34. Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
“I have a headache,” Mom says an hour later. “That’s why I hate crying. The tears last a few minutes, but the headache lasts for hours.”
“Maybe we should go walk on the beach and let the breeze blow it away,” I say.
She gets up to rifle through the complementary items on the bathroom counter. “Don’t think I can cure this headache with a bottle of shampoo the size of a ketchup packet. I’ll call the front desk and see if they can get me some ibuprofen.”
When the front desk answers, she requests Advil and then biting her lip, she adds a request for two SeaWorld tickets, charged to the room.
“You want to go to SeaWorld?” I ask.
“They’re for Mia and Gabe. It’s the least I can do after they’ve had your back all week.” She massages her temple and adds, “Do you want to go with them? I can add one more.”
“No way.” I grab my phone and text Mia.
Two tickets to SeaWorld and a room key waiting for you and Gabe at front desk. Have fun!
!!!!!!!! DON’T CARE ABOUT SEAWORLD. FIND YOUR DAD?
No. Even better. I found my mom.
She hits me back with a string of emojis I can’t even begin to decipher except the last two end with a dolphin and a heart. “Mia says thank you. Now let’s get you some Advil and go for a walk.”
I’ve got one shoe on when my phone rings. It’s Gabe.
“Um, I’m going to take this really quick,” I tell Mom and slip out to the balcony, closing the sliding door before I answer. “Hi.”
“You good?” He sounds worried.
“I’m really good. It’s kind of a long story, but I did meet the bio dad. Go to SeaWorld and when you get back, we can all get some dinner. I’ll catch you up.”
There’s a long silence. “I’m glad. But somewhere in all of this, you and I need to talk too, Kendall.”
I flash back to the kiss by Trinity Lake. “We will. I promise.” I don’t need to let go of one more hope today, but I’m not screwing things up with Mia again. I told her I’d give up Gabe and I will.
One day.
Probably?
Gabe Sandoval is a hard habit to break.
I shove that impending conversation out of my mind and focus instead on Mom. A bellhop knocks on the door with the Advil, and we take off on a walk along Ocean Boulevard. San Diego is giving us a postcard-perfect day.
“It’s working,” Mom says after we’ve wandered in easy quiet for a while. “Headache is disappearing.”
“Good.”
“I guess now is a good time to ask me any questions you have about David. Maybe I can fill in some blanks.”
There will be time for those later. I don’t want to invite even the shadow of David Lombard to be part of the conversation. But I do have a different question. “In the room, you said you built a life that put me at the center of it. And I have definitely felt that. More than I want to sometimes,” I say with a smile. She answers the teasing with a rueful grin. “But is that why you and Robert have never been official?”
“What do you mean, official? We’ve been in a committed relationship almost from the beginning.”
“Yeah, but . . .” I think about our Friday dinners. “But you really care about him, don’t you?”
“I love him,” she says simply.
“So why not marry him? Why only see him on Friday nights and whenever I’m out with Mia? Does it have anything to do with me?”
She gives a small laugh. “A little. You haven’t exactly been thrilled with Friday dinners. Didn’t seem like pushing you harder was going to help.”
“Friday family dinners,” I correct.
“Yeah?” Her smile grows wider.
“Yeah. Robert . . . I like him. And Cassidy and Austin.” A warm feeling spreads through my chest when I remember both of their faces, showing up in tiny Coffee Creek to make sure I got home safely. And then helping me get to San Diego once they understood how important it was. “I owe Cassidy a ton of money.”
“I’ll put it all back in your account. Don’t worry about it.”
“Isn’t this where you say you’re going to cover it all as a way to make up for lying to me my whole life?”
That makes her laugh outright, and she bumps me with her hip. “Nice try. You’re lucky paying me back is the only long-term consequence you’re going to have for taking off on an unsanctioned road trip.”
“That’s fair. But Mom. Robert? You really need to put a ring on it.”
We walk and talk for a couple more hours, stopping to watch families on the sand, admire a kite-surfer out on the water, and coo over the dogs people walk. As I watch her charm the dog owners with her easy warmth, a new realization breaks over me. My driving need to understand what makes people tick may have come from David Lombard, but the desire to connect with them in a real way, for however few minutes I may spend with them, that’s one hundred percent from Maggie Barrows.
I slide my hand into hers for the rest of the walk, something I haven’t done since I was a kid. We laugh at seagull antics, scope out the lifeguards, and stop every now and then to listen to the crash of the surf. And in between, we catch up. I tell her about Dr. Sandoval’s coin flip advice and how it led to one adventure on top of the next. We talk about life and school and work. Because somewhere in the last couple of years, we quit talking about the real stuff.
We’ve wandered back near the hotel, but instead of crossing the street to it, she leads us to a bench beside the sand. “This has been a perfect afternoon,” she says. “What would you think about staying a couple of days longer? I’ll give Gabe and Mia more than enough to get back home, then you and I can fly back on Sunday?” She looks so hopeful.
“I wish I could,” I say, and her face falls. “I would love to, believe me, but I can’t make Mia do all the driving.” I explain about Gabe’s wallet, and she nods in understanding. “But how about if we do our own road trip soon?” I ask. “We were so close to the Grand Canyon a couple of days ago, and now I’m mad we didn’t detour. Want to go explore it with me? Maybe over Memorial Day?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she says. “I think I’ll need to be convinced.”
I’m surprised. I thought we were both feeling the bonding vibe.
She digs into her pocket for a quarter. “Heads, I go on a road trip with you. Tails, I stay on my super boring schedule selling houses and making vegan food you won’t eat.” She tosses it in the air and yells, “Road trip,” letting it drop somewhere on the concrete without checking it before she tackle hugs me.