Chapter 8 Riley
EIGHT
RILEY
Mom: What are you doing today?
Me: Probably sleep. It’s my day off.
Mom: Can you meet for lunch?
Me: I guess. What time?
Mom: Noon. I'll meet you at The Seaside Dock.
I walk from my place to The Seaside Dock, knowing I'll need the fresh air before I meet Mom. She’s starting to make me despise the place, and it isn’t even the owner's fault. The restaurant is great.
To prepare myself, I've taken three Tylenol, drank some tea, and meditated. I’ve chosen the comfortable-clothes route and am wearing my favorite maroon yoga leggings, an oversized white T-shirt, my jean jacket, and sneakers. I put on a black beanie for good measure to keep my ears warm.
I open the door and am hit with the smell of pasta. When my stomach growls, I realize I haven’t eaten anything today. Mom is already sitting at a table, looking into her phone while fixing her hair. Typical. She dabs at her lips, rubs them together, and flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder.
"Hi. Table for one?" the hostess asks.
“I’m actually meeting someone here." I point to the table where Mom sits.
I take a deep breath in and let it out before I approach, smiling at the hostess as I pass by. Mom looks up from her phone and waves her hand at me, ensuring I can see her.
"How's my favorite daughter?" Mom greets me cheerfully.
I sit across from her at the square table, hanging the strap of my bag on the corner of the chair. She continues to look at me with a snake of a smile while I shrug off my jean jacket.
"Oh, that's an interesting… outfit." Mom looks me up and down. “And why are you covering your beautiful hair? That hat makes it look like you don’t care about your hair.”
I’ve always found it interesting how much this woman cares about our hair. It’s an odd obsession. Her hair is a golden blonde, like mine. She decided to get curtain bangs because it makes her look ‘younger’ and stylish. Her hair goes just past her chest.
She was a pageant girl growing up, so it was all about how you carry yourself. How you dress, act, and wear makeup. She competed until she became pregnant with me.
This isn't the first time she's made that type of comment.
‘Your hair isn't blonde enough. Your jeans are getting a little too snug. Smile more, stand up straight.'
"Have you talked to your sister? She hasn't answered any of my texts or phone calls."
"She's been busy with work." I cross my arms and look out the window we're sitting next to.
Mom lets out an irritated sigh before saying, "Can you tell her to reach out to me? I need to speak to her about some things."
My patience is slowly slipping day by day. There's so much going on, more important things like Honey Cakes, Ellie, and August.
“Like what?"
She folds her arms. "Like, why is she ignoring me?
I'm her mother. I gave birth to her and raised her.
The least she can do is come see me occasionally.
You know, she always seemed much closer to your father, and I think that's the problem.
She's being influenced, and I know he's spewing lies in her ear. "
"Mom, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings when I say this, but do you ever think that you contributed to the divorce and not just Dad?"
She narrows her gaze at me. “You don't know the things that he's done to me.
The things he's said to me. I was nothing but a good wife to him, and all he did was work or be on that goddamn boat of his.
I stayed home taking care of you and your sister, cleaning, cooking dinner, while he was out until whenever. "
I continue to stare at her, keeping my mouth shut.
"Just bear with me here, okay? This process is a bitch, and I'm stressed out. I'd appreciate it if you took it a little easy on me. I don't need to be reminded that your dad thinks I was a bad wife." She looks at me with pleading eyes, and her facial features soften.
"Dad doesn't talk about you like that. He actually doesn’t talk about you at all.” I grab the cold glass of water that’s been sitting here since I sat down and take a helping sip from it to calm my nerves.
“That’s hard to believe. I’m sure he is, just not to you because he knows you would tell me whatever it is he would say.
” She swirls her wine in her glass by the stem before gulping down the entire glass.
“Where is that waiter?” she mumbles under her breath and then snaps her fingers when she sees them, pointing to her glass.
That strikes a chord in me. Does Dad think I would tell Mom anything he tells me? There’s no way that’s possible. Dad has never shown any trust issues toward me. As far as I know, he doesn’t talk about the divorce at all, even with Hailey.
He isn’t like Mom. He doesn’t spew hurtful comments. Dad worked a lot but always made sure that my sister and I were taken care of. We would go out on his boat during the summers and sometimes go ice skating at the rink the town builds every year.
Mom didn’t do things like that with us, so why should I believe her?
The waiter comes by to refill her glass and take our orders. We get our usual salads, but I always add a side of fries. She’ll complain how there’s too much salt or croutons in my Caesar salad and that I shouldn’t eat fried carbs.
“Don’t you think it’s time to move on from talking about Dad?” I tread carefully with my words. The last thing I need is for Mom to hit me with venom. “You guys are separated, almost divorced, and all you do is talk about him. Aren’t you tired of it?”
I could say much worse, but she knows how to hit harder.
“I’ll stop talking about him when you do.” She takes another swig of her wine, and when she places it back down, it hits the fork, almost knocking the alcohol out of her glass.
Just how much has she had to drink?
I eye the glass. “How long have you been here before I showed up?”
She looks at her manicured nails, and her eyebrows lift with disinterest. “An hour, why?”
If I can calculate correctly by how she’s acting and what she’s saying, I’d say she’s about four glasses deep.
“Just wondering… Maybe you should have some water after that glass.”
An annoying scoff comes from her mouth along with an eye roll that looks too much like mine. “You sound just like your father.”
And with that, I shut my mouth for the remainder of our time together and tune out everything she says.
After the mentally exhausting lunch, I stop by the bakery to see what Ellie’s up to. I personally need to start mapping out the design of the place now that the kitchen equipment is settled. Maybe I can convince my best friend to test out her shiny new toys by baking me a cake.
I could use an entire cake for myself.
The ceiling lights are turned on, and I don’t see Ellie through the window. August is in there, on his phone, pacing back and forth while he runs his hand through his unkempt hair.
When I open the door, I spot Ellie behind the new and improved register counter with a beautiful glass display next to it, ready to be filled with sweets.
August shoves his hand over his eyes, skewing his glasses on his face. “But we’ve discussed having the launch in three months. This is a huge opportunity for us, and we can’t keep pushing the date back.”
I know this look and that desperate tone in his voice. Those are the first two signs before he starts to feel overwhelmed and out of control. I’ve done plenty of research when it comes to ADHD mixed with anxiety.
After growing closer to August and learning more about him, I wanted to dive deeper to see if I could help combat a lot of his struggles. Another sign that he’s about to tip over the edge is when he bites his nails.
Ellie continues to do whatever it is she’s doing with a notebook at the counter. I walk up to August, grab his wrist, and pull his finger out of his mouth. I mouth the word stop and he places that hand on his hip.
“Okay, then I’ll check back in next week for an updated status on the product. Yeah. Bye.” He raises his hands and says, “I’m going to lose my mind.”
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“Oh, you know,” Ellie says. “Business stuff.”
August turns to his sister. “Yeah, get ready to have a headache every day when you’re running this place.”
She looks up from her notebook at him, then closes it and turns up her nose. “I need to go in the back to look at some things.”
August sighs and sits on the floor against the wall. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick.”
I sit beside him, sprawling out my legs on the shiny wooden floor. “I know. You’re just stressed. What’s going on?”
He doesn’t look at me but keeps his focus on the wall across the room.
“Dad and I are working on this big project—well, I’m working on this big project now.
We’re gonna expand the store and add new items we think would do well.
I’m not sure why we didn’t think of it sooner.
It didn’t cross our minds until last year. ”
I raise my eyebrows in curiosity. “What is it?”
His eyes glow in excitement like a kid on Christmas. “I introduced the idea of adding skating gear, not just surfing gear. Rowan gave me the idea one day when he said he wished we’d carry skateboards because he’s tired of having to drive the next town over to buy new ones.”
“August.” I sit up in excitement. “That’s a great idea. I mean, technically Rowan came up with the idea, but sure, you can take the credit.”
He places his hand on top of my head and tips me over, laughing. “Don’t be an ass.”
I chuckle. “I’m joking. This is awesome, August. Really. You must be excited about it.”
A sigh leaves his full, soft, pink lips, and I can’t look away. I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like on mine.
“I’d be more excited if I weren’t so stressed. My office is a mess, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind. On top of that, I’m trying to work with my dad’s ledger, and I absolutely hate it.”
I roll my lips in, forcing myself not to ask the question that I know will annoy him. Unfortunately, he can read my mind.
“No, I haven’t asked for help,” he says.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” He looks forward again. “It’s fine. I have it under control. I just need to get everything in order.”
All I can do is nod and go along with what he’s saying. I don’t want to be another person lecturing him.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I believe in you.”
Instead of saying anything in return, he keeps his blue eyes on me, searching my face. We’re inches apart from each other, close enough that with one small movement, we can hold each other’s hands.
His warmth radiates over to me, and I want more of it. More of him. Both of our hands are sitting in our lap, too far apart, but neither of us takes the chance to move them.
The only way to feel his touch is in my thoughts. And it’s not enough.
“You ready to go to Mexico?” he asks.
I groan as I lean my head back onto the wall.
“You have no idea. I know we don’t have it as bad as other places when it comes to winter, but this sucks.
” I look outside the window; the sky is dreary, gray, and uninspiring.
“All I wanna do is lie on the beach while having my cocktail refilled without asking. What about you?”
“I’m gonna try and relax as much as I can and not think about work.” He grins at me. “Maybe we can take a stroll on the beach together? Talk about our existential crisis with life?”
“Oh, that definitely sounds like my type of vacation.”
Our soft laughs echo throughout the space.
“Riley, do you wanna go look at some furniture?” Ellie’s voice echoes in the empty space, and I scramble to my feet.
“Um, yeah, sure.”
August lifts himself up before walking toward the counter, grabbing his coat. “I need to get going anyway.”
“Okay,” Ellie says. “Text me if you need some help at work.”
“I’ll see you guys later,” he says.
“Bye, Augustus,” I say.
He turns to look at me with a cute smirk that makes the butterflies flutter around my chest.