Heart Bones(13)

It just occurred to me that this girl knows my father’s parenting style better than I do. I hadn’t thought about that before this moment. I know his name is Brian, his leg isn’t broken and he’s a financial planner. That’s about it.

“Where do you want to go shopping for new stuff tomorrow? We’ll have to go to Houston, all they really have here is a Walmart.”

“Walmart is fine.”

Sara laughs, but when she sees I’m not laughing, she bites her lip to stop her smile. “Oh. You were serious.” Sara clears her throat, looking hella uncomfortable now, and this might be the moment she realizes we’re nothing alike.

I don’t know how I’m going to last an entire summer with a girl who thinks Walmart is laughable. I’ve shopped at thrift stores and garage sales my whole life. Walmart is a step up for me.

I feel like I’m about to cry and I don’t know why.

I can sense the tears coming. I suddenly miss my old house and my addict mom and my empty fridge. I even miss the smell of her cigarettes, and I never thought that would happen. At least that smell was authentic.

This room smells rich and sophisticated and comfortable. It smells fraudulent.

I point toward the bathroom. “I think I’m gonna shower now.”

Sara looks at the bathroom and then at me. She realizes that’s her cue to leave. “Try to hurry because Mom likes to have dinner as a family on the weekends.” She rolls her eyes when she says family, then she closes my bedroom door.

I stand in the center of this unfamiliar room, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more alone than I do right now. At least when I was in the house with my mother, it felt like I fit there. We belonged there together, no matter how mismatched we were. We learned to navigate and weave our lives around each other, and in this house, I’m not sure I can invisibly weave around any of these people. They’re like brick walls I’m going to crash into at every turn.

It feels claustrophobic.

I walk over to the balcony doors and I open one of them and step outside. As soon as the breeze hits my face, I start crying. It’s not even a discrete cry. It’s an almost twenty-four-hour-delayed-sob.

I press my elbows onto the railing and cover my face with my hands, trying to suppress it before Sara decides to pop back into my room. Or worse, my father.

Nothing works. I just keep crying. Five whole minutes probably pass while I stand and look out at the water through blurry, tear-filled vision while I sob.

I need to tell my father what happened last night.

I inhale several breaths and wipe my eyes, mustering up every ounce of resolve in me in order to regain control of my emotions. I eventually wipe enough tears out of my eyes so that I can actually appreciate the view of the ocean under the moonlight.

The girl Samson was kissing in his kitchen earlier has just crossed over the sand dune between the two houses. She joins a crowd of people gathered around a fire. They’re all young, probably in their late teens and early twenties. They’re likely all rich and carefree and confident. This is probably what Sara does every night, and those are probably her friends.

More people I have nothing in common with.

I don’t want anyone to see me up here crying, so I spin to go back into my room.

I freeze.

Samson is standing alone on the balcony next door. He’s staring at me with an unreadable expression.

I stare back at him for two seconds, and then I walk into the bedroom and close the door.

First, he sees me eating bread off the deck of a ferry. Then he offers me money, and I’m still not sure of his motives behind that offer. Then I find out he’s my new neighbor for the summer.

And now he’s witnessed the first breakdown I’ve had in years.

Great.

Fuck this summer.

Fuck these people.

Fuck the whole current state of my life.





FIVE


I had my first kiss when I was twelve.

It was a Saturday morning. I was standing at the stove about to cook scrambled eggs. I didn’t hear my mother return home the night before, so I assumed I was in the house alone. I had just cracked two eggs into a pan when I heard my mother’s bedroom door open.

I looked over to see an unfamiliar man walking out of her bedroom holding a pair of work boots. He paused when he saw me at the stove.

I’d never seen him before. My mother was always in a new relationship or a new breakup. I did my best to stay out of her way, whether she was falling in love or getting her heart broken. Both were equally dramatic.

I’ll never forget the way the man looked at me. It was a slow gaze, from head to toe, like he was hungry and I was a meal. It was the first time a man had ever looked at me like that. I instantly felt the hair on my arms rise and I immediately turned my attention back to the stove.

“You not gonna say hello?” the man asked.

I ignored him. I was hoping if he thought I was rude, he’d leave. But instead, he walked into the kitchen and leaned against the counter next to the stove. I was focused on stirring the eggs. “You make enough for me?”

I shook my head. “We only had two eggs.”

“Sounds like just enough. I’m starvin’.”

He walked over to the table and started putting on his work boots. I had finished scrambling the eggs by the time he had his boots on. I didn’t know what to do. I was hungry and they were our only two eggs, but he was sitting at the table like he expected me to feed him. I didn’t even know who the hell he was.