“Ireallycan’t wait to see Myles. How’s the summer sun treating him this year?”
I swallow. “Actually, he won’t be there. He’s going to California with his family to drop Matt off at college.” I can’t begin to describe how relieved I felt when I learned he’d be out of townduring Summerfest. I was starting to worry about how I’d act around Myles in front of Kat. Would I have to be standoffish and pretend we don’t text every day? Cause a scene to distract everyone if he mentioned how often we hang out at bonfire parties together?
“Well, damn,” she says. “How did you know that?”
“Oh, um. He told me at work.”
I realize that at some point I’ll have to face this situation I’m in.
But I also know that today, on the eve of my boating excursion with him, is not that day.
The next morning I stumble onto the back porch with a cup of my mom’s freshly brewed coffee in one hand. I loaded it with milk and sugar to make it drinkable, but I’d force it down black if I had to.
Ineedthe caffeine.
My mom’s eyes bulge. “What are you doing up?” Even Margarine is looking at me like I have two heads.
I blink several times and rub one eye with my fist, willing my body to fully wake. “Going on boat. With the Fords?” I say. My brain cells that form complete sentences are still sound asleep, like I want to be.
“Ah. That’s right,” she says, and pats the cushion beside her. “Well, come watch the dog parade with me.”
I fold in beside her and take a sip of the steamy liquid. “The what?”
“It’s my favorite thing. Depending on how long I’m out here before I need to head in to work, I see at least a dozen dogs taking their humans for a walk along the beach. Big ones, little ones, hairy ones…”
The sarcastic side of my brain wants me to ask if she’s referringto the dogs or the humans, but the rest of me is too tired. I just sit there silent, wondering why I agreed to this. My bed is so comfortable, and it’s just a few steps awa—
“Morning, Jane!”
My thoughts are interrupted by Stan, our neighbor to the left. He’s standing at the railing of his porch, gray hair rustling in the breeze. His warm smile transforms into shock.
“Is thatAmelia?” He makes a show of checking his wrist. “Did my watch stop? Is it actually lunchtime?”
It’s rude to flip off your kind, elderly neighbors, right? I restrain myself, but I don’t exactly smile. I hide behind my coffee mug.
My mom just laughs.
A few minutes later Mrs. Chen, the Kingfisher High principal, passes by on the beach with her corgi. My mom waves, and she waves back, then calls out, “Good morn—Amelia?” She pauses and just stares at us for a few seconds, looking between my mom and me. “It’s so early… Is something wrong?”
“All right,” I mutter, and push to my feet. That’s enough of that.
I make my mom promise to text me if the kittens arrive. Then I go inside and stand at the kitchen counter for another few minutes, willing the caffeine to kick in. At ten till nine I migrate toward the front porch, depositing my cup in the sink on the way. I check my reflection in the hallway mirror before opening the front door.
Most of my swimsuits are more functional than stylish, but today I chose the white two-piece that Kat made me buy last summer. While I’m not overly blessed in the chest area, this swimsuit does good work at accentuating what I do have.
I adjust myself in the top and smooth a hand through my hair. I know it’s gonna go up in the elastic around my wrist the second we hit the boat (maybe even earlier, depending on how windy the marina is). I’m not one of those girls who make long hair blowing in the breeze sexy… I’m more of the shaggy Highland cow variety.
Whatever. Guys want authenticity, right?
Authenticity and confidence, which, surprisingly, I think I’ll have today. I don’t know if it’s the cleavage or the absence of Kat beside me to compare myself to, but I’m feeling myself in a way I never have before.
Myles’s Bronco comes into view, and I toss on a T-shirt before I walk down to meet him at the street. I think I’m doing a pretty good job of arranging my face into something bright and cheery as I slide into the passenger seat.
But then he laughs. “Oh shit, I forgot you’re not a morning person.”
“I’m already fifty percent more chipper than I was ten minutes ago, so we’re on the way up.”
The wide grin remains on his face as he puts the car into drive. Even in my half-comatose state, I can appreciate how hot he looks this morning. He’s wearing bright red trunks, a white T-shirt, and sunglasses—the quintessential beach guy. “I don’t get the feeling you do this very often. Should I count myself lucky to see this side of you?”
