5. Chapter 5
Chapter five
“ D id your father buy you that?” my mother asks, nodding to my dress. She surveys the light blue silk and lace, letting out a dissatisfied hum. “I think you’d look better in something for summer. A yellow, or coral maybe.”
I’m here on a free beach vacation, I tell myself. I battle to collect my thoughts enough to form some sort of reply. Before I can, my mother says, “I’ll swing by a boutique on the boardwalk after work tomorrow and find something for you. Don’t worry, sugar. You’ll look much better in a seasonal color palette.”
Oh, my god. I’ve been here for five minutes. I can’t help but think about the rideshare driver who dropped me off here, wondering if he’s too far away to catch on foot. The walls of this immaculate yellow house at the end of a perfect, cozy cul-de-sac, and its well-manicured garden and neutral decor, are suffocating me. Add the fact that Belinda has a picture of herself from the ribbon cutting of The Diner on her wall and you have the perfect recipe for a well-received community woman.
From the outside looking in, Belinda is a perfect person.
Who’s Belinda to say anything about my appearance, anyway? Her bleach-blonde hair is tucked into a high ponytail that resembles a high school cheerleader, and the tank top and shorts she has on wouldn’t pass a high school dress code. Her tank top reads, in a messy scrawl, The Diner.
I take a breath. No, Gigi. Free beach vacation. A reprieve from a broken heart. Focus. “Let’s go eat,” I say. “I’m starving, and that felt like a super long flight.”
“I always fly first class,” my mother says, grabbing her keys and her black clutch from the table in the foyer. “Plenty of snacks and alcohol there. Maybe I’ll gift you a ticket upgrade for the flight back. I can usually find a semi-decent discount on those things.”
My body stiffens, a forced smile plastered on my face. “Thank you.”
She smiles, pleased. I follow her wordlessly to the car. “It’s a shame your father couldn’t be so thoughtful for your venture here.” I slide into the passenger seat of her Jeep. As the engine turns over, Belinda says, “Had I known he was going to decide to neglect you, I would’ve certainly helped.”
Neglect is a stretch. I was pleased, really, with my experience in coach. Any chance to make Dad look like the worst parent is a chance Belinda gladly captures every time she can, though. “It’s fine,” I tell her. “I didn’t mind.”
My mother guffaws as she pulls away from the cul-de-sac. We turn onto the main road, passing the public access beach and a gas station with a packed parking lot.
“What’s with the traffic?” I ask. “And at a gas station.”
“Parties,” Belinda says. “Heaping with fresh graduates, vacationers, and everything in between. You should really go see what it’s about. Young men pass through the diner all the time on the way there. I’m sure you could use more friends, honeybee.”
I have always hated nicknames. And that hatred started when I was younger, in one of the first summer months I spent with her. I was maybe nine, and she called me sugar. I hated it.
Since then, I’ve winced whenever anyone calls me anything but Gigi. It makes me think that calling someone a nickname is a sad attempt at making yourself feel better, like you can convince yourself you’re close to somebody if you call them the nickname you’ve chosen for them enough.
I’m a good mother , Belinda might say. I called you sugar. And honeybee.
I was a good guy, Geeg, Marcus will say. We had good times.
Neither are true. And a nickname doesn’t make it so.
“I’ve been so busy lately,” my mother says, keeping her eyes fixed on the road ahead. We get to a tiny downtown business district, made up of just her restaurant, a few small shops, and a coffee shop: Beach Brew. At the only stoplight, she hangs a left into a parking lot. “And there are call-ins sometimes, so having to move things around is never fun.” She cuts the engine. “I wonder what chaos I’ll walk into right now. Good god, it’s never ending.”
When Belinda pulls open a back door, I’m greeted by the smell of sautéed onions and bacon. And, just as she said, chaos. Two cooks are moving frantically at flat-top grills in the back of the building. They’re shifting plates into a window leading to the dining room.
“Order!” a dark-haired girl with a tall, thin frame says as I get through the tight corridor separating the kitchen and dining room. Booths clad in ripping red leather line the walls, a few tables situated in between the bar and booths packed with clubs of retirees. The bright yellow paint job really brightens the place, not that it needs it. To me, this feels like Geddington Beach’s small town charm, encased in one place.
Though, that could be because the place is the textbook definition of small—cramped, even.
“Go sit in a corner booth while I check up on things, why don’t you?” Belinda says as she turns to head back down the hall. “I’ll bring you back a soda.”
I situate myself in a corner booth as requested, and I’m scanning the menu, trying to ignore the way the laminated sheet sticks to my fingertips, when a voice says, “I didn’t expect it to be so obvious. There’s no denying you’re her daughter.”
I jump at the sound of the waitress’ voice.
“Shit,” she says. “Sorry.” It’s the waitress from when we arrived. The girl is tall and bony, her clavicles jutting out against sunburned skin underneath her dark blue T-shirt that looks three sizes too big. Her dark eyes glint, extra noticeable with her dark hair pulled into a clip on her head.
“All good.” I smile. “Can I get a Coke, please?”
“You could be twins,” she says. “I’m Rory, by the way. I’m like, your mom’s work daughter.”
I contemplate that concept as I scan the menu, and Rory leaves to grab my Coke. She returns at the same time my mother does, holding drink cups.
“I got you a diet,” Belinda says as she slips into the booth opposite me. “I figured this was best. Swimsuit season?”
I smile weakly at my mother. Next to us, Rory gives me a furrowed brow. I nod at her, hoping she ignores every facet of this interaction.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate it.”
“And if you’re trying to be mindful, I’d recommend the chicken caesar salad,” Belinda continues.
My stomach knots with the weight of her words. I had my heart set on chicken tenders or a burger. But if mother dearest recommends something more appearance-conscious, I can’t disagree. At least, not if I want to keep the peace. “I’ll do that,” I say, plastering on another perfect smile. “That sounds good.” Good if I’m dieting. Which, apparently, is the plan.
“Make it two,” my mother tells Rory.
“Like mother like daughter,” Rory says. She gives me another glance before walking off again.
With Rory out of earshot, I expect my mother to strike, as she often does. “Rory, on the other hand, could stand to indulge in a bacon burger. Wouldn’t you say? She’s much too thin.”
My throat goes dry, heat rising to my hairline. “She’s very pretty.”
“I’m not saying she isn’t pretty,” my mother says, lowering her voice considerably as Rory shuffles back over and fills the water glasses of the table behind us. “I just prefer to see a woman embrace her femininity with curves. Like you have.”
I bite on the inside of my cheek and wince at the feeling of nausea in my stomach. Backhanded compliments, I’ve realized over the years, are my mother’s bread and butter. That’s her way of being nice, telling me I have the body type she wishes her staff would have: plump and curvy.
First, I’m average and considerably non-curvy. Though, if I was as thin as Rory, Belinda would surely recommend that I, too, try a bacon cheeseburger. There’s no winning with her. At least, not if you are her daughter.
“So, how’s your family doing?”
“You are my family, too,” I say, knowing it’s better to start here. I learned to not answer this question with how Dad, Mom, and Mollie are doing. At least, not at the start. First, I must pander.
“Yes, well. It’s obvious who the preferred family members are, though.” Belinda stirs the ice in her Diet Coke with her straw as she speaks. “Let’s not simply ignore that.”
“Mollie starts college in the fall,” I say, ignoring her slight. “She’s undecided on her major, though.”
“You were too until I recommended a business degree,” Belinda says with a flippant wave of her hand. “I’m sure that advice was the best you could’ve gotten. Look at you now.”
“Right,” I reply. I chose business because routine and structure are part of my DNA. Unforeseen circumstances aren’t my forte.
“And if you work as hard as I did,” Belinda says in between sips of her soda, “maybe you’ll make the Dean’s list or graduate early. When I graduated, it was a shock to many that I did so well. Belinda Elliott always finds a way, sugar. Trust me.”
“I’m sure,” I tell her. Abandoning your motherhood duties certainly helped.
“Things were rocky for a while, as your father and I settled things down when you were little. But you know I don’t let the bad get me down. Graduated with honors, despite it all.”
“Impressive.” The way that she says the bad makes me want to scream. I bite the inside of my cheek.
Belinda smiles wide. It looks like she may have invested in veneers since the last time we’ve seen each other. No one’s teeth are that white, straight, or perfect.
“You’re looking really good,” I say. My palms start sweating, but I trudge on anyway. “And your smile. You must have a good dentist.”
A normal person would likely admit their teeth are porcelain. Not Belinda Elliott. “Doctor Fischer says I’m the cleanest mouth he sees,” she says confidently, sitting up tall and smiling bright again. “You know, it probably takes him five minutes for my appointment.”
I stifle a chuckle. “No kidding.”
When Rory walks up with our salads, I’m thankful for the distraction of picking through chicken and lettuce on my plate. I’m slowly getting through the rabbit food I don’t desire, as my mother tells me about being the healthiest woman in her workout group. When I’m tired of shuffling things around the plate, I push it away and top the mass of food with my crumpled napkin.
“I hate to interrupt,” Rory says, “but we’re out of fives and the couple at seven want me to make change for a twenty.”
Belinda wipes her mouth on a napkin and quickly stands to her feet, all business. “I got it,” she says. “Be back quick.”
Watching Belinda walk away, Rory turns her attention to me and slides into the booth opposite me. “You can’t even drink Coke?” she says. “God, I knew Belinda was a bitch, but to her own kid? And you know, I know you’re in college. So, I know that you’re old enough to tell her to screw herself without any repercussions.”
“That will make things hard,” I say. “It’s easier to just let her go.”
“It’s not,” Rory says. “My dad chose drugs over me a long time ago. Telling him to get bent was the best thing I ever did.”
“Does he still try to be a dad?” I ask. “Even though he’s not even close to being one?” Quickly, I add, “No offense.”
Rory smiles lightly. “He’s dead.”
My jaw unlocks, my lips falling open. “Oh, Rory, I’m so—”
“Don’t bother.” She waves a hand at me. “Parents suck. I know it, you obviously know it. At least my dad was absent absent—not whatever Belinda is doing to you.”
“She wants me to make friends,” I say.
“I don’t know if I’m the best place to start,” Rory admits. “You know, she calls me and every other girl who works here her daughters? Well, work daughters. But daughters. And, like, she is at least a little nicer to us than to you.”
“That’s not a surprise,” I tell Rory.
“You want me to switch that Diet Coke for the Coke you ordered while she’s occupied?”
I smile. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I’ll do you one better.” Rory stands, wiping her hands on her black apron before retrieving my glass. “I’ll get you food once I clock out. I can’t stand the thought of you starving all night because of her.”
“Here,” Rory says nearly thirty minutes later, handing me a greasy paper bag. “Eat.”
We’re outside of the diner, having just closed. The streets are empty, save from people leaving The Diner after a late dinner, still lingering. The moon is bright above our heads, like I’m being promised a decent evening after all. Belinda said she was interested in seeing the nightlife at the beach, and when I expressed that I was less than pleased about doing that, Rory swooped in and offered to take me out instead.
Belinda loved that. She did say I needed friends. Who am I to disagree?
I don’t hesitate to dive into the grease monstrosity Rory offers, and my stomach flips with vigor at the thought of finally being able to eat.
“So, she really just wants you malnourished and miserable,” Rory says. “What a wicked woman.”
“Wicked mother,” I agree through a mouthful. “Like Cinderella, but backwards.”
Rory laughs. “Eat quick. Beach Brew closes thirty minutes after we do, and I always get coffee after a shift.” She points to the coffee shop across the street, its neon coffee cup sign shining bright blue in the dark.
“My food could have waited,” I tell her.
She shakes her head. “No, it couldn’t have. You need something to absorb the caffeine, you know.”
“Rory is also conveniently not telling you that she goes to Beach Brew after work because she likes EJ Deans,” a coworker says as she walks out the front door. It was frantic in the diner; I didn’t realize there was a waitress other than Rory. “Or should I say, Mr. Bulky, beefy, and bearded?”
Rory gives the blonde a playful shove and flashes a middle finger.
“Notice how she didn’t deny it!” her friend exclaims. “I’ve been telling you for weeks he likes you, too.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Rory sighs. “He likes… Well, I guess I don’t know exactly. But it’s not me.”
“It’s her,” the girl tells me in a whisper. “It’s so her.”
I finish my burger and discard the wrapper and bag it came in as Rory and her friend continue to debate over the guy she likes. After a moment, it’s like they remember I’m still involved in the conversation. Suddenly startled, Rory says, “I don’t have time for this. I need coffee.”
“You need EJ,” the girl corrects, shifting her weight onto one hip. “Have fun with that. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She waves, then she’s beelining for the parking lot out back.
“If you don’t shut up,” Rory grumbles after her.
The blonde sticks her tongue out in Rory’s direction the moment she turns her back.
When Rory throws open the door to Beach Brew, I’m greeted by the smell of fresh-roasted coffee. The lights are dim and the atmosphere is warm, and I wish this little slice of heaven would have been here for all of my other summer visits. It’s the perfect escape from the whirlwind that is Belinda. Maybe it’s the brick on the walls, or the dark beams on the ceiling, but I’m a sucker for a cool coffee shop.
“My favorite late night customer,” a voice says. The low chortle that follows belongs to a big, muscular guy with a dark beard, looking like he should be playing in the Super Bowl and not serving coffee.
“Plus one,” Rory says, pulling me closer to her. “This is Belinda’s daughter, Gigi.”
“You don’t look like a crazy person!” EJ says. “I bet you that she wouldn’t look crazy, didn’t I?”
I furrow my brow. “Thanks,” I say. “We might have the same genetics, but personalities couldn’t be more different between my mom and me.”
“Belinda made her drink a Diet Coke, EJ. Because, like, she thought she’d get fat. How horrible.”
“Truly deplorable,” EJ agrees with a solemn nod.
“That’s a big word for you,” Rory mocks. “Are you starting to think that you’re the brains in this situation, Sweet Pea?”
“And you think you are?” EJ asks Rory from behind the counter. He fiddles with the paper cup he’s holding, dropping it in the process. “Now I gotta start over. Damn it.”
“Watch it,” Rory warns. “Keep talking to me like that, and I might remain the only girl in this whole town this summer that you don’t sleep with.”
“Again,” EJ says flatly. “I think you mean won’t sleep with again .”
I smile, making a mental note to get the details I’m missing from Rory.
“Just because you are a bitter cynic, Sweet Pea,” EJ says as he pours milk into two paper cups, “doesn’t mean our new friend Gigi is. Stop forcing it on her.”
“I’d like to think I’m not,” I say sheepishly. “More of the hopeless romantic type.”
“Don’t tell me you go around thinking every guy is the One,” Rory says, her eyebrows raised. “You don’t, do you? Come on. You’re a woman in your twenties; you’re too old to be that na?ve.”
Marcus crosses my mind for the first time since arriving, the way I’d become so hopeful over the years that eventually lazy Saturdays in the boathouse would turn into him taking me to the yacht club for a party or decorating for my birthday just because he knew it would make me happy. Maybe it was na?ve to wait for him.
“I don’t,” I tell Rory. “I’m actually just coming off a breakup. This guy from Connecticut, where I live with my mom and dad… We’ve been on and off since high school.”
“Don’t tell me you’re hung up on a high school guy,” Rory says, scowling. “Gigi. Please don’t.”
“I dumped him.” I don’t know why, exactly, I’m lying to these people I just met. But telling strangers I got dumped because the guy I’ve wanted to be serious with for years decided he, too, wanted serious—just not with me—is the definition of pathetic. “It’s fine. I got bored with it, so I moved on—totally normal. He was torn up, though.”
“A heartbreaker,” EJ says. “You and my brother will get along just fine.”
“Brother?” I ask.
“Cade,” EJ explains. “He’s a lot like you. He just dumped a girl that wanted to get all serious and smoochy with him. You guys can share war stories since you both hate love and happiness so much.”
“He’s hot,” Rory tells me, while giving EJ an amused look. “A jaw so sharp I’d willingly let him cut me with it.”
“Thank you for the mental image,” EJ says as he hands off the latte he prepared for Rory. He puts a cup in front of me, probably the same drink as Rory’s usual, whatever that may be. “Gigi?” he asks, motioning to it. “Coffee?”
“Black,” I say, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Please.”
“Oh no,” EJ groans. “You and Cade, man. You’ll be best friends.”