Page 83 of The Beach Trap

I slide over, putting space between us as I wait for Henry to tell me what I’m thinking. I really didn’t think he was the mansplaining type.

“I don’t think it’s Blake you’re angry with,” he says.

I laugh, a sound that’s sharp and hard-edged. “Oh yeah? Who am I mad at, then?”

“I think you’re mad at what Blake represents,” he says.

I shrug, considering the thought. At least it’s still Blake adjacent.

“But”—he pauses—“I think the person you’re really angry with is your dad.”

My shoulders slump as my defenses fall away and I lean back into the swinging bench. Henry’s not wrong. I mean, I’m stillmad at Blake, but I’m fucking furious at my dad—and somehow, that’s even harder than missing him.

“I hate being mad at him,” I admit. I spent my life idolizing the man, and now that he’s gone, it doesn’t seem right to have all these thoughts about his flaws. “I also really miss him. So much.”

The tears are back, silently spilling down my cheeks. “I want to give him a bear hug, then yell at him until I’m blue in the face. My feelings are so conflicted and I don’t know how they can even exist together. And do I even have a right to be mad at him when he’s not here to defend himself?”

“It’s like a one-sided fight you can’t win,” Henry says.

“Exactly.” I turn and look at Henry, amazed that he managed to put exactly how I’ve been feeling into words.

“I have similar feelings toward my ex,” he says. “Sunny’s mom.”

My ears perk up. I’ve been dying to know about Henry’s ex since the moment he said she wasn’t in the picture. There hasn’t been a right time to ask him about her, and this hardly seems like it—but he’s the one who brought her up.

“You’re mad at her?” I ask.

“Oh, absolutely,” he says. “I knew she was a free spirit when I met her—that was part of what attracted me to her, and I didn’t want her to change. I just wanted her to be here. Not for me, but for Sunny. A little girl needs her mom.”

“At least she has an amazing dad,” I tell him. I don’t add what else I’m thinking, that having his love and attention makes up for the absence of her mom.

If my dad had been even half the dad Henry is, I’m sure I wouldn’t be feeling this way. But I wonder if Sunny will still grow up feeling abandoned the way Blake does. I don’t understand how a parent can just walk away from their kids.

I cringe with the memory of what I said to Blake about Dadnot coming back for her. I may be mad at her—but that was cruel.

“I try my best,” Henry says, bringing me back to the moment. “And like you said, there’s a lot of conflicted feelings. I wouldn’t trade Sunny for the world, and I love that she’s got her mom’s zest for life.”

“Where is she now?” I ask. “Your ex?”

He shrugs. “We get postcards every few months. Last one was from Bali.”

“So, she’s out there living her best life while you’re doing the job of two parents?” I ask, getting riled up on Henry’s behalf. It’s a lot easier to be mad at someone you don’t know, who you don’t love. “I’d be furious.”

“Yeah,” Henry says, and I can tell there’s a “but” coming. “But it takes so much energy to be mad, and I’m the only one it hurts. Instead, I try to be grateful—she gave me the greatest gift in Sunny. Kind of like how your dad gave you the gift of a sister.”

I harrumph at his attempt to get me to forgive Blake. I’m not ready for that. Not yet.

“If he wanted me to have a sister, then why did he wait so long to bring us back together?” I say, asking the big question I haven’t stopped thinking about. “I hate that I’ll never know what he was thinking—if he wanted us to get along or if he wanted us to battle it out, one daughter against the other. None of it makes sense.”

“Maybe it’s not up to him,” Henry says. “Maybe the choice is yours.”

“It’s never been my choice,” I tell him, shaking my head for emphasis. “It was my dad’s choice to have another family—and it was Blake’s choice when she came to camp and tricked me intobeing her friend so she could get close to my dad and try to steal him back.”

“You think Blake was that manipulative at twelve? That she would have been able to plan, much less execute, all that? Do you think she arranged to be in your same cabin?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” I say, even though I’m not so sure anymore. But after fifteen years of telling myself this story, it’s hard to imagine it any other way.

“Have you asked Blake about it? Heard her side of things?” Henry asks. He hasn’t said this many words together this whole summer, and I don’t think I like the way he keeps pushing my buttons.

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