Page 55 of Mad Girl

With your birthday fresh on my mind, I asked, “How did you handle your birthday this year?”

You shot me a pleading look. “I don’t want to talk about that, okay?”

“Tough. I want to know.”

“You’d just left, so I didn’t handle it perfectly—and that’s all I’m willing to say.” You glanced off to the side long enough for tears to well in my eyes.

When you turned to face me again, you caught me swiping at my cheek.

“Don’t cry,” you said gently. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m here, and I’m fine.”

“But what about the next one I’ll miss? What if that birthday sends you over a ledge, and I’m stuck here, unable to stop you?”

“That’s not going to happen,” you said, leaning forward. “I finally have goals. I have plans for a future. But, more importantly, I have this.” You pressed a finger to the steel table. “Tuesdays are my number-one priority. You are my priority.”

You tried reaching for my hand, your fingers just barely grazing mine before the guard yelled, “No touching!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you muttered, turning in your seat to glare at her.

The guard jabbed a finger at you. “Don’t give me no attitude, pretty boy. I’ll have you thrown out of here.”

“I might actually like to see that,” I said, smiling through the tears.

When you smiled back, my heart skipped a beat.

Speaking of the beach, your first time going with us made that summer extra special for many reasons—partly because I got to see it anew through your eyes. When we pulled up to the sprawling waterfront estate we share with the Harrises on Nantucket Sound, you slowly exited the car, wide-eyed and speechless.

I miss that place.

I miss the white cedar shingles, grayed with age, and the red cedar roof. The black shutters and the giant white columns out front. The sunroom at the back, which overlooks the sparkling turquoise sea. The lush green lawn surrounding the pool and the red wooden staircase that drops down the stone embankment to the private beach.

I miss the way my dad’s shoulders relax the moment he steps foot on the property. He’s a whole new person when he’s there. Quicker to smile and laugh. More lenient with me. So much more at ease.

Until my birthday at the end of July, that is.

“What do you think?” Nic asked, rounding the car. He slapped a hand on your shoulder.

“This is—it’s insane,” you said.

“It’s our home for the summer,” he said with a smile. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”

There are two wings attached to the estate. One belongs to the adults, and the one on the opposite side of the house belongs to the kids. We each had our own separate rooms and en-suite bathrooms. My dad gave you the empty guest bedroom next to mine.

That first night, I heard your shower running on the other side of my bathroom wall, and I tried to picture it: you, wet and sudsy, water streaming over your bare skin, little rivers winding down your stomach, pulled by gravity toward the V of your hips. I took precious time brushing my teeth, cheeks flaming red as I stared at my wide-eyed reflection in the mirror.

Our first morning there, I stumbled down to the kitchen, groggy and wild-haired from sleep.

At the breakfast table, you sipped coffee from a blue mug while Nic and John regaled you and Michael with stories of their boarding school days. Championships won. Teachers who didn’t take their shit. Illicit trips off campus. The same old stories they’d been telling my whole life.

Libby handed me a plate of eggs and bacon as I took a seat next to my dad. He greeted me with a forehead kiss, then tried to smooth down my ratty braid. I swatted him away.

You sat next to John, listening intently as he talked, smiling and laughing at all the right times, clearly invested in his story. When he finished, you said, “I can’t imagine Nic ever breaking the rules.”

John’s very personable—easy to know and easy to like. He really looks at people when he talks to them, and he says their names a lot. “I’m telling you, Casey,” he said, gripping your forearm. “This guy?” He hooked his thumb in my dad’s direction. “Broke all the rules. But he was very sneaky about it, and when he did get caught, he could talk his way out of anything.”

“I can totally see that,” I said around a mouthful of bacon.

The rest of you laughed, but Nic only narrowed his eyes at me. Then he cast a look across the table and said, “I wonder if maybe you’re still a little bitter about that, John.”