3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
“ I t’s final this time.” I tell Mollie the next morning. She’s bent over a bowl of cereal across from me at the kitchen island. My eyes are swollen with tears, my chest aching. I barely slept last night.
“Oh, sister,” Mollie says softly. “Gah, it’s worse than I thought.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, now what?”
“I was thinking,” I say, hands shaking, “that maybe I’ll stay at Belinda’s for a while.”
Mollie sets down her spoon and her phone at that. Oh, no. She clasps her hands together in front of her, leveling her gaze at me. “You’re really going to leave me during my summer before college? Gigi—come on—I thought you said that because you just had a bomb dropped on you, not because you actually meant it. Fight or flight mode or whatever.”
“It probably won’t be all summer,” I tell her. “Probably.”
“Gigi!”
“Mollie. This is like defcon five for me. I have to escape it before I go crazy.”
“I get that. But now?”
“His new girlfriend is moving into the boathouse for the summer,” I explain. “I don’t want to be here longer than I have to be.”
Mollie frowns. “But summer before college.”
“You’ll be fine,” I say. “We’ll FaceTime every night. And you have Jason to keep you company. I’m the lovesick one, remember?”
“Gigi wants to go to Belinda’s,” Mollie says as Mom walks into the kitchen.
My mom blinks. “Oh?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say. “Marcus and I ended things again. I’m looking to get away for a while.”
“You haven’t spent time with your mother since before starting college,” Mom says. “I don’t want to discourage you, but—”
“I understand,” I say. “But isn’t it sort of my choice to spend time with her?”
Mom stands there, blinking at me. “Yes. Yes, of course it is, sweetie. It’s just… I worry about you, that’s all.”
I shake my head at her and she sighs. “Nothing to worry about.”
Mom chews on her lip decisively. “We should mention that to your dad. But we can’t do that without some help.”
Mollie smiles, and Mom quickly grabs her keys. If there’s anything to note about the Knox family women, it’s that my mom is insistent that ice cream can fix anything.
Especially broken hearts.
Having a mom and a mother is an interesting idea. My mom, Greta, has been in my life one year shy of how long my mother has. My dad met Greta a few months after he split from my mother, and Greta got pregnant with my sister, Mollie, not long after that.
Dad tells it like this: when I was born, my mother stayed just long enough to make sure my dad and I were settled in. Dad says she got out of bed one day to feed me in the middle of the night, and the next morning, my mother was nowhere to be found. She left a note, he says, in which she stated that being a mother was not in her life plan, but she was sure he could work parenting into his.
When I was a toddler, Dad discovered my mother had moved to South Carolina and was investing in businesses in a small town there. Dad reached out, wondering if Belinda was interested in seeing me, getting to know me, or anything of the sort. She wasn’t. Not really. But she was more than happy to block out a month every summer to be a parent.
What’s one whole summer in twenty-one years of “parenting?” Surely Belinda can handle interacting with me for twelve weeks instead of the usual four, like she’s allotted for years. Any good mother would. Then again, Belinda isn’t necessarily good.
“I worry you’ll be stepping on her toes,” my dad says that evening, as I’m relaying my intentions over dinner. “Your mother, Belinda, she’s very… She’s busy, Gigi.”
“I’m sure she thinks she’s the busiest person who has ever lived,” I agree. “But think of it like this: it’s a free beach vacation. I need that right now, Dad.”
“We all do,” Dad says with a chuckle. “But is it worth stirring up things with your mother?”
“I think so,” I tell him, scraping my fork against my plate. “It’s the least she could do.”
“Gigi.”
“Seriously, Dad.”
“Can’t you just tell her no so she won’t miss the summer here with me?” Mollie asks. “You have the authority. Use it.”
“Mollie,” Dad says. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“It does, though,” Mollie grumbles. “I’m the one being deprived of a summer with my sister.” Dad ignores Mollie, which makes her huff, grab her plate, and beeline for the sink. “I’m over this,” she says, stomping indignantly up the stairs.
“It would be nice if you spent time with Mollie before she leaves for school,” Dad says quietly. Her door slams, and Dad winces at the sound. “She might have a point.”
“No!” I say quickly. “Listen. Focus. Mollie and I can video chat and text and email and carrier pigeon. The whole thing. It’ll be like I’m here and there.”
“Carrier pigeon?” Dad asks, brow creased. “And do you even use email? Does anyone your age?”
“Technology has come far,” I point out. “Plus, we can access our email on our phones now, you know. It’s a game changer.”
“It makes me nervous too, Brady,” Mom says. “But she is an adult. And your adult daughter can certainly get herself out of a situation she doesn’t want to be in.” She meets my gaze, her eyes sparkling. “Right, Gigi?”
I smile. “Right.”
“And if things go poorly…”
“I’ll come home immediately,” I say. “Please trust me.”
“And you keep us updated,” he continues.
“Of course.”
“If Belinda does or says anything—”
“She’s twenty-one years old, Brady.”
“It’s not our daughter I’m concerned about,” Dad tells Mom. Mom nods solemnly. She’s no stranger to dealing with Belinda falling off the handle entirely. And when she does that, my dad is always her punching bag. His wife is a slut. His daughters are good for nothing, just like him. She left because he was unbearable.
“If anything goes wrong,” Mom says, giving my leg a squeeze under the table, “you call me. Immediately.”
The third degree I’m getting is making me squirm. “You guys are super intense,” I say.
“I think Belinda’s picture may be under the word intense in the dictionary,” Dad says. “This is nothing, kiddo.”
For once, I want to believe Dad is wrong about Belinda. This summer is my chance to prove it.