“It’s all good now.”
It’s definitely not, but I get the feeling Dad’s as reluctant as I am to walk across the hot coals of my incinerated relationship. Playing it off benefits him as much as me.
“Glad to hear it,” he says, flagging down Clay. “I’m ready for a burger. How ’bout you?”
Shit—I love how he favors easy conversation over emotional outpourings. Sometimes I wish Mom would take one out of his playbook.
I owe him another round of golf.
“Yeah,” I say. “Burgers sound good.”
Piper
Tati’s text was dramatic as usual, insisting I leave Blitz Brews immediately and run by Publix for a carton of almondmilk because I selfishly drank the last of it this morning. I knock out the errand, then head for the Towers, waffling about whether to take Henry up on his invitation to meet at the pool.
It sounds suspiciously like a date, which I’m not into. I love me some torrid fictional romance, but I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never wanted one. Tati’s succession of failed love affairs has taught me that relationships follow a certain pattern: new love euphoria, flaws inevitably coming to light, increasingly intense bickering, heart-shattering end. And then there’s the way Gabi has gone all heart-eyes for Damon, that filthy loser.
I’d rather be single forever.
But Henryisfun to talk to. Also, the way he shut down Damon at Blitz Brews… I didn’t hate feeling looked after, if only for a few minutes.
After Tati goes into her room for the night, I put on a freshsuit—a cherry-printed bandeau top and red high-waisted bottoms—then cover it with cutoffs and a tank. Slipping on my favorite Reefs, I peer into the mirror over my dresser. My curls, windblown and salt steeped, are beyond help, so I leave them in their knot. I take five seconds to swipe vanilla gloss over my lips, then tiptoe into the hallway.
All’s quiet in my sister’s room. It seems that nagging me about almond milk, then bitching when I bought oat milkinsteadof almond milk, has extinguished her fire for the night. I sneak past her door, then pull a beach towel from the linen closet and stuff it into my bag. I’m within arm’s reach of freedom when she steps into the hallway.
“Where are you going?” she asks, not very nicely.
“To the pool.”
Her gaze narrows. “I’ve heard that before.”
The night of Gabi’s party, I said I was going to the pool too. Only instead of a towel, I was toting two bottles of Pinot and one of peach Schnapps, all stolen from my sister, wrapped in T-shirts to keep them from clanking. I didn’t go to the Towers pool, but I did go swimming at Gabi’s. Tati waslividwhen I was dropped off in the middle of the night by none other than her then-boyfriend, Officer Adam Lopez. While out on patrol, he’d spotted me making a serpentine trek down the sidewalk near the Marine Conservation Park. My drunken brain had insisted thatnowwas the time to sneak in for some curative time with my favorite sea animals, but because I was a stumbling, bumbling mess, I drew the attention of a cop.
The most unfortunate cop.
By the time he drove me to the Towers and escorted me upstairs, I was sobbing.
Tati didn’t care that I was borderline hysterical. She didn’t care that I threw up until dawn. She didn’t care that it wasn’t my fault—not all of it, anyway.
“No, I really am,” I say now, pulling down the strap of my tank to show her my suit.
She sighs, wary. “Why? It’s after nine. It’s dark.”
“Fresh air,” I lie. The truth—because a boy asked me to—won’t go over well.
“What’s in the bag?”
I bite back theYou’re not my motherretort that lives permanently on the tip of my tongue and hold my bag open so she can examine its contents.
When she’s done, she steps back and crosses her arms. “You’re not going to be accompanied home by a police officer, are you?”
“No, Tati.”
“You have an hour,” she says with a resolute nod. “If you’re not back by ten thirty, I’m coming to get you.”
Because she has nothing better to do.
I turn for the door. “Whatever. Have fun up here by yourself.”
