Page 107 of The Summer We Lie

Me: I'll tell you when I see you.

Mom: Okay, be safe on your way home. I love you.

Me: Love you too mom.

I shove my phone back into my carry-on and stare out the window as California passes by in a blur. Everything happened so fast—meeting Dom, falling for him, losing everything. Just like that. Yesterday, I was happy. Now I'm running home with my heart shattered and my best friendship destroyed.

The tears keep coming as the car pulls onto the highway. I don't even try to stop them anymore.

Seven hours later, I'm landing in Pennsylvania, exhausted from crying on and off the entire flight. The woman next to me had given up offering tissues after the first hour and just pretended not to notice. My eyes feel swollen and raw, my throat scratchy from sobbing.

I book another Uber when I land—it's going to cost a fortune to get home, but I wasn't about to ask Mom to pick me up. Not when I'd have to explain why I'm suddenly back, eyes puffy, looking like my world ended. Which it did.

The airport crowds blur around me as I drag my hastily packed bags through the terminal. Everything feels distant, like I'm watching myself from somewhere outside my body.

After what feels like hours, the car pulls up to my home—the small two-story house I grew up in. It looks exactly the same, which somehow makes everything worse. Like the universe is mocking me: see how nothing changed while your entire life fell apart?

I get out and the driver gets out too, helping me with my bags.

"Thank you," I say, my voice still raw from crying.

"You're welcome, miss," he says and gets back in the car. I make sure to tip him extra before going inside, one small kindness in a day that's been nothing but pain.

I haul my bags to the front door and turn the knob, but it's locked, so I knock. Seconds later Mom is flinging the door open and wrapping me in a hug. I've kept the tears at bay for hours, but her embrace brings the emotions all back to the surface. I cry on her shoulder, and she lets me, never asking for answers.

"It's okay, baby," she whispers, stroking my hair. "Whatever it is, it's going to be okay."

But it's not. Nothing about this is okay.

After I compose myself a little, I follow her inside, and she pulls me to the kitchen. She pulls out a tub of strawberry ice cream and we sit in silence as she makes us both bowls. It's our tradition—ice cream for breakups, bad days, and heartache. She's done this since I was little.

She comes around the island and sits beside me. I start eating my ice cream, but the sweet taste reminds me of Dom and I start crying again, tears dripping into the pink dessert.

She rubs my back, and it's soothing, but then Justin walks in and stares at me, his face scrunched in confusion.

"Why are you crying?" he asks directly, in that way he has where social filters don't exist.

"I'm fine," I say, wiping at my eyes.

"But you're crying," he states simply, looking between me and Mom. "Are you and Harper fighting?"

Mom jumps in, her voice gentle. "She's not ready to talk about it. Will you take her luggage up to her room, please? It's in the living room."

"Sure," he says, then looks at me. "I'm glad you're back, even if you're sad. I missed you."

His simple honesty makes me smile despite everything. "I missed you too."

He walks into the living room, and we go back to eating our ice cream in silence. When we finish, Mom grabs our bowls and rinses them out in the sink.

"Come on, let's get you settled," she says, and we go up to my room. She stops at the closet in the hall to get clean sheets.

When we get to my room, I dig in my bags to find something to sleep in. I take off my hoodie and my shorts and put on some comfy pants, realizing I'm still wearing Dom's shirt underneath. I can't bring myself to take it off yet.

I help Mom finish making the bed, and when it's ready, I curl up on top of it. She sits beside me, her hand smoothing my hair like she did when I was little.

"Was it Dominic?" she asks suddenly, surprising me.

My eyes fly up to her. "How..." I start, but she cuts me off.