Cruel Summer | ✓

chapter thirty-three

Yesterday's weather couldn't have been more perfect for the beach party, and I guess the weather gods must've been on his side because today is a different story. Rain is pouring down like the sky is an upturned bucket, so loud on the roof and against the windows that it sounds like I'm under the interstate, and I think today will be a home day. I've earned one after the last few days, I figure.

Lou's in the shower when I wake up, so I switch on the coffee machine and when she comes down in a t-shirt and sweatpants, I know we have the same plans for today.

"How's your migraine?"

"Gone, thank god," she says. "The bastard stole an entire day from me."

I kiss her. She smells like mango and coconut. I want to wrap myself up in her, in her scent. "I was shitting myself when you weren't answering my texts. I thought you'd died. Or you were ghosting me."

"I would never ghost you. I felt like I died, though."

I stand on my tiptoes to kiss her forehead, each temple, the tip of her nose and then her lips; I want to fill my eyes and lungs and mind with her, to push out everything my mom said. As happy as I am in this moment, there's still a tight knot in my stomach, the weight of everything Mom wants me to consider, everything I want to ignore. But that isn't an option, because Lou circles her hand around my wrist, laces her fingers with mine, and says, "Come on, I want to hear everything."

I make a couple coffees. Hot, this time. This is fall weather. I need a pumpkin spice latte and a fluffy blanket and a mystery book; I am ready for September. We move upstairs to the snug, to the deep sofa that cradles our bodies the moment we sit down.

"It was weird," I say. "Nice in a way, 'cause I haven't seen Mom in ages, and we had a pretty good day Friday, when we went to Mount Rushmore and the bear place. But it was hard, too."

Lou plays with my hand, her thumb drawing circles over my life line. "How was she?"

"Clearly in a bad place. Dad totally took her by surprise with the separation. She had no idea it was coming, and I get that. The defining characteristic of every relationship I've ever had. She's gutted. Can't get her head around it. I think she's drinking more to compensate, and running away because that, apparently, is what Miller women do."

"How was it, leaving her?"

"Hard. She cried. I felt awful. But Emmett's with her now, and Nolan'll be there tomorrow."

Lou's voice is soft as cashmere, smooth as honey. "You're a good daughter."

"I haven't been," I say. "I ran away from her too. Like, the minute she told me she and Dad were separating, I shut myself off."

"Don't beat yourself up about that. I'm sure your mom understands. Divorce is hard on everyone, especially if it comes out of nowhere."

"Mmm."

"You think she's going to be okay?"

"She'll get there," I say. "I think her main problem is that she's lonely. She's always surrounded herself with people, probably half the reason she had five kids, so she was never alone when we started moving out until Nolan left and it was just her and Dad and then he left." The more I talk, the more I see how similar Mom and I are. We're the ones who get left behind. The ones who end up alone and run away to cope with it all. That ugly guilt churns in my stomach, my chest aching.

"I'm sure she'll meet someone, if she wants to. She's a smart, beautiful woman."

"With five kids and a drinking problem," I say.

Lou shrugs one shoulder and says, "There's someone out there for everyone."

"Yeah, and Mom thought that was Dad. For thirty-five years. Somehow I don't think she's going to be shacking up with someone new anytime soon. Her emotions are all over the place and she isn't looking after herself right."