callous, as if I haven’t spoken at all. “I want you to stay away from him.”
elise
I spend the afternoon holed up in my room, editing the photos from Sacramento.
They’re good, with the exception of the one Mati snapped of me. The fault’s not his; technically, the picture is fine. He framed it well, setting me slightly left of center to capture an American flag undulating on a tall flagpole in the background, and the way the afternoon light hits my face has a softening effect. Too bad my expression is all sorts of dopey.
I’m trying to figure out a way to crop myself out altogether when the doorbell chimes. Bambi barks, claws clicking against the hardwood as she does her doorbell dance. I wait, listening, hoping my monster mom will emerge from her library to answer. Lo and behold, she does. I catch a few hints of murmured conversation before she calls, “Elise!”
Her tone is saccharine-sweet, so the visitor’s not Mati. I smooth my ponytail as I make my way to the foyer. There’s Ryan, all smiles. Bambi’s practically mauling him.
“Hey, neighbor,” he says, nudging my dog away. “I need a milkshake. Show me where to get one?”
“Um…?”
“She’d love to,” Mom says. Her expression assertsbe nice. Of course she’s all pleasantries with Ryan. I bet she thinks she can drag him into heterosexuality, just like she thinks she can drag me away from Mati. “There’s a diner in town, The Hamlet. Their milkshakes are to-die-for. Aren’t they, Elise?”
I frown. “They’re average.”
“Average works,” Ryan says. He looks around suspiciously, like he thinks our cottage might be bugged. He whispers, “I need to get out for a while. Gram wants to teach me to knit.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s not funny,” he says, bumping his glasses up his nose. “Plus… I met someone. Come with me, and I’ll fill ya in on the details.”
“Okay, yeah. I could go for a milkshake.” The Hamlet and gossip about Ryan’s love life are a thousand times better than being trapped in the cottage, stewing over how my mom acted on the sidewalk earlier.
“Have fun!” she calls, waving us out the door.
When we arrive at The Hamlet, we claim seats at the end of the counter and order shakes: Oreo for Ryan, coconut for me.
“Okay,” I say, swiveling in my stool as we wait for our drinks. “Let’s hear about this new prospect of yours.”
His smile is immediate. “His name’s Xavier. We met at the library. I was trying to escape Gram, and he was studying. He’s in the air force.”
“Your interest in the MLI paid off, then?”
His smile turns sly. “He’s a student there, studying Portuguese. They sent him right after boot camp. He’s got another six months before he graduates and gets an assignment.”
