“What?” he asks. Kimber sucks on her finger.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t.”
“Here we go,” Kimber mumbles.
“And what is your problem?” I ask. A little voice in my head is telling me to shut the hell up, that this isn’t about Kimber at all, but I don’t listen to it. I’m tired. Tired of feeling like a stain. My mother’s just a person. And yeah, I do hate this friendship she has with Eva, but I hate this feeling like my mother is the human equivalent of a wrecking ball even more. I just want it to stop.
“I don’t have a problem,” Kimber says calmly.
“Clearly, you do. You’ve hated me since you and Luca first eye-fucked each other.”
She grimaces. “Nice, Grace. And I don’t hate you.”
“Well, you sure as hell don’t like me.”
“I think you’re reckless and impulsive and dishonest. There’s a difference.”
“Dishonest, what the hell? Why? Because I rearranged some gnomes? So did your boyfriend. So did you.”
“We did that for you. And don’t think Luca doesn’t know that you and Eva sneak around all night doing whatever the hell you want without a thought to how upset that would make Emmy if she knew.”
“Kimber—?” Luca says, but I cut him off.
“We’re talking on top of a lighthouse, not tagging every wall on the cape.”
“And riding bikes all over the place,” Kimber says. “And what’s with all the peanut butter?”
“Oh my god, not peanut butter,” I deadpan.
Luca glares at me. “All right. Enough.”
“Yeah, enough, Luca,” I say as Eva tromps back down the stairs. “Just say it.”
“Say what?”
“What’s going on?” Eva asks, handing Kimber a Band-Aid and a tube of Neosporin.
“That you wish I were different,” I say to Luca. “That you wish Maggie weren’t my mother and that I would handle all of her bullshit better so you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”
Silence settles over all of us. My eyes sting and my chest burns. I have no idea where those words came from. They just spilled out, unconsciously rising up and filtering through all of my anger and hurt over Luca’s and Emmy’s worry. Now that the words are out, they feel right. It’s almost a relief to have said them.
“Gray.” Luca takes a step toward me, his eyes wide and a little watery-looking. “That’s not—?”
“I need to go,” I say, my voice scraping against my throat. I don’t know what else to do or feel. Escape is my first instinct, so I run with it and start for the stairs. “I’m really sorry about your finger, Kimber.”
She doesn’t respond and Luca doesn’t call me back as I take the stairs two at a time.
But Eva is right behind me.
Our feet dangle over the edge of the lighthouse, our legs pressed against each other, our bodies held in by the wrought-iron railing.
It’s barely ten o’clock, but Eva and I are already up here. We left Luca’s and climbed the winding stairs, no hesitation or verbal agreement. We just knew this was where we needed to be. I’m not sure what Eva’s thinking. My own head is full of about ten different emotions. The jar of Peter Pan we’re sharing helps. Peanut butter has quickly become my number-one comfort food.
Still, a certain thought keeps popping to the surface, like those damn rodents in that Whack-A-Mole game. I smack it on the head and it disappears, only to resurface seconds later.
“What’s going on, Grace?” Eva asks, interrupting my mental game. I’m amazed she’s held off plugging me with questions this long. She digs a spoon into a jar, scooping a huge glob before licking it like a lollipop. It’ll take her ten minutes to eat that one spoonful.
