Chapter 17 Georgia #2
I feel heat overtaking my brain; the mango Popsicle is suddenly mushy and about to dissolve all over me. “I will do no such
thing.”
“So, it isn’t true?”
I throw my hands up, my frustration erupting. “So what if it felt good in the moment, Benny? That is beside the point completely.”
“I don’t think it is. I think it’s the whole point. Why don’t you let yourself be happy, Georgia?”
The heat gathering in my chest is starting to feel like something other than anger. Why is he asking me this? “I do. I am happy. I am very happy. Or I was, until you came into the picture.”
He lets out another sigh. “You are stuck in some idea of what your life is supposed to be like. But there’s obviously so much
more to you, beneath the surface. It’s no secret that I like you, and I want you to admit that you feel this too. But even
if you never admit it to me, I just . . . I hate how locked up you are. It’s not fair. For someone as special and beautiful
as you to be living in this, like, this . . . I don’t know . . . this box you’ve put yourself into.”
I am dumbfounded. I just don’t know how to respond to this. I don’t recall ever being so . . . seen. It’s something other than attraction—or attention, even. It’s like being completely exposed.
I hate it.
“I’m not in a box, Benny. This is who I am. And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go home.”
I chuck the melting remains of the Popsicle in the trash can and climb into my car, where the sticky-sweet mango scent still
lingers on my fingers.
The whole drive home, I can see the sun flashing between the trees, bright and beautiful, but it’s shining on a faraway land,
not on me. The walls of my life are closing in.
This box you’ve put yourself into.
Is he right? But who is he to tell me how to live my life? After all, I rationalize, my favorite place to shop is the Container
Store. My favorite thing to do is draw little boxes on my to-do list and then check them off, one by one. Maybe I have put myself into a box, or a series of them. Maybe I like boxes. They are contained. They are organized, safe, predictable. Boxes are the building blocks of society!
And yet . . . that image of being inside a box—like Barbie in the movie—makes me itchy with uncertainty. What am I missing
out on? What would I let myself love if I could . . . let myself love?
I don’t realize that tears are streaming down my face until the road ahead goes blurry and I have to pull over.
I pat my face dry with my beach towel, leaving sandy crumbs stuck to the sunscreen. Get it together, Georgia.
Before I turn the engine back on, my phone pings.
Speaking of sixth senses. It’s Rhys. I have a surprise for you! Can’t wait to see you soon.
I swallow hard, but all I can taste in my throat is the suffocating flavor of mango.
I burst through the door as soon as I get home—between the sweat and the sand and the sunscreen and the mango Popsicle and
the tears, I’m desperate for a shower. But instead of the usual bustle of the house—Mom in the kitchen transitioning from
writing to cooking, Dave home from the library and lighting the grill, Daisy and Eden prattling on about their days—it’s quiet.
And everyone is sitting in the living room.
They look up when I walk in. Mom, Dave, Eden, Daisy, and . . . that’s when I realize.
Rhys.
“Surprise!” he says.
“I— What? You’re here early? How?” I try not to show how flustered I feel, but I’m afraid it’s obvious from the way my hands
are fluttering around like birds released from a cage.
He gets up to wrap me in a hug, but I pull away. “Sorry, don’t hug me—I’m completely gross.”
He laughs. “Okay, why don’t you shower?”
“Wait,” Mom says. “Before you do, take a seat, both of you.”
Irrational fear jolts through me like I’ve been hit by lightning. Do they know? Why is everyone sitting here, so quietly and seriously? Is this an intervention? Are they going to force me to publicly admit to cheating on Rhys?
The panic starts ringing in my ears as I take a seat on the couch next to Rhys.
Mom clears her throat and takes Dave’s hand. The gesture alarms me even more. Like she needs strength to confront me. I glance
at Eden and Daisy, trying to read their expressions. Are they on my side? But I can’t tell what they’re thinking—they’re focused
on Mom too.
“Dave and I wanted to share something with all of you. Rhys, too, of course, since you’re here. And we’re so happy that you
are,” she adds, which drives a knife through me.
“What? What is it?” I blurt out, desperate for them to just spit it out. If I have to have the walls crumble down around me,
I may as well get it over with. The suspense is worse.
“Just say it, Mom,” Daisy prods.
I look to Daisy—was this her idea? She clearly already knows, or guesses, what this is about. . . .
“Okay, okay!” Mom says, suddenly breaking out into a huge grin. She looks at Dave and then around the room at us. “We’re engaged.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Daisy and Eden start squealing and jumping up and down.
Rhys reaches over and squeezes my hand. Then he gets up to give my mom a congratulatory hug.
I feel like gravity has socked me in the stomach, sinking me into the couch.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be happening.
It’s like they’re all operating in a different version of reality; laughing and crying and hugging and asking questions and
congratulating Mom and Dave, while I’m watching from the outside through a foggy window. I’m in some nightmare and can’t connect
to the other side. The ringing in my ears is so loud I can’t even think.
Somehow, I manage to shove myself out of the couch cushions and stand, wobbly. Instead of approaching the rest of them, though,
I walk in a daze right out the front door. I stagger toward the edge of the lawn to the trees, then down the steps that lead
to the little path to the water.
Dad, I think. Dad, you won’t believe this.
I feel the strangest urge. I want to protect him—Dad—from finding out what Mom has done.
I know he’s there at the edge of the water, with his fishing pole, watching the sunset. Oblivious to this cruel twist of fate.
Oblivious to the fact that everyone—everyone besides me—has decided it’s okay to abandon him, leave him behind.
When I reach the water’s edge, I see with cold shock that the shore is empty. Some part of me really believed, for a second
there, that I would see Dad. That he’d hear me approaching and turn around, taking off his baseball cap. His figure silhouetted
in fading gold-red sunlight.
But no one is there.
“Georgia.”
It’s Rhys’s voice. He’s followed me.
“Hey, baby, what’s going on?”
“It’s too much,” I gasp. “It’s too soon.”
He puts his arms around me from behind, and we stand like that, facing the water, and I can’t bear to turn and face him. I
feel like I’m going to split into a million shards.
“Don’t you want your mom to be happy?”
I let out a sniffle, thinking of my conversation with Benny. “Maybe I don’t know what that even means.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be silly.”
“I’m not,” I say.
“If it’s what’s best for her, I’m sure it’s what’s best for everyone. Be rational, baby.”
I pull away. “I’m sick of being rational! What good has being rational done for me? It only got me—here!” I’m shaking, angry now.
“What’s so bad about here?” There’s complete confusion written on Rhys’s face.
Truthfully, it feels kind of vindicating, like, yeah, take a good look at the real Georgia, the person I am now. Not so proper after all. Not so easy to soothe into compliance.
“Everything,” I say. “Just—everything. This was never how the summer was supposed to go. I was right—we shouldn’t have even come up here.
It was too soon, too close. We weren’t ready.
And now—you’re never around. You’re living your glamorous life in the city, and I’m out here dealing with everybody falling apart, including myself. ”
He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
“No!” I almost laugh. “No, you don’t understand.” I shake my head in disbelief. “I honestly don’t know if you’ve ever really
understood me, Rhys. I think you just love this idea of Georgia Holliday. Accomplished, smart, pretty, athletic, and fits easily under one arm. Am I right? I’m right, aren’t
I?”
“Baby, where is this coming from? Did—did Mateo tell you something?”
“Tell me what?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to understand why you’re so upset with me. What have I done?”
I shake my head again. I don’t know how to explain. “It’s not something you’ve done.”
He looks relieved. “But—then what’s wrong?”
I stare at his perplexed, handsome face, and the frustration is so strong in me I want to push him, shove him, make him wake up and see what I’m going through. Make him understand. But all I can say, all that comes to me, is the same word that came to
me when I was floating on the lake last Sunday with Benny.
“This.”
“This, as in . . . us?” His eyes search my face. “Georgia,” Rhys says slowly, “are we breaking up right now?”
I stare at him, feeling like I’ve been slapped. That wasn’t what I was saying at all. I was trying to say that he doesn’t get me, doesn’t see me, doesn’t understand that everything until now was a lie. . . .
I was trying to tell him what I’ve done. That I ruined us.
But as we look at each other in shared shock, I begin to realize that maybe he’s right. Maybe breaking up is exactly what
I’m doing.
Even though I never in a million years planned to.
Never thought it was what I wanted.
What would you let yourself love?
A sob rises in my throat. “I’m sorry, Rhys. I don’t love you anymore.” I realize it’s true the moment the words come out.
“Baby,” he says quietly, but that word, baby, grates against my ears. I can’t stand here and be soothed and mollified, told it’s all going to be okay, when it’s not. But
then he shocks me even further. “I think maybe this was coming for a long time.”
“It—it was?”
He looks into my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he says.
“No,” I say. “No, I am. More than you can ever know.” My voice is gravelly in my throat. “Goodbye, Rhys.”
And then I walk past him, away from the sparkling water and the memories and the past.
Away from the person I used to be.
The yellow house on Greenvalley Lane isn’t hard to find.
I feel unhinged as I knock on the door, and even more wild and embarrassed when an older woman answers. She’s shorter than
me, with lined skin and a kind smile. She’s wearing black leggings and pale pink Crocs.
“You must be Abuelita,” I say, realizing I don’t know her actual name, only what Benny calls his grandma.
She looks a little surprised—understandably—taking in my disheveled appearance and tear-streaked face. “?Benito! ?Vete aquí!”
she says loudly over her shoulder. “Alguien vino a verte.”
She steps aside, and Benny appears. He’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, which shouldn’t take me aback but it does—I’m
used to only seeing him in swim trunks on the beach. Here, he’s a whole person, with a whole life I know so little about.
Shyness suddenly overtakes me and I don’t know what to say.
But Benny breaks into a big smile. “Oh good! You’re not mad at me. I thought after our conversation today . . .”
I shake my head, trying to find the right words. “Not mad” is the best I can do.
“Do you want a frozen hot chocolate? You look like you could use one.”
I shake my head again. “That’s not why I’m here.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Should we go somewhere else where we can talk?”
I nod.
He steps behind the door for a second and comes back with a pair of flip-flops on. “Voy a salir, Lita,” he shouts, and leads
me back down the front steps to the road. “Where’s your car?” he asks me.
“I walked here.”
He looks at me in surprise. “Wow, okay.”
“Can we go to the beach?”
“It’s kind of a long walk.”
“But how do you get there every day?” I ask.
He points to the side of the house, where a bike is resting. “We might both fit on there. Wanna give it a try?”
I shrug. “Okay.”
He drags out the bike and sits on the seat, then instructs me to climb up onto the handlebars. It takes a few tries of me
falling on top of him, and despite the misery that’s been boiling inside me, I burst out laughing.
I finally get my butt positioned in the middle of the bars. “Can you even see around me?” I shout, but he starts pedaling,
and I start screaming as we sail downhill, the evening air rushing past my face, drying the last of my tears.
The beach is empty and the sun has almost set. We leave the bike by the sand and walk down the wood-boarded path toward the
water. “Dock?” he asks.
I nod, and he takes my hand.
To my surprise, I let him.
We walk to the end of the dock and kick off our sandals, sitting with our feet dangling in the water.
“Did you want to talk?” Benny asks quietly.
“You were right,” I blurt out at last. It’s such a massive release to say it aloud. “You were right about everything. I feel
so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” he says. “What happened?”
“We broke up,” I say, my voice breaking. “Me and Rhys.”
“Because of me?” His voice is low; we’re both looking out at the water and not at each other.
“No. Because of me,” I say. “I don’t know what I want, but I know you’re right that I want something more. I want something different. I want
space to figure out what that is.”
“I’m happy for you, then,” he says, putting his hand back on top of mine.
“Also, my mom is getting engaged to her boyfriend.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a lot.”
I sigh with relief. It’s such a simple acknowledgment of the truth. “I knew you’d get it.”
He turns to face me. “So . . . can I ask you . . . what this means for me?”
I meet his gaze. “I don’t know. I don’t know what anything means right now.”
“Maybe we don’t have to know.”
I swallow, a ball of nerves gathering in my throat. “Maybe we don’t have to know,” I repeat. It feels so freeing—and so scary—to
say that.
He reaches up to my face, brushing stray hair from my eyes. Then he smiles, letting out a small laugh.
“What? What’s so funny?” I ask, surprised that a laugh escapes me, too.
“Who would’ve thought, when I first saw you, that we’d end up here. I just feel like the luckiest person alive,” he says. “To be sitting here with you.”
“Me too,” I say.
And then I kiss him.
The kiss is long and slow and magical, like sinking into the water. He leans back on one arm and soon we’re lying on the dock,
in each other’s arms. Eventually, I pull away for breath and we look into each other’s eyes, and then kiss some more—with
even more intention.
Like this could be our only chance.
And who knows.
Maybe it is.