Be the Girl

“Yeah. Thanks. He’s stronger than I thought. He never pulled that hard when we were at the shelter.” I take a step back into safer, more platonic territory. Where Emmett wants to stay. “I should get him home. Pat said to keep the walks short because of his hip.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” Emmett’s lips press tight. If I were a fool, I’d mistake that look for disappointment.

We head back, the leash wrapped twice around my fist in case of more kamikaze cats.

“What do you have planned for the rest of the weekend?”

“Not much. Homework, probably.” I frown at the red pickup truck that turns onto our street. “What does she have him doing now?”

“Is that the handyman?”

“Yeah. My mom is, like, renovating Uncle Merv’s entire house. I don’t know if it’s because she’s bored, or because she feels guilty for not visiting all those years and this is how she thinks she can make it up to Uncle Merv. But it’s Saturday.”

By the time we round the bend in our street five minutes later, Mick is parked and standing casually on the porch with my mother, cradling a mug in her hands. She’s wearing her favorite mustard-yellow cable-knit sweater and, even from this distance, I can see the way her hair spills over her shoulders in fat waves.

“Hot rollers.” Things begin to click like puzzle pieces. The soft laugh to cap off the “please call me Debra,” the Mick-this and Mick-that, all the projects … “Oh my God. My mom has a crush on the handyman!” I don’t mean to sound appalled by the idea.

Emmett and I linger on the sidewalk, watching the exchange—the way Mick shifts his body, his crinkle-eyed smiles at the porch floorboards, the way my mom giggles and fusses with her sweater collar, her gaze holding his intently, her smile effervescent. She has a thing for him and I think it’s reciprocated.

“Now we know what Mick’s working on today.” My mom.

Emmett chuckles. “And you’re not okay with that?”

“No, I am. At least I think I am?” I pause to consider it for a moment. “It’s just weird. I’ve gotten used to the idea of my dad being with someone else. But my mom?”

“I can’t picture my parents apart, let alone dating other people.” Emmett peers over at his house, as if trying to imagine it at that moment. “It’d be weird,” he finally agrees. “Is this guy nice, at least?”

I shrug. “Seems like it, but I haven’t talked to him. I don’t know anything about him. Like, has he ever been married? Does he have kids?” Is he a closet drinker? A serial cheater?

One thing’s for sure—my mom is going A-to-Z opposite from my partner-at-a-busy-law-firm dad if she’s chasing after Mick. But wouldn’t that fit with this new life she’s taken on? It’s like she’s making a concerted effort to become the exact opposite of who she was in our old life.

Mom bursts out in a strange, youthful laugh and then, spotting us standing on the sidewalk, casts a casual wave.

“How long before they do it, do you think?” Emmett asks suddenly.

My jaw drops and then my hand flies out to swat against his hard chest. “Ew!”

He winces, rubbing the spot where my hand made contact.

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “I watched a guy ram his entire body into you on the ice.”

“I wear padding!”

“All that muscle is basically padding.” And now he knows that I’ve spent a lot of time ogling his body.

By the time we reach my driveway, the awkwardness from earlier has made its way between us again. “So, I guess I’ll see you around?” Where do we go from an almost-kiss? Back to being just neighbors and running buddies and social studies partners, I guess.

Just friends.

He hesitates. “Hey, I’ve got a game tonight in town, if you’re not doing anything. I’m sure Cassie would love for you to come.” His eyes are steady on me.

Is he really asking me for Cassie’s sake? Not that it matters. I’d accept either way.

Still, I try not to sound too eager. “Only if you score … three times.” I pull the number out of the air.

His lip curls with amusement. “You expect a hat trick for gracing us with your presence?”

“Sure?”

Emmett’s head falls back with his laughter. “You really don’t know a thing about the game, do you?”

“You put the puck in the net.” I shrug. “I’ve never lived next to a hockey family before. You people are weird.”

He smirks. “I’ll see what I can do.” Bending down to give Murphy a scratch, he takes steps backward toward his house. “But only if you come.”

He just wants to be friends so why does it feel like he’s flirting with me?

With reluctance—because I could spend the whole day standing here, talking to Emmett—I turn and lead Murphy toward the house.

“Hey, Aria! Mick and I were talking about your closet,” my mom says through a sip of coffee.

“I don’t have a closet.”

“Exactly. He thinks he can frame out the left corner by the door and build you something nice, with shelves and cubbies. Custom. Wouldn’t that be great?”

“That’d be awesome. Hey, Mick.” I offer politely.

“Hi, Aria. How’s the water pressure holding up for ya?”

“It doesn’t take me ten years to rinse the shampoo out anymore, so … good?”

By his nod of satisfaction, I guess that’s the right answer.

Mom’s eyes flicker to Emmett’s retreating back. “He found you, did he?” A secretive smile touches her lips.

Oh, she so knows about my crush on Emmett.

My cheeks burn. Has she been reading my diary after all? A flash of panic tightens my stomach.

No. There’s no way she found it.

“Murphy likes to chase cats,” I blurt, wanting a change of topic, especially in front of our handyman. “And he’s a lot stronger than you’d think, so be careful, if you’re ever walking him.”

“Noted.”

Mick reaches down to scratch beneath Murphy’s chin, earning himself a lick. “Hey there, old man. How you doin’ today?”

Mom studies Mick’s face. Now that I’m closer, I see that she not only did her hair in the time between waking me up and now, but her cheeks are rosy with blush and her lashes are coated in mascara.

She suddenly looks up and catches me watching her gawk at Mick. She gives her head the slightest shake. “Before I forget, Heather and Mark invited us for Thanksgiving dinner next Sunday. I know it’s your birthday but I thought a family dinner would be nice.” Her forehead furrows. “I can’t remember the last time we had a turkey.”

Because turkeys have always been too much work and so messy and “God, what do you do with all the leftovers?” complicated.

And none of that matters because it means I get to spend at least part of my sixteenth birthday with Emmett. “That’s fine.”

“Good, because I’ve already said yes.” Mom’s lips quirk. “I figured you’d be more than agreeable.”

Now she’s teasing me.

I plaster on a wide smile. “You look really nice this morning, Mom. You did your hair and makeup and everything. Were you expecting someone?”

Mom’s eyes flash first to Mick and then to her coffee mug, her cheeks glowing. “I thought we’d go out shopping when you got back from your walk. For a new couch and wine and stuff.”

“You want your fifteen-year-old daughter to help you shop for wine?”

“What? No! And cheese and groceries and …” She’s flustered. My mother is never flustered. She laughs and shakes her head, flashing me a warning glare. “Go on inside, Aria. There’s a plate of pumpkin bread on the table.”

“Pumpkin bread today. Great.” I drag my feet up the stairs.

“Your mom is quite the baker,” Mick offers.

“Yes. All of a sudden, it would seem. It’s like she’s trying to impress someone.”

“Okay. Off you go!” Mom shoos me inside with a wave of her hand.





15





I should have dressed warmer.

Heather warned me that the rink would be much colder tonight than last time, back when summer still lingered in the air. I misjudged and now I’m left shivering in my fleece sweater and my fall vest, my only source of warmth the watered-down hot chocolate I grabbed from the snack bar.