Ramona’s brows lifted.
“That night,” Dylan said. “When we were thirteen. Your mom had just left. Hadn’t she?”
Ramona sighed, kept her eyes on Dylan. “Like I said. Lifesaving.”
Dylan held her gaze for a second before looking away, needing a second to get herself together. To focus. Thiswasa lot. She couldn’t sift through her feelings, figure out what to do or say to Ramona. Finally, “Will you tell me about her?” fell from Dylan’s mouth. “About your mom?”
Ramona stared at her for a moment, but then her shoulders relaxed. Dylan hadn’t really meant to ask, but Ramona was lovely and sweet and hid such big feelings behind her eyes. Dylan could see them, swirling and gathering strength, because she saw the same kind of storm in her own face every time she looked in the mirror.
“My mom was beautiful,” Ramona said, her gaze on the water.
“She’d have to be,” Dylan said. The truth.
Ramona smiled a little but didn’t glance at her. “She was born and raised in New York City, was always a big-city girl. She loved fashion and beauty and studied English literature at Sarah Lawrence.”
“She sounds interesting.”
“She was. She met my dad one summer when her family vacationed here.”
Dylan’s breath caught. “They fell in love.”
“They did. He even moved to New York for her, but he wasmiserable. My dad is not a city guy at all. He likes quiet and routine and for Owen to start making his usual omelet with tomatoes and colby cheese the second he walks into Clover Moon on Sunday mornings.”
“So they moved here?”
Ramona nodded. “When my mom got pregnant with me. She said she wanted the small-town life, wanted a house with a backyard and a dog. So she left her job as editor of an online fashion magazine and came here.” Ramona leaned over and raked her hand through the sand, filtering out tiny twigs and leaves. “Two daughters and thirteen years later…”
Dylan’s chest was tight. “You still talk to her?”
“God, no,” Ramona said. “She sent Olive and me birthday cards at first, but eventually, even those stopped.”
“Jesus.”
Ramona nodded, drew a circle in the sand. “I helped my dad raise Olive. Came home from RISD when he got in a bad accident and shattered his leg. He co-owned a landscaping business with his best friend, Michael, but couldn’t do the work anymore. So he went back to school to become a teacher, and I…”
“You stayed here,” Dylan said.
Ramona nodded. “I don’t regret it. Olive was—is—worth it.”
“I don’t think you have to regret something to still want more,” Dylan said. “To dream.”
Ramona shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Are you angry with her?” Dylan asked.
Ramona didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Dylan let her sit in silence, worrying at her lower lip.
“Yeah,” Ramona said finally. A whispered secret. “More for Olive than for me. I can tell Olive…” Ramona swallowed. “She doesn’t remember her at all. Sometimes I think that’s a good thing. But other times, I know Olive misses her. The idea of her, at least.”
“Ideas can be intoxicating.”
“Yeah,” Ramona said. “And I don’t know.” She sighed, wiped at her cheek as though a tear escaped. “It’s hard, knowing your own mother didn’t want you. Didn’t even want to stay in your life, even if she did have to leave. To be that…forgettable.”
Dylan’s heart sped up, a hummingbird behind her ribs. “We’ve already established that you’re anything but forgettable, Ramona.”
Ramona looked at her. “Really?”
“Really.” Dylan’s voice came out soft, a little breathy, and they watched each other for a few seconds, seconds that felt like hours, and Dylan found her eyes drifting over Ramona’s whole face, down to her mouth…
