We walk in silence for a few minutes, just eating our ice cream and listening to the waves. It’s peaceful in a way that makes my shoulders relax, tension I didn’t know I was carrying melting away.
“So,” Kiera says eventually, “tell me more about your mom.”
The question catches me off guard. After everything that happened tonight, after she opened up to me about her past, it feels right that she’s asking about mine. But it’s still hard to talk about.
“What do you want to know?” I take a bite of ice cream, letting the cold sweetness buy me a few seconds to think.
“You said she’s coming next week. And that you’re not looking forward to it.”
“Yeah.” I stare out at the ocean, watching the moonlight dance across the waves. “My mom is... complicated. She’s just very concerned with appearances and status. With doing things the ‘right’ way.”
“The right way meaning?”
“Prestigious career. Right connections. Living up to the family name.” I take another bite of ice cream. “She comes from old money. Her family has been in LA society for generations. And when I was born, she had very specific ideas about what my life should look like.”
Kiera is quiet, listening.
“When I got cast in Kid Logic, she wasn’t happy about it. She thought acting was beneath us, especially children’s television. She let me do it because my dad convinced her it would be a phase, something I’d outgrow once I got it out of my system.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “But the show was successful. Really successful. And instead of being proud, she was embarrassed. Like having a son on TV somehow diminished the family reputation.”
“That’s awful.” Kiera’s voice is soft.
“Every parent-teacher conference, every school event, she’d get questions about the show. And she’d smile politely and change the subject as fast as possible.” The memory still stings, even years later. “Once, when I was twelve, I won an award for my acting. It was a big deal—one of those industry awards that adults win too. And when I brought it home, she looked at it for about five seconds and said, ‘That’s nice, dear. Don’t let it go to your head. It’s just children’s television.’”
Kiera stops walking and turns to face me. “River, that’s horrible.”
“It got worse when the show ended and I couldn’t find other work.” I finish the last bite of my cone and wipe my hands on a napkin. “Every time my agent sent me on an audition and I didn’t get the part, she’d make these comments about how maybe it was time to think about college. About getting a ‘real education’ and pursuing a ‘real career.’ Like everything I’d done for the past seven years was just playing pretend.”
The waves crash against the shore, filling the silence between us.
“When my agent dropped me last year, I didn’t tell her for two months.” The admission comes out quieter. “Because I knew what she’d say. That she’d been right all along. That acting was never going to work out. That I should come home and let her help me apply to business schools or law schools or anywhere that would erase the ‘embarrassment’ of Kid Logic.”
Kiera reaches out and takes my hand. The contact sends warmth up my arm, and I squeeze her fingers gently.
“That’s why I moved here,” I continue. “To get away from her expectations. From constantly feeling like I’m disappointing her just by existing.” I look at Kiera, at the understanding in her eyes. “And now she’s coming here. To my sanctuary. To judge everything I’ve built and tell me it’s not good enough.”
“Your documentary is incredible,” Kiera says fiercely. “The footage I saw—River, that’s real talent. Real artistry. That matters.”
“I know. I think I know.” I turn my hand over so our palms are touching. “But when she starts making those subtle comments about wasting my potential or living in the middle of nowhere—it gets in my head. Makes me doubt everything.”
Kiera steps closer, close enough that I can smell the sweet scent of her shampoo mixing with the salt air. “Then don’t let her. Don’t let her make you feel small for doing something you love.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“I know.” Her thumb strokes across my knuckles. “But you’re allowed to want what you want, River. Even if it’s not what she wants for you. Even if she doesn’t understand it or approve of it. You get to decide what success looks like for your life.”
The words hit something deep in my chest. “How did you get so wise?”
“I’m not wise. I’m just speaking from experience.” A sad smile crosses her face. “I know what it’s like to have parents who can’t see you for who you really are. Who love their idea of who you should be more than they love the actual you.”
We’re standing close now, close enough that I could lean down and kiss her again. The moonlight catches the pink streak in her hair, and her eyes are bright in the darkness.
But I don’t kiss her. Not yet. She kissed me earlier, and that was her choice, her decision. If there’s going to be another kiss, I want her to decide that too. To know that she’s in control of this, of us, of whatever we’re becoming.
“Thank you,” I say instead. “For listening. For understanding.”
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” She squeezes my hand. “And for the ice cream.”
We turn and start walking back toward the car, our fingers still intertwined. The beach is quiet except for the sound of the waves and the distant laughter of other people enjoying the warm night.
