Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“I mean…” I clear my throat and go with the softer option. “It just sounds too good to be true.”
“Well, it’s not.” She beams. “It’s all our dreams coming true, because it’s a real house... My boyfriend asked us to move in with him!”
So, it is too good to be true.
“The ‘Aidan’ guy you just started seeing?”
“I’ve been seeing him since we first moved here, Emily.” She clasps my hand. “He came into the diner every day for two weeks just to see me. I told you he’s taken me on the best dates of my life.”
A lump rises in my throat.
My mom falls hard and fast, and our lives always revolve around whoever she’s dating—or not dating. It’s been like this since I was born—since she was barely older than I am now.
“I’ve been to his place tons of times and you’re going to love it.” She’s still talking. “When he found out where we were staying, he said no woman he loves should live in a motel. He demanded that we move in with him.”
“How thoughtful.” I swallow the lump and mentally repeat the lines that keep me grounded.
Your gap year will be over soon. You’ll be going to college. You’ll be somewhere safe, somewhere semi-permanent.
Her phone suddenly buzzes, and she drops my hands.
“This is him!” she squeals, darting into the bathroom like a teenager. She slams the door, and just like that, my appetite vanishes.
I reach into my purse and pull out my “Forever Moving Checklist” notepad.
Stuffing shirts into one of my duffel bags, I double-check my sweaters and make a mental note to buy new bras and panties.
“He’s so excited to meet you.” My mom steps out of the bathroom, her whole face glowing. “This is going to be amazing!”
I can’t fake another smile, so I remain focused on packing and count out my pairs of jeans.
“So, Emily,” she says, plopping down on my bed with stars in her eyes, “I know you haven’t had sex yet—and you should totally wait until you’re ready with the right guy—but when you do… try to find a guy who fucks you like Aidan fucks me.”
What the hell? “Eww!” I smack her with a pillow. “I do not want to hear about your sex life, Mom. Ever.”
“There’s this thing he does with his tongue when I’m riding him—”
“If you actually finish that sentence, I’m calling Child Protective Services and telling them the real reason I had to miss my senior year of high school.”
“Fine.” She laughs, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’ll go move our car.”
4
EMILY
“Continue on this road for sixty miles,” the GPS chirps.
I knew it.
We’ve been driving for two and a half hours already, and there’s still no end in sight. My mom swore this would be a quick trip, but her sense of direction has never been reliable.
I flip through my phone, pretending to scroll, but my thumb hovers over a draft I left open last night. A poem that’s now tangled with someone I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
I open my messages and finally type:
Hey, it’s me. How have you been?
A reply comes quickly.
Depends on who you are, “me”...
I hesitate. He still doesn’t know my real name. I’m not ready to give it yet.
Amy. The girl who was almost a lot lizard.
Cole
I was beginning to worry about you, Amy…
I watched the news and hadn’t seen “Sexy as hell woman found dead on highway.”
Good to know you’re alive.
My cheeks heat. I’m still trying to think of a reply when he beats me to it.
If I’d known it would take you this long to text me, I would’ve just taken your number instead…
I was busy.
We’re moving again.
Where?
When I trust you, I’ll tell you.
Good answer. You’re learning.
I have a poetry reading coming up in NYC in a few weeks. If you’d like to see me again…
I would. Send me the details when you have them.
You’ll really show up?
I would show up for you now if you told me where you lived…
My cheeks flush deeper. I set the phone down, needing to think.
That’s when I see the sign.
Welcome to Southampton
Yeah… we definitely can’t afford anything near here.
My mom pulls us past a stretch of beachfront homes that look like they belong to retired celebrities or fictional billionaires. We take a turn down a private road lined with trees and crushed gravel, and just when I think she’s lost again, the house appears.
A massive, ocean-blue estate rises like something out of a dream—white pillars, wraparound porch, and a second-story balcony that seems to float over the dune grass. The Atlantic sparkles just behind it, close enough to hear the waves.
She pulls into the drive and cuts the engine.
“Welcome home!” she says, grinning like she just won a prize she didn’t pay for.
My jaw tightens. This can’t be real.
As we get out, a man steps onto the porch wearing a pale-blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled, tan slacks. Clean-cut. Smiling. But something about him gives me pause. I’ve seen him before. Maybe on TV. Maybe in a movie. I’m not sure.