Page 88 of The Beach Shack Summer
Tyler walked to the window, looking out at the view. “Remember when we used to sneak in here during their parties? Hide under the bed and listen to the grown-ups?”
“Until Anna sneezed that one time and gave us away,” Meg added.
“Dad was so mad,” Tyler said softly. “But Mom just laughed. Said we had good taste in hiding spots.”
“What parties?” Stella asked.
“They used to host these elaborate dinner parties,” Meg explained. “Artists and writers and musicians. The house would be full of people and noise and?—”
“Life,” Tyler finished. “It was full of life.”
They stood in the empty room, the contrast sharp.
“It’s just three doors,” Stella said suddenly, like she was trying to convince herself. “Three doors is nothing.”
“Thirty seconds if you run,” Meg agreed.
“Why would you run?”
“Emergencies. Pasta disasters. Patricia sightings.”
“Patricia’s definitely an emergency,” Stella agreed, almost smiling. Then her face fell. “But what if... what if we need you and you’re not there?”
“Then you walk three doors and knock,” Meg said simply.
“What if it’s the middle of the night?”
“Then you call first. Or text. Or throw pebbles at my window like in movies.”
“That’s not how physics works,” Stella said, but she seemed comforted by the image.
They walked back to Tyler’s in the dark, the contrast between the two houses stark—Sam’s magazine-perfect adobe versus Tyler’s lived-in bungalow.
At his door, Stella paused. “When you move,” she said to Meg, “can I still come over? Like if Tyler’s being weird or if I need space or...”
“Anytime,” Meg promised. “My door’s always open.”
“Even if I don’t have time to knock first?”
“Especially then.”
Inside, looking at the chaos that had become their normal, Meg felt the weight of change coming. This weekend she’d pack her papers, her clothes, her laptop. She’d move into Sam’s abandoned house and leave Tyler and Stella to figure out their rhythm.
“Hey,” Tyler said quietly while Stella disappeared into her room. “This is probably the right thing. The space issue is getting ridiculous. But...”
“But?”
“I’m terrified,” he admitted. “What if without you here, Stella realizes she doesn’t actually like me? What if we have nothing to talk about? What if?—”
“Tyler.” Meg put a hand on his arm. “She already likes you. She just doesn’t know how to show it yet. And neither do you.”
“We’re kind of disasters at this.”
“Most people are disasters at being parents and teenagers. You’re just getting a concentrated dose.”
From down the hall, Stella’s music started up—something mellow tonight, almost sad.
“She’s scared too,” Meg said softly. “You both are. Maybe that’s a good starting point.”
