Page 29 of Take This Heart
Milo smirks and leans back in his chair. “Take a long walk, Whitman. Maybe it’ll knock that chip off your shoulder."
“Hey now, you guys,” my dad starts. “Go easy on each other!”
I flip Milo off over said shoulder as I storm outside.
The lake air is cooler than I dressed for, biting at my skin as I pace along the shoreline.
Thinking about Milo’s patronizing face. His maddening voice. The way he seems to get under my skin in record time.
And of course, because the universe clearly hates me, when I turn back toward the house and round the corner by the old boat launch, he's there.
Hands in pockets. Staring at the water like he's the tragic hero of a movie that I did not ask to be made, thank you very much.
If I wanted to see perfection in movie and hero form, I’dwatch either of thePride and Prejudicemovies and get my fix.
"Don't worry," I say, crossing my arms. "I'm not here to disturb your brooding session."
"Good," he says without looking at me. "Because I’m not going to save you when you trip over your own outrage and fall into the lake.”
“Nice.” I clap slowly. “I wish I had my phone. I’d play “True Colors” by Cyndi Lauper right now.”
“Sounds about right. A song our parents played in the eighties to fit with the vibe you envision for this place.”
“Ugh!” I growl, stepping past him. And carefully, so hedoesn’thave to pull me out of the water.
He reaches out and gently touches my arm, and there’s something in his eyes that stops me cold.
The mockery and arrogance are gone.
"Why do you hate me so much?" he asks, voice low.
The question throws me off balance. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
"You don’t even know me, Goldie. You’ve created this version of me in your head."
I swallow hard. "Maybe because every time you open your mouth, you confirm exactly who I thought you were."
“And who is that?” He steps closer, and despite myself, my heart rate kicks up.
I lift my shoulder, unable to put my thoughts into words when he’s so close.
"Or maybe," he says softly, "you’re just scared that if you gave me a real chance, you might actually like me."
I snort. "Highly unlikely."
His mouth twitches. “Your lips sure liked me.”
I roll my eyes and he lets go of my arm. He brushes past me, heading back toward the house, leaving me rooted inplace, the wind tearing at my hair, and an ache blooming in my chest.
After dinner that night, I find Dad out on the back deck, sitting in one of the old Adirondack chairs and nursing a hot tea. The lake stretches out in front of us, dark and endless.
I grab a sweatshirt and slip outside, plopping down in the chair beside him.
"How you feelin’?" I ask, nudging his shoulder with mine.
He shrugs. "Good enough."
"You're a terrible liar."
