Page 33 of The Summer I First Saw You
I used to love talking to my mom, but for the last year, I’ve lied so much that I cringe every time her name lights up my phone. This summer, of course, it’s only gotten worse. If I tell her I’m working in Santa Cruz, she’ll ask if I’ve seen Harrison and then she’ll probablycallHarrison and ask him to check on me. I’ve resorted to a very childish stance of “it’s none of your business” solely to keep this house of cards from caving in.
“Hi, baby!” she cries, clearly excited I’m actually answering. “How are things? What are you doing?”
“Trying to get super greens into a protein shake without it tasting like ass. Oh, and attempting to make tartiflette—I saw it on a cooking show and it looked amazing.”
“You shouldn’t be messing around in the kitchen,” she scolds. “You should be studying for the LSAT.”
I sigh. She’d have been the perfect mom for someone like Harrison, someone driven. Instead, she wound up with me. “I enjoy messing around in the kitchen.”
“Daisy, this matters. I wish you’d just come home. You could study full-time.”
“Mom.” My voice takes on a hard edge, the one that warns her to drop it. “I’m happy with the way things are.”
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” she says, but there’s despair in her voice rather than irritation. “I’m just trying to help, but I feel like I can’t say the right thing anymore.”
My heart squeezes. She wants so much for me, more than I’ve ever wanted for myself, and I don’t know how to tell her to stop wanting it. “I’m sorry,” I reply. “I just…don’t need the pressure right now, okay?”
“You’re right.” She forces a laugh. “What would I know about law school? Everything I’ve ever heard is secondhand. Anyway, I miss you. Can we get dinner?”
I wonder when Harrison’s leaving for LA. I don’t want to voluntarily give up a single hour by his side before I return to DC.
“Sure, let me check my schedule at work, okay?”
“I can make that pasta you like, with the feta and tomatoes?” she asks. “Or maybe chicken Kiev?”
I stiffen. “I sort of thought we’d meet at a restaurant.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer a home-cooked meal?”
“What I’d prefer is to not eat dinner with Scott,” I snap. Why is it so fucking hard for her to understand this? Is there any possible way I could have made it more clear? Doubtful.
She’s still scrambling to get her fairy tale ending—the loving husband, the accomplished daughter—while I’m here with Harrison pretending I’ve already got mine.
And we’re both going to wind up empty-handed.
It’s barelydawn when Harrison knocks on my door. “Let’s go, Daisy,” he calls. “Tide’s coming in.”
I rush out of bed, brush my teeth, and race down to the garage while trying to tie my bikini on. He’s already in his wetsuit by the time I reach him. I tug on mine while he waxes our boards.
As much as I loved surfing with him and Liam and their friends as a kid, this is better. I always felt like the fifth wheel back then, but here, when it’s just the two of us…it’s like being a vital part of a team. I love my uncle and I love his friends, but it wouldn’t be the same if any of them were here.
We get to the water and dive in. It’s a bit calmer than normal, which makes it easier to paddle out, but we have to wait a while for a decent set.
“How was work last night?” I ask, straddling my board. I’m surprised he woke before me—he got in late, long after I’d gone to bed.
He leans forward, resting on his palms. “As scintillating as ever.” The sarcasm in his voice would be impossible to miss. I know he had a few interesting clients before he left for London, clients who made up for what was otherwise a tedious job. But he transferred them. So why is he still there?
I throw out my hands. “Why are you torturing yourself at a job that makes you miserable when we both know you’re rich as hell? Take a year off. Find the job of your dreams. Everything’s online now anyway. I bet some law firm would let you do the work you want from here if you refuse to move.”
“I’m not rich, Daisy—I’m comfortable. My father has money. I just have a decent job.”
I laugh. “Yes, I see the way you’re barely scraping by here.”
He shrugs a shoulder. “I make a good living and yeah, I started off with some money I inherited, but that still doesn’t make me rich.”
Which sounds exactly like the kind of thing a rich person would say.
“Speaking ofwork,” he adds with a brow raised, “Liam said you’re spending the summer studying for the LSAT, yet I haven’t seen you do anything vaguely academic even once.”
