Page 55 of The Summer We Played Pretend

As I drive home, the day’s events loop endlessly in my mind. Turning onto my street, I see the familiar sight of home bathed in the warm glow of dusk and some of the tightness in my stomach eases. I let myself in, the scent of my mom’s cooking wrapping around me as I sit down at the kitchen island.

“Rough day, sweetheart?” she asks. “I just made coffee if you want one?”

I nod, taking a sip of the coffee she pushes my way. “Brendan was being a jerk at work today.”

“I know I’m not meant to express opinions about my children’s relationships, but I’m so glad things ended with him.”

“I wish you’d told me what an asshole he was.”

“Would you have listened?”

“Probably not,” I admit.

“If it’s any help, I don’t think Jackson is an asshole.”

I smile at how weird that word sounds coming from her. She always avoids swearing.

“He really isn’t,” I agree. “I just wish I didn’t have to keep dealing with Brendan.”

“Could you talk to Maria about it? Have her schedule you on different shifts?”

“She just wants us to get on with it. I don’t think she has time to worry about two kids and their dumb breakup.”

“I’m sure Maria’s not that heartless. You said she was sympathetic before.”

“That was before we had a full-blown argument in front of customers.” I grimace.

“Chloe, this won’t be the first time you clash with someone, and it won’t be the last. Not everyone will like you or be kind to you. The main thing is ensuring you feel justified in your behavior.”

I hug the coffee mug close. “Brendan was awful, and he needed to be put in his place.”

Mom squeezes my hand. “Then you did the right thing. Sometimes you have to make a bit of noise in life.”

“I’m not used to drawing attention.”

“I know, honey, but I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I lean into her with a sigh. This summer isn’t turning out to be nearly as simple as I thought, but I’m proud of myself for being more honest and not letting people walk all over me.

“Talk to Maria,” Mom says, turning back to the cooker. “It can’t hurt.”

“I will,” I promise. The worst she can say is no, and I’m realizing it won’t kill me to speak up for myself.

And I'm also realizing I have Jackson to thank for helping me finally understand that.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jackson

Chloe and I sit on the bench in her garden, our fingers intertwined. I can’t believe how right her hand in mine feels. We've spent every waking moment together this weekend and the thought of it ending leaves a dull ache in my chest.

"I should probably head home soon.”

Chloe's gaze lifts to mine. "Do you have to?"

“You have work tomorrow and so do I.”

“Stupid jobs.” She plucks a stray leaf from the bench and flings it outward.

---