Piper
I come home from work in the best mood.
Henry and I hung out for my whole lunch break, and then he explored the park on his own while I finished my tasks.
We stopped on our way out to take a photo in front of the fountain, which came out like one of those dreamy #CoupleGoals images on Instagram.
There’s a spray of mist behind us, and our faces are lit by a sun flare.
Henry’s got an arm looped around my shoulders, and he’s gazing at me, not paying any attention to the camera.
He looks utterly smitten. I’m glowing and starry-eyed, grinning.
As we walked back to the Towers, he told me about his favorite exhibits. First, the manta rays because they look like soaring birds, then the gators because they’re badass, and then the sea turtles, he said with a smile, because they remind him of the night we met.
It’s been a good day—a good summer—but every time I start to feel fortunate, I remember that summer will end, and Henry will return to Spokane, and I’ll be on my own all over again.
The inevitability of it is messing with my head.
How weird that I, a girl who has never wanted a lasting romance, now thinks about forever with a boy who can’t stay.
Sometimes I catch him staring at me, his expression full of wonder. Sometimes he kisses me like he’s trying to memorize the sensation. Sometimes he uses words like later and someday, even though we haven’t talked about what’ll happen after August.
Maybe I’ll get accepted to Stony Brook University. Maybe Tati will let me go. Maybe Henry and I will reunite like we did in June. Maybe he’ll visit me on his breaks from West Point.
That’s a whole lot of maybes.
Ours is a summer romance; I knew what I was getting into when I signed on. Though I’ll be lonely when he leaves, though I’ll miss his hugs, his humor, and his easy presence, though so many of Sugar Bay’s landmarks and all of my favorite spots will remind me of him, I’ll be okay.
I’ll have to be.
In the apartment, I toss my bag on the kitchen table, then rummage through the fridge for a snack.
It’s midafternoon, and I’m thinking about going down to the pool for a while.
Henry and I are hanging out tonight—destination undetermined, though I’m tempted to get him somewhere we can dance again; he’s better than he thinks—so I’ll have to shower and shave my legs and deal with my curls eventually.
But I’m nearing the end of Siren’s Secret, and nothing sounds better than stretching out under the sun with a book.
I’m pulling a bag of baby carrots and the reduced-fat ranch my sister buys from the fridge when she scares the piss out of me by bursting into the kitchen.
“Are you going to share?” she asks, like it’s perfectly normal for her to be in the apartment before dinnertime.
I slap a hand over my racing heart. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“I’m telecommuting.”
“Is that a thing if your workplace is an elevator ride away?”
She shrugs, smooth hair brushing her shoulders. She may be telecommuting, but that didn’t stop her from wielding her flat iron and painting her lips red. “I’m taking care of business. That’s what matters.”
Okay, pod person.
I scatter carrots onto a plate, add ranch, and wave Tati over to the table. She comes with a spring in her step, wearing the most mom-ish coordinating leisure set I’ve ever seen.
“Cool threads,” I say.
She sits, looking down at her outfit. “You think? Davis picked this out.”
I lift a brow. Choosing outfits for each other? That’s personal. A question occurs to me, one I probably should’ve thought to ask before now. “That morning I met him in the kitchen—was that the first time you guys…you know?”
She inspects her cuticles. “No. Not the first.”
“The second?”
She drops her hands to the table and smiles brightly. “He and I went to the mall last night. That was fun!”
“Tati. How many times had he been over before I bumped into him?”
She sighs. “Several.”
“Since when?”
She grimaces. “Christmastime.”
“Christmastime?!”
“It’s not a big deal, Piper. They were casual, those occasions when we…spent time together. And they were sporadic.”
“Christmastime,” I repeat. “Wow. But you were dating Officer Lopez in May. And Mr. Baseball in February and March.”
“Mr. Baseball? Kevin worked in marketing for the Wahoos.”
The Blue Wahoos are the minor league baseball team out of Pensacola. Tati doesn’t like baseball, but she likes men with status, and this guy—Kevin—is high in the organization.
I roll my eyes. “Pardon me. So you were secretly hooking up with Davis while you were with Officer Lopez and Mr. Marketing?”
“Not while I was with them. Between. And don’t even think about giving me a hard time. Davis knew what was going on, and he was an eager partner.”
I snort. “I bet he was.”
She shakes her head. “I know he comes off like a goofball, but he’s different than you think. He’s a good man. A good father.”
“And an eager partner—don’t forget about that.”
She laughs, and my chest warms through. It’s not often that she and I talk this way. Like sisters. Like friends. I don’t hate it.
“He got me through those breakups, if you want to know the truth,” she says. “Helped exterminate those relationships from my system. He was the brandy you sip between the courses of a long meal. A Trou Normand,” she says in an overblown French accent.
My stick-in-the-mud sister’s been entertaining a casual bed buddy for more than half a year. My mind is officially blown. “Is he still a Trou Normand?”
She smiles. “No. Now he’s…something different.”
“Yeah. A personal shopper,” I tease, hoping to keep her engaged.
I’ve missed girl talk.
I’ve missed her.
She smooths a wrinkle from her top. “He swore this would look good. I’m not so sure.”
“It looks great,” I say with sincerity. She reminds me of me during the pre-outing heart-to-hearts I have—had—with Gabi.
I always spent ages in front of the mirror, fishing for reassurance.
Gabi, who looks like she stepped off a runway after spending all of fifteen minutes getting ready, dished out compliments as readily as I trawled for them.
The flattery went a long way toward calming my insecurities.
How interesting, this idea that my sister doesn’t always feel as perfect as she seems.
Maybe we’re more alike than I thought.
She crunches a carrot with intense focus, then dips another and gobbles it up too. She zeros in on me, more solemn now. “How’s work?”
“Good. It’s fun.” And hopefully only the first of many marine life–focused jobs on my resume.
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah. I like it. Don’t worry, I’ve been depositing half of every paycheck.”
“I’m not concerned about your savings, Piper.”
I sit back in my chair, crossing my arms. “But you are concerned?”
“Roger called.”
Roger. No one calls Turtle by his given name. Even my parents used his nickname.
“About what?”
“He said something happened with a guest last week. He said you haven’t been the same since.”
Quills of worry pierce my skin. “He doesn’t think I’m doing a good job?”
“He complimented your work ethic, actually.” She says this with a surprised smile, like she didn’t believe I was capable of putting my nose to the grindstone. “He’s worried, though. He said you’ve been subdued.”
I assumed no one had noticed. It’s not like I’ve ever been a contender for the park’s Miss Congeniality title.
But I’ve been avoiding my coworkers. I’ve maintained distance from Turtle too, because I was hoping that if I kept my head down and busted my butt, he might forget that he had to reprimand me.
I force a laugh. “Have you ever known me to be subdued?”
“No, Piper. That’s what bothers me.”
“I’m fine,” I say with conviction. “Promise.”
“Who was the guest?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Roger said it was a boy—someone you knew. Someone from school?’
I groan. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“You dumped soda on someone. I want to know who it was and why you did it. Otherwise, you can stay in tonight.”
I straighten in my chair. “You’re going to ground me? For something that wasn’t my fault? That’s bullshit, Tati.”
“I left work early to check on you,” she says, keeping her cool, unlike me.
“I thought you were telecommuting.”
She leans forward, her expression pleading. “Please, Piper. Tell me what happened.”
I don’t want to talk about Damon. I don’t want to think about him.
I sure as shit don’t want to spend my work shifts looking out for him, hiding every time I see a scuzzy baseball hat, methodically counting shallow breaths until they’ve evened out enough that I’m sure I’m not going to hyperventilate.
It’s been forever since Gabi’s party, but I’m as messed up today as I was the night Damon put his hands on me.
I want to cry.
“It was sweet tea,” I say quietly.
“What?”
“It was sweet tea, not soda.”
Tati gives me a wry smile. “Sorry.”
“Mitchel Damon came to the park. Gabi’s—”
“I know who he is.”
“He reported me to management. I promised Turtle it wouldn’t happen again.
“But why did it happen at all?”
Incredibly, she doesn’t sound mad. She sounds worried. Sympathetic. Almost motherly. And that makes it just a little bit easier to say, “He was…bothering me.”
My sister closes her eyes, probably recalling the picture Gabi painted for her at Publix. She presses her lips into a grim line. “Bothering you about what happened at Gabi’s?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice small.
“So…” she says, like she’s genuinely trying to understand, “he’s angry with you because Gabi is?”
For the bazillionth time, I consider telling her the whole story. Every humiliating detail. But it’s hard to think the words, let alone give them voice.
“Something like that,” I tell her.
She sighs. “I thought this would blow over by now. I understand why Gabi was upset, but you two have so much history. She knows how you are.”
I flinch, taken aback. “How I am?”
“Spontaneous. Thoughtless, sometimes.”
“God, Tati. That’s really what you think of me?”
“I just wish you’d learn to control your impulses,” she says, and god, I thought we were getting somewhere. Oblivious, she goes on, “I mean, you practically assaulted someone at your job. You’ve got to do better.”
Beneath the tabletop, I ball my hands into fists, feeling like a kettle left on a flame too long. I want out—I want out now. “I told you what happened. Can I please go out with Henry later?”
“Of course.”
She loves Henry, Mr. Good Influence. He’d never get himself into trouble at work. He doesn’t have a thoughtless bone in his body. He’s always in control of his impulses.
But that’s just not me.
There was a time, long ago, when Tati applauded my spontaneity.
Encouraged it, even. Like when I was in second grade and I used Sharpies to draw an undersea mural on the wall of my bedroom while my parents fixed dinner in the kitchen.
They were less than pleased when they discovered what I’d done, but when Tati found out, she complimented my creativity and convinced my parents to put away the touch-up paint.
That mural lived on my bedroom wall until just before Tati put the house on the market. That’s when she intruded on my space and my life, brandishing a can of boring white paint and a list of sky-high expectations.
I abandon my carrots and my sister and retreat to my room, where I climb into bed and bury myself beneath the covers.
I don’t feel like going to the pool anymore.