“No, he broke up with her, remember? I’m talking about Norah. The ex-weather woman. Or was she a Real Housewife of somewhere?” I shake my head as I mentally try to recap my father’s long dating history. “I can’t remember. Anyway, whatever she did she loves a photo op.”
I hear Mom’s heels hitting the tiles, which gives me enough time to force a smile back onto my face. Her hand gently brushes over my hair as she passes and she twirls the end around her fingers. She says it looks like hers when she was twenty and how happy she is that I’m all her. Same light, blonde hair and green eyes, same freckles that appear after too long in the sun, same everything. Unlike my sister, who is a carbon copy of my dad, with me there’s not a Chuck Roberts gene in sight.
Taking a seat across from me again, she sighs. “I’m going to miss you girls. Should I get the check? I’m sure you want to get to the airport with plenty of time.”
“That’d be good. Thanks, Mom.”
It’s funny how the moment Mom acts reasonable I start to feel bad about leaving when she so clearly would love me to stay. There is nobody on this planet who can get under my skin like my mother, which only fuels my complaining about her, and yet the moment she shows a shred of humanity I crumble. The guilt begins to creep into my system like venom burning its way through my blood, but the universe delivers me the antidote in the form of my cellphone buzzing in my pocket, quickly reminding me why I so desperately need to get away from this place and everyone in it.
MAN WHO PAYS THE RENT
Got delayed helping Isobel move out of her dorm so won’t make it to breakfast.
Safe travels.
I discreetly tilt my phone screen toward Emilia while Mom hands her credit card to the server, thankfully keeping her distracted. I don’t need to be looking at my best friend to know she’s rolling her eyes hard. It’s not a surprise to me after I saw him moving Isobel out of her dorm on Norah’s story last night. It’s nice Norah’s daughter gets the caring dad treatment; perhaps one day Isobel can let me know what it’s like.
The easiest thing for me to do is convince myself it’s just who he is as a person. That it isn’t anything to do with me. The disinterest, the broken promises, the cold and aloof parenting method is because he wasn’t ever cut out to be a great dad and that’s not my fault. But then I see him with someone else’s kid and I’m back to thinking maybe it is me.
I’d be upset if it wasn’t so fucking predictable.
I’m tired more than anything. Tired of feeling like I don’t fit in my own family. Tired of questioning my every choice. Tired of wanting to do better but feeling like I can’t manage it.
Emilia keeps Mom chatting the whole drive back to the house, which gives me the opportunity to stew in my anger and feelings that are most definitely not disappointment, rejection and hurt. I’d have to care to feel rejected and I don’t care anymore.
It’s clear the universe has no intention of giving me a fucking break as we idle in traffic in front of an ice rink. Russ has been on my mind since I woke up this morning, which is not a problem I’m used to having after a one-night stand. He wasn’t what I’m used to, in a good way, and I can’t get him out of my head. I’m trying to not feel bad that things ended without so much as a goodbye, but it’s hard to forget about him when his fingerprints are still decorating my hips from where he held me.
Pulling into the driveway beside my car, the impending goodbye hangs awkwardly in the air as we all climb out. The guilt floods me again, because for all of Mom’s faults, she’d never bail on me for someone else’s kid.
She’d never not call. I’ve never had to beg, cry or fight for her to love me.
The hug I pull her into catches her off guard at first, but she wraps her arms around me tightly and nuzzles into my hair, whispering so only I can hear. “Don’t forget to call.”
“I won’t.”
Emilia waits until Mom is a dot in the car mirror before daring to speak. “You good?”
“I’m fine. I just need plane snacks and to manifest a double Fenrir DNF today.”
Chapter Seven
RUSS
I hate myself for drinking last night.
Why I decided last night was the night to finally relax a little and do what I want I’ll never know. I never quite reached being drunk, but the consequences of slow constant drinking to stay buzzed is almost worse. It means this entire drive has been even more tiring and even longer than it needed to be with a small, low ache in the base of my head. If I’d gotten black out drunk I would have gone to bed alone and I might have had a good night’s sleep for once.
Not sleeping isn’t anything new for me and, after years of sporadic, light slumber, my body operates pretty well on empty. This drive has been rough though and I’m seriously regretting driving instead of flying.
If I’d flown, I could have had several more hours in bed, instead of having to get up and get on the road first thing. Henry and Robbie waved me off, both red-eyed and practically still asleep, mumbling something about rescuing me from horses and cows if I needed them to, but it meant a lot anyway and for the first time in forever, I feel excited to come back to Maple Hills at the end of summer and see my roommates.
Maybe if I’d flown, I wouldn’t have spent the past four hours thinking about the woman in my bed last night. Well, in my bed until she wasn’t. I should accept it for what it was; a one-night stand between two consenting adults. Not something I usually do, generally it takes more than one night for me to get the confidence to make a move, but she was so confident and I wanted to match it.
I’m kicking myself for not saying more to her while I had the chance to. Although, maybe her leaving and telling me without any words that she wasn’t interested in anything more is easier in the long run. I spent so long in the bathroom hyping myself up with one of JJ’s silly pep talks to convince myself to ask her if she wanted to go on a date when I get home from camp, that if she’d rejected me to my face, I’d have probably locked myself back in the bathroom.
Yeah, it was a blessing she left without saying goodbye.
Message received.
One-night only.
I probably made a fool of myself but there was something in her gaze, in her smile when I looked at her. Maybe she pitied me, that would make more sense, to be honest. Pity or not, I’ve spent the past several hours torturing myself with the memory of her soft skin beneath my fingers and her moans in my ear. I know I won’t see her again and I should probably just forget about her, but sometimes it’s not that easy.
If I remember how fucking unbelievable she felt maybe it’ll dull the feeling of disappointment that I didn’t get to ask her out.
The stones crunch under my tires as I turn into the large dirt track adjacent to the huge Welcome to Honey Acres sign. Anticipation drowns all the other feelings in my body and it hits me that I’m finally here after so much waiting. I didn’t go to sleepaway camp when I was younger because my family couldn’t afford it. Mom was reluctant to commit to anything so far in the future, never knowing whether Dad’s paycheck was going on the bills or a bet.
She wouldn’t look at places for kids in families with financial insecurity, because she was too busy pretending things were fine. I didn’t get it when I was younger, which I’m thankful for in many ways, because for a long time I just thought she liked having me and my brother home.
But like everything else, I’ve gotten myself here. I might not be a kid anymore, but I’ll get to see what I was missing all those years and, even better, I’ll get paid for it.
In the distance, a huge log cabin appears and, as I get closer, parked cars and a bus decorated in Honey Acres branding come into view. Pulling into an empty space, I take a deep breath and give myself a minute to adjust. It looks exactly like the brochure, even down to the people wandering around with their bags looking excited.