I pick up a strawberry, swiping it through the pile of whipped cream before popping it in my mouth. The fruit is perfect—sweet and juicy.
“Man, I hate these things,” Bash comments, taking the chair beside me and glancing around.
It’s nearing sunset, golden light bathing the crowd sprawled across the patio and yard as the sky becomes a kaleidoscope of colors.
“They’re your grandparents,” I remind him, taking a bite of biscuit next.
“This used to be fun,” Bash continues, glancing toward the beach. “Kit was up for whatever. Lili was … Lili. And now, we’re not kids anymore.”
“Trust me, I’m aware. I got a lecture from Grandpa earlier.”
“About what?”
“About attending astateschool.” I glance at Bash. “You didn’t help, going to Dartmouth.”
He shrugs. “I look good in green.”
I roll my eyes. “Is it bad that I want to do my own thing?”
“No. But do you want to do your own thing? Or are you trying to do something different just to prove you can?”
I don’t have an answer to that, so I take another bite of strawberry shortcake instead.
“Grandpa wants the best for you, Wren. He has weird ways of showing it, I know, but that’s the goal.”
“You sound sage,” I comment.
Bash grins. “Probably all the drinks I’ve had, dodging questions about whether I’ll challenge Kit for CEO.”
“You don’t even work for Kensington Consolidated yet.”
“I made that point a few times. No one cared.”
“Typical.” I take another bite. “This shortcake is really good.”
“Gigi orders it every year.”
“I missed it last July.”
I was too preoccupied acting busy on the beach, avoiding the boy who was waiting on the dunes. I’ve been avoiding Sawyer again, for weeks, pretending to be oblivious when, sometimes, he’s all I can see. When all I really want is for him to ask if I’m free again.
“Incoming,” Bash mutters. He grabs his plate, standing.
I glance at Tanner walking this way, then at my cousin. “You can stay.”
“Nah. I need some coffee if I’m going to make it until the fireworks.” Bash yawns. “My nephew has set me back, like, twenty years on ever considering having kids. See ya later.”
He nods at Tanner as he passes him, and Tanner nods back.
“Sorry about earlier,” Tanner says sheepishly, tucking his hands into his tux pants pockets.
I polish off the last bite of my dessert. Hand the empty plate off to a passing waiter, then stand.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, meaning it. “See you next summer.”
“Wait,” Tanner calls as I start to walk away. “Abunch of us are headed down to the water to watch the fireworks. Come with? I’ll even play that silly game you made up.”
The silly game in question—SocVolley, a mix of volleyball and soccer, invented by my West Coast cousins—is the only sport, aside from tennis, that I excel at. If anyone else were suggesting it, I’d enthusiastically agree. But my primary motivation for “keeping company” with Tanner would be to annoy my grandfather, and I decide Bash is right; I should focus on what I want to do, not proving what I can do.
