Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
And still no Quin.
I should have expected this to happen. But now that it has, I feel fucking wounded. Maybe Kent is right; I should have been texting him all day today, asking if we were gonna meet up, hang out, anything. Now I probably look like an asshole giving him the cold shoulder after we got interrupted last night.
How am I supposed to know what to do? Give him his space? Badger him into spending time with me? Cause issues between him and his friend?
I feel like I’m doomed no matter what I do.
I really fucking wish he was here by my side right now.
“Hon, you’re really bumming me out,” says my mom, joining me at the banister of our back porch, where I’ve taken to watching the beachside festivities from a distance.
I look at her. “Bumming you out?”
“Yeah, with all of your sulking. What’s going on? Did you get blue-balled by someone or what?”
I gaze back out at the party with a sigh. My mom is the last damned person I can have this conversation with. “I’m just enjoying the view from back here.” I take a swig of my beer. “Nothing’s going on.”
“Can’t help but notice you’ve got no one on your arm this weekend. Is it celibacy week? Did I miss—” She takes a long drag of her cigarette. “—the memo?”
I give her side-eye, then shift topics. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to get any intel from Finn. Ran into him at one of Teegan’s things a couple nights ago, but forgot to ask.”
“Intel …?”
“About Dad. Didn’t even see him at the fair last night.”
“Oh, that.” She takes another drag, blows smoke into the wind, then shrugs. “No problem. Handled it myself.”
I look at her. “Handled it yourself …?”
The next thing I know, I hear a shout from the party. I search for its source and find my brother Kent facing off with someone whose back is turned to me. There’s a lot of commotion around the fire, where it looks like people have quickly gathered to take sides in some huge argument.
I can take a wild guess who just arrived to wish Skip a happy birthday. “What the hell did you do, Mom?” I ask, staring in shock.
“It was just an innocent invite,” she says through a roll of her eyes. “Dunno why everyone’s gotta be so dramatic about it.”
“You invited him? Are you crazy?”
“Only in the way that matters.” She takes another drag. “Don’t interfere. Kent will calm down. I saw Chuck at the store and just … thought I’d extend the olives.”
“Olive branch,” I correct her, unsettled. “Why?”
“What better way to figure out what he’s up to?”
“You couldn’t have just asked someone? You had to invite that lowlife? Hasn’t Skipper been through enough?”
“He’s a big boy now, hon. You can’t protect him. And remember, every time you call your father a lowlife, half of you and all your brothers came from that man.”
“How can you defend him??” I ask, turning on her. “After everything he’s done? After how he left us?”
She seems to find that amusing, gazing out at the fire on the beach. “Y’know, there was a time all of us were on that beach out there … laughing in the water and drinking Kool-Aid, happy as dolphins …”
“The Kool-Aid’s long since run dry, Mom. We are all different people now, and Dad’s shown his true colors.”
“Sometimes, a person’s got a lot more colors than you will ever see. Who’s to say which ones are true …? Aren’t they all true in a way, even the good ones?”
“Fuck no.”
She puts out her cigarette on the railing and eyes me. “Which colors of yours are true then? The ones painting you out to be the island’s biggest slut, or this murky palette tonight of a sensitive, lovesick pup licking his wounds?”
The commotion on the beach has ended, and out of the crowd comes Kent storming back to the house. “You’re a goddamned nutcase, inviting him here,” he snaps at Mom as he pushes into the house through the sliding glass door. A moment later, his boyfriend Jonah, who took a lot of effort to look good for a little throwaway birthday party on the beach with his stylish hair, nice jeans, and floral button shirt, trails reluctantly behind, stopping for a moment to gently say, “Hi, Ms. Tyler. Sorry, Ms. Tyler. Your son’s a bit … unhinged.” He follows Kent into the house, biting his lip uncertainly.
She gazes after them a moment, then frowns. “I’ve told that Jonah boy a dozen times to just call me Eden. What’s with this polite ‘Ms. Tyler’ shit?”
I leave the porch with a huff, not wanting to engage any further with my mom, and head toward the beach. As I approach, I’m surprised to find everyone already back to laughing and partying around the fire. The man of the hour is holding a half-eaten hotdog surrounded by his buddies Dwayne and Reef, as well as the few others his age who came. Dad stands in front of him, beer in hand, wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt, half open, and a pair of khaki shorts. A pair of shades sits on top of his head, which looks stupid since the sun’s been down for over an hour.