Girl Out of Water(65)

Emery rolls over in bed. A slice of moon lights her face as her sleepy eyes focus on me.

“Hey,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep.”

But then I realize I never found out what happened at the courts yesterday because of Parker’s accident. “Wait! Wait!” I say, more than a bit too loud. “What happened with your friends?”

After rubbing her face and exerting a few sleepy yawns, Emery relays the story in quick, hushed words. Apparently the reason Emery only found out about the last minute invite at the end of the weekend was because the other girls were purposefully trying to keep it a secret so they wouldn’t hurt her feelings. And she wasn’t not on the invite list—it was Charlie’s mom who had insisted on thirteen friends to celebrate Charlie’s thirteenth birthday.

“They felt really bad about it,” Emery said, “Well, except for Ashley. But whatever.”

I smile in the dark. “I’m glad you made up with your friends.”

“Me too,” she says.

Emery rolls over after that, pulling her blankets tight around her as her breathing grows even. Relief floods through me that it was all a misunderstanding. Hopefully my friends will accept me back into their fold as easily. More likely than not, I’m blowing my fears out of proportion like Emery did with hers.

I finish getting dressed and kiss the top of Emery’s head before leaving the room, flashing back to when I’d spend hours on my back porch, holding a young Emery in my lap and brushing her soft hair. My eyes flicker across the dim room. At first, living in this house, I’d expected to have to tiptoe around the ghost of my mom. But this isn’t the house of a person who always disappoints me—it’s the home of people who always amaze me.

I head downstairs and past my luggage piled by the front door. I find Dad in the kitchen with a cup of green tea in hand.

He grins at me. I give him a smile that breaks into a yawn. “Breakfast?” he asks.

My stomach says yes, and suddenly I have a craving for supoesi, a coconut cream and papaya soup served at Tess’s family restaurant. But I’m still in Nebraska, and Dad doesn’t have any papayas.

“Santa Cruz specialty omelet?” I ask instead.

“Good call. Coming right up.”

Instead of sitting at the table, I join Dad at the counter, helping chop the sweet red peppers, jalape?os, celery, and squash. “You sure this is okay?” I ask him. “Me going away?”

He turns to me. “I’d be lying if I said I was completely comfortable with it. But let’s think of it as a test run for the both of us. We won’t be able to keep eyes on each other forever.”

I want to ask why not? If I go to the University of Santa Cruz, I’ll only have to stay in the dorms for the first year, and then I can spend the rest of college at home, on the beach, like it should be.

Why do so many people equate growing up with leaving?

I press back from the counter, leaving Dad to finish the omelets. The chances of them burning are high if I continue to participate once they hit the stove. One more reason to stay home forever—I’ll never have to cook for myself.

I ease my phone out of my pocket and flip it back and forth in my hand. Lincoln will be here in less than half an hour, and then we’ll spend the next two days road tripping across half the country, stopping midway to sleep at his friend Wendy’s house. The thought of spending so much time with Lincoln is unnerving. I’m not sure what to expect—the best time of my life or catastrophe. So instead I focus on going home, but that only makes my nerves worse since my friends might be mad at me or, as doubtful as it is, my mom could be there.

I settle at the table while Dad finishes the omelets and sift through my faded tote bag, making sure I have everything I need for the trip. My fingers brush against my wallet, toiletries, a change of clothes, tampons, books, and then something small and smooth. My throat tightens as I pull the object out of the bag—the sea marble Eric gave me on my last night in Santa Cruz. I’d forgotten I’d slipped it in my bag. Just like that, memories rush back full and fast—his scent, his smile, the feel of his lips. In a few days I’ll see him again, but so much has changed…

Will he ever give me a sea marble again?

Maybe I should text him saying I can’t wait to see him and I’m sorry I was so out of touch, but then Dad is sitting down with our plates of food. “Here you go,” he says. I fork out a large chunk of the omelet, but my stomach churns. “Anise,” Dad says, looking at me with concern. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But I think you’ll look back and be glad you did it.”

“This is kind of twisted, you know, the father persuading his seventeen-year-old daughter to drive cross-country with a very handsome boy?”

“Ah, so you think he’s handsome.”

“I’m not one to contest factual evidence.”

“Do you think you guys will stay in touch after this summer?”

Why are parents so good at pinpointing the one thing you don’t want to talk about? Though, to be fair, there are a few things I don’t want to talk about right now.

I hug one arm to my waist, while my other hand toys with my fork, cutting the omelet into progressively smaller pieces. “I don’t know,” I mumble. Keeping Lincoln at arm’s length has become harder these past few days, and voluntarily putting myself in a car with him for twenty-four hours isn’t exactly going to make it any easier.