Be the Girl(66)

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

A rare, somber expression washes over Cassie’s face, her gaze shifting between her plate and the back door off the kitchen, her thoughts unreadable. And then she’s pushing away from the table in a panic and rushing for her shoes.

My mom laughs. “You can finish your breakfast first.”

“I just have to ask my mom and then I’ll be back. I just have to—don’t leave without …” Her words trail as she bolts out the door and races across the lawn, her elbows out and legs jutting.

My mom chuckles as she watches her go. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so happy to get a manicure.”

“I hope Heather lets her come.” I pour myself some coffee and wipe down the table before sitting, hugging my body against a sudden chill.

“So, I gave it a lot of thought last night and …” Mom pauses to flip the pancakes over, leaving me hanging.

And my stomach tightening.

If you’re about to tell me that I can’t date Emmett …

“Now that we’re here and things are going well, and you’re doing well, you should have some of your privacy back. I know you and Emmett probably want to be able to text each other without your mother reading your messages.”

“No more spyware?” I hold my breath.

She snorts. “No more spyware. I’m still going to keep a GPS tracker on your phone, though, and I want all your passwords. And if I ever ask to see your phone because I’m worried, you will give it to me immediately, no questions asked, or there will be serious consequences, understood?”

“Of course. So … when will—”

“Already done. I disconnected it last night.”

I sink into my chair, a grin stretching across my face. “Thanks, Mom.”

Her phone rings as she’s setting a plate of pancakes in front of me. “Hey, Heather,” she answers. She looks out the window toward the Hartford house as she listens. “No! Of course. We’d love to have her come with us … No, I promise, she did not invite herself.” Mom’s eyes flash to mine, amusement in them. “Yes, we’re going to go after breakfast. Tell her to come back before her pancakes get cold … Yes, she has a whole plate waiting for her, here …”

I tune out their conversation, sliding my phone from my pocket to text Emmett.

Hey … What are you doing?





Emmett answers almost immediately.

Still in bed. Being lazy. You?





My stomach flips. Emmett’s lying in bed right now. What does he sleep in? What does his hair look like?

Eating pancakes.





Nice. Will I see you before tonight?





I smile.

Maybe. FYI, my mom isn’t reading my texts anymore.





There’s a long pause as the three dots bounce and stop, and bounce again.

So I can tell you how crazy you made me last night?





“Sounds good, Heather.” My mom ends her call with a chuckle. “She says she hasn’t seen Cassie this excited in a long time.”

“Cool,” I murmur absently, punching out a response.

Yes. You can tell me that a thousand times.





When we arrive home from shopping around five that afternoon, parked cars line the street and a cluster of guys in jerseys linger in the cul-du-sac, hockey sticks in their hands. Two nets are set on either end and Mark stands at the sidelines in a black-and-white-striped shirt.

“What’s going on here?” Mom eases her CR-V past them and into our driveway.

“Annual Thanksgiving weekend road hockey game.” I smile as I spot Emmett in the center, laughing over something with another guy.

As soon as Mom has thrown her car into park, a whistle sounds and the game is back on.

“Sounds like fun.” She peers at four girls from school who linger at the sidelines, bundled in sweatshirts against the cold, their hands gripping various mugs and paper coffee cups. Lindsay is among them, in a cute pink sweater and UGG boots. Cassie is watching as well, sitting in the open trunk of Emmett’s Santa Fe, holding a set of purple pompoms. When we dropped her off after the nail salon appointment, she bolted for her house to show off her painted fingernails.

“Kids from school?” Mom asks as Emmett smacks the ball into the net and his teammates cheer.

“I think so. A few, at least.”

Mom checks the clock. “I better start dinner. You know how Uncle Merv is.”

“I’ll be there in a sec to take Murphy out.”

Her eyes drift to the street hockey game in progress. “No, you should hang out here. With your friends.” Relief radiates off her. That I have friends. That I have a boyfriend.

That I have a new life.

I smile. “Thanks for today. I had a great time.”

She takes my hand in hers, first to study my indigo-blue nail polish, but then to give my fingers a squeeze. “We should do that again. Soon.”

“Deal.”

She frowns at the back seat, filled with shopping bags of winter clothes and boots for both of us. “Maybe in spring, when I’m earning a paycheck again.”

Cassie is waiting at the passenger side door by the time I’ve stepped out. “They’re playing hockey,” she announces, a hot chocolate mustache lining her upper lip.