Page 137 of All at Once

My focus returns back to the piles of sand as I reply, “Yeah. I always wanted to though.” I add dreamily, “You knew it was The Fourth of July when the shore was lined up with all sorts of sandcastles. I’d always get so distracted walking past them on the sidewalk. It’s one of my favorite memories during summer.”

“So why didn’t you?” he asks, curious.

I turn toward him, explaining, “I don’t have any siblings and my parents made it clear early on how silly these things were. So I just didn’t bother doing it on my own I guess.”

His expression drops slightly. “What about with your friends?”

“I wasn’t that close with my friends when I was a kid,” I reply.

A sadness I’ve swept away so well that I thought had left me altogether returns when I remember how much thisdidaffect me as a little girl.

“I only really spent time with them at school,” I add. “My parents kind of raised me with the mentality that family is more important than your friends and that socializing with them was meant to be limited to just at school.”

Luca’s eyes look a bit sad. Even more disappointed. But most of all perplexed. “And did that bother you?” he asks.

“You haveno idea,” I say, frustrated, but suddenly, also a little self-conscious. Wondering if it’s okay to be sharing this much.

It’s so important to not be bitter. They are my parents after all. But what about everythingIfelt. What I went through. Does none of that count? Can it never be discussed? Acknowledged? Heard? If I talk about it, would that just be me complaining? But if I don’t talk about it, wouldn’t that make what happened okay? But itwasn’tokay.

It wasn’tjustabout a sandcastle.

All the good grades I tried my best to get. That became worthless to them the second I got one not-so-great grade. All the times I sacrificed spending time with my friends when I wanted to be with them. The hobbies I stopped since they weren’t ever going to turn into a career (since my career is absolutely what I should have been thinking of as a child). The volleyball and soccer games I kept insisting were worth it to come to at least one (they nevereven came to one). The middle school plays that they would skip because they also thought were “silly,” even though they meant everything to me. Even when I wouldtellthem it meant that much to me. While I’d watch my classmates’ parents in the audience with envy.

It wasn’t only about showing up. My parents both had full-time jobs, and I knew how hard they worked. It was about reminding me that what I likedmattered.

So Iwishit was just about a fucking sandcastle. Instead, the list goes on.

I blink away the saltwater that’s started to form in the inner corners of my eyes, knowing Ihaveto talk about this. Realizing it’sokayto talk about it.

“It felt so suffocating,” I continue to share. “It was also pretty isolating since I always felt like I was more of an extrovert. That’s why I couldn’t wait to go to college where I started having an actual social life. It was the first time where my life wasn’t centered around grades. But by then I was well past the age of making sandcastles.” I try to laugh even though I don’t find any of this to be particularly funny.

Luca doesn’t reply and instead just gets up from his towel and starts putting his shirt and sandals back on.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

He looks at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “To get some plastic buckets and shovels.”

My brows crease. “What?Right now?”

“Yeah. There’s a souvenir shop right down the street.”

“We’re going to make sandcastles? Right now?” I repeat, still trying to process this.

“Why not?” he asks, his eyes bright with some beautiful sense of childlike wonder. “Don’t move, this is quality sand,” he adds in the most unserious way possible.

Any remaining tingle in my eyes evaporates into a loud chuckle. “Right, I’ll protect our imaginary castle until you get back.”

When Luca’s back, I almost do a double take when he takes out a few items out of a small paper bag. “Are you sure that’s a bucket and not just a tiny cup with a handle on it?”

“I’ll let you know the feedback I get the next time I take it with me to the gym,” he deadpans.

“Start making TikTok videos with it. You could go viral.”

“You never know. This might be my true calling,” he says as he kneels onto the warm sand.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Making sandcastle videos?”

He looks up at me with a slight smirk. “No. Holding a tiny cup while staring into my phone camera.”

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