I curl my fingers around the mug and avoid their gazes. “Bartending wasn’t working out.”
“And Anthony?” Dad presses.
Fuck. Even his name makes my stomach curdle. I can’t believe I was with him for over a decade. When I was younger, he’d seemed so mature, so kind, so different from my aimless self. During college I’d floated around for a while from job to job, until I’d ended up bartending and doing stand-in gig work as a guitar player. I’d made an okay living. But Anthony, with his job in finance that I never really understood and dark eyes, had made me feel like maybe I could be better—despite being just fine already. Over the years, that initial vision of him had eroded to show the man not many know behind closed doors. The man who belittled me at every turn, made me feel like I had to walk on eggshells in my own home, made me beg for him to love me the way that I deserved, after turning myself into someone he felt he was deserving of. I’d even stopped getting tattoos. Stopped dyeing my hair crazy colors because he found it unbefitting of someone in his circle. I’d perfectly fit myself into his life despite him never once trying to fit into mine. I squashedmyself into the tight box he made for me, until there was nothing left of me. All that was left was what Anthony approved.
Seeing him in bed with his assistant had just cracked me open enough to give me the courage to do what I should’ve done years ago. Leave.
“We broke up,” I say simply, not wanting to get into the nitty-gritty. Not yet.
Pop and Dad exchange a knowing look, just before Dad leans forward to place his warm hand over my forearm. He squeezes once, twice, then lets go with a smile just shy of pitying.
“The room is yours for as long as you need, including forever.”
“You’re only a few years off from retirement though. I don’t want to?—”
“If you say impose, you’ll be in a load of trouble,” Pop says. I slam my mouth shut and Dad lets out a weary-sounding sigh. “What I mean to say is that we’ve worked really hard for this home, to retire early, but that doesn’t mean you won’t always have a home here. Our kid coming home isneverimposing. Understood?”
Dad rolls his eyes with a smile because Pop doesn’t say a lot, but when he does, it’s pretty final. I nod through the tears and take a sip of the cool lemonade. Pop comes around the island to lean against it beside me, his large hand lovingly wrapping around my neck, squeezing once, then he disappears out the back door toward the beach beyond.
“Did I upset him?” I ask nervously.
“You should know by now that you haven’t. He’s glad you’re home and could kill Anthony on the spot if you’d let him.” Dad comes around the island like Pop had but he slingshis arms around my shoulders, pressing a sweet kiss to my forehead that almost has me breaking out into tears again. “Want us to kill him?” Dad whispers far too seriously for my liking.
“Maybe. I’ll decide later,” I say just as seriously, fighting back a smile despite myself.
Dad chuckles and squeezes me before heading back into the kitchen. I watch him busy himself for a bit as I take in the once very familiar kitchen. It looks almost exactly the same. Dark blue cabinets, white counters, and little seashells as kitchen decor. Beyond the open kitchen is a bay of windows that shows the dunes, and just beyond the hill, the ocean sparkles from the sunshine. I know if I step outside, I’ll smell the marsh and ocean, a scent that is more curative than I can ever begin to explain.
I don’t know where life is going to take me. It can’t be too bad now that I’m home. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I wince at the idea of seeing Anthony’s name. Sure enough, when I tug my phone out of my pocket and place it on the counter, Anthony’s name is bright as ever on the screen. Shit. Fuck. I push the phone away with my finger as if it would bite me if I even attempted to swipe to answer. The phone stops buzzing, then immediately restarts. The screen flashes that a message is being left, words flitting across the screen, and I push it even farther away where it can’t hurt me. Dad wanders back into the kitchen, takes one look at the phone, purses his lips, then swipes it away to deal with it.
He taps for a few moments, then tosses the phone back to me with a very familiar, loving smile. “I blocked him. Doesn’t mean he won’t try from another number, but this will give you a few hours of peace at least.”
I sigh in frustration. “Thanks, Dad.”
Dad leans on the counter with a smile still on his lips. “Do you need anything? Toiletries? I’ll put clean sheets on your bed. It hasn’t changed much since you visited a few years ago. I think that poster of Adam Brody is still behind your door, actually, because Simone visited and made a comment that?—”
“If she were twenty years younger,” I singsong, earning a wide grin from Dad.
“Well, you know your aunt.”
“I do.” I bury my head in my hands as the want to cry rises in me again. “I’m sorry I didn’t come home more often. Anthony was difficult.”
“You’re home now. That’s all that matters.” Dad pats my forearm, easing the ache in my chest that seemingly won’t stop growing. “You must be so tired. Do you want to take a nap?”
“No.” I want to go look at the beach, feel the wind on my face, smell the salt air.
Dad smiles knowingly. “Go on.” He nods toward the back door, where Pop left just a few moments prior. “He’s out in the garage tinkering with something, but you know where to find the towels. The sun’s up, but the beach is all yours.”
“Nah. I want to go at sunrise.”
Dad shakes his head as I head back toward my bedroom. I unpack my meager belongings, then take my guitar out of the case and lean it against the wall. Back home again at thirty-two might feel a little like defeat, but it’s hard to be too defeated when my parents welcomed me home like the prodigal son.
I spend my day moping around my room until they drag me out to the dining room for a dinner of gluten-free pizza. I’d almost forgotten how good a handmade gluten-free meal couldbe. Anthony had refused to go gluten-free, which meant most of my meals were sandwiches and fruit since he’d cooked with gluten in the kitchen. He always thought my celiac disease was a bit of a joke, not something to take seriously. Whenever I’d accidentally eaten gluten and gotten sick—the trademark brain fog, bloating, and stomach upset—he’d act inconvenienced. Not that it mattered that being continually exposed to gluten could destroy my health forever. God. What possessed me to stay with a man who so very clearly hadn’t ever loved me?
I fall asleep that night to the sound of the ocean and an ache a mile wide in my chest.
I wakeup before sunrise the next morning, as if my body knows exactly where I am and what time the sun will make its appearance. Back in Boston it was almost impossible for me to wake up before sunrise. But not now. I’m almost giddy as I tug on clothes and sneak out of my room. The kitchen glows with the microwave light, making it easy for me to steal a piece of pizza out of the fridge before sneaking out the front door.
The sky is that familiar mustard yellow and dark blue that signals the sun is starting to make her ascent for the day. After slipping on a pair of slides that have remained at the front door since I left, I wander over to the garage, grab a beach blanket, and make my way toward the quiet beach. The waves get louder with each careful step. A smile tugs at my lips for the first time in a long time. I don’t know a lot, but I know this, and I know the water. The sand is compact beneath my feet when I tug my slides off, still chilly from the night. Thetide is going out, so the sand is still wet up toward the start of the shore.
