Page 92 of Hearts on the Line

But right now? I might as well take the Charger out for some emotional support tacos. Looks like I’m going to end this summer how I started it.

The phone rings, interrupting my spiraling. I help sort out a delivery issue, send off a quick email, then realize it’s time to close up for the day. I’m dreading it. I need to head back and grab my things. I might stay with Sarah, but she said Izzy might be able to help me out with a bed too. So there are options for now.

For a few more weeks.

I’m almost to the restaurant when I spot the large crowd of tourists all cosplaying their New England fantasies in flag sweaters and linen pants. I’d balk except I realize he did it. The crowd is there for the special written on a chalkboard in his handwriting: lobster cacio e pepe.

Then I realize, someone is waiting for me.

My mom is head to toe in pressed white linen, with a giant straw hat on and her favorite pair of Chanel sunglasses. Her nails are painted red—the same bright hue that’s on her lips—and she’s frowning at me.

“If you’re not going to answer your phone,” my mother says, “then I had to come and see for myself what you’re up to.”

Fuck. Okay. I fight off the clammy, cold sweat that beads up in my palms. Suddenly I’m five, waiting for her to look at the picture I drew, but she brushes me aside to drone on about how I could be a better piano player if I only practiced a little more.

I swallow, then glance inside the restaurant, but from out here, I can’t really see inside.

“Hi, Mom,” I say instead. “How long have you been waiting?”

“It took me almost an hour to find parking. I ran into Bridget on the way over, who told me you were here. You’re working at the restaurant?”

“For a bit, but now I’m helping out Ruth. She’s sick. I’m filling in as editor for the summer.”

“For the summer?” she squawks. “You should be in New York.”

I shrug. “It’s two weeks before Labor Day. Not much summer left.”

“And then what?”

I shrug, giving a heartless laugh. “Why does everything have to be so perfectly planned?” I pull the spare key to Ethan’s apartment out of my bag to keep my hands busy. “You drove all this way to check up on me?”

“I was in Connecticut. Decided to drive up for the day and see you.”

“Connecticut?” I repeat.

“Yes. Visiting your brother.” I expect she wanted to hurt me with it, but it doesn’t anymore. Branden and I don’t have a relationship, and maybe someday we will repair what was there. But we were never very close to begin with, and after what happened with Ethan, he ended up in rehab. His first of three separate stints.

“I hope he’s well,” I say.

“He’s fine. He’s leaving Emily.” She says it with a disgusted scoff. “I never liked her anyway.”

I’m so damn tired.

“Do you want to get something to eat? Go for a walk?” I ask. “There’s a really cute bookstore down the street⁠—”

“I hate it here. Just a bunch of jaded townies who never left and want to stick their noses in other people’s business.”

Taking her up to our apartment feels like a violation, like I’m giving something away that isn’t hers to judge. But I’m tired of hiding—from everyone, including her—but especially from myself.

I ran away to Merritt Point, but I’m not going to let her make me feel smaller for choosing this.

“Come on,” I say, already turning toward the back stairs.

“I don’t think so.” She looks disgusted. “Where are you going?”

I don’t answer.

I race up the back stairs, feeling her stare burn into my back. She follows and pulls the keys from my hand, grimacing at the clam keychain Ethan got me as a joke.