PRELUDE. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE AN ASSET, HERE'S WHAT YOU DO: LEAVE
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Nine years ago, the question stumbled upon Mace Sommers. What do you want to do for college? He hadn't hesitated, even as his father held glares in his honey eyes. Mace wanted out. He was leaving. Fuck his mom.
He'd been eighteen. Isabel Sommers had been twelve. Theodora, Tyler, and Stevie Sommers had been ten. Olivia Sommers had been eight.
Nobody back then knew the danger Mace had set them on fire with when he'd decided to leave home.
They'd all been standing on the pier. Mace had suitcase after suitcase after suitcase with him. He's leaving. He doesn't even look glum to leave the kids. He looks mostly sad about leaving his surfboard. There's no waves to ride in New York. No good tans. Just coldcoldcold.
Carrie Sommers is terrified. Her only boy, leaving. He use to be so little that he fit in her arms and she would look down at him and know he had saved her. But had she saved him as the time came?
Rich Sommers talks to the man by the boarding dock, the one who collects tickets and ID's. The two of them shake hands like they've known each other their whole lives. They let out deep laughs, like this is their reunion. It's usual of Dad to do this— to go around and make himself look good for everyone he doesn't know. He's a cop. He wants—needs to be known as good. It's in the Sommers blood. "Be good. Be sweet. Pay attention in class. This is very good, Mace. New York is very good." Carrie mumbles to her son, she tucks his brown curls behind his ears. He gives her a small smile, it doesn't reach his eyes, it doesn't seem genuine. Her thin hands are shaking as she passes Mace his ferry ticket, boarding pass, and a small zip up baggy of candy from Stevie.
Carrie wrings her hands together like a soaked towel. She looks over at Isabel, she has the twins next to her and Olivia on her other side. Tyler is holding Theo's hand, he always is. Olivia's little head of waves leans against Isabel. Isabel drags her hand over Olivia's hair, she's petting her like a mother would.
Like a mother would. Carrie gets a little sick to her stomach staring at the children who are not her own but live under her fingertips.
Mace moves towards Stevie, he takes her into a tight hug. She still feels so small in his arms. She is his favorite. She is his sister. The blond Sommers knows this. Everyone knows this. Isabel always tried for the spot, but it never stuck. He thinks she's too much. Too preppy. She makes him ache in disgust. (She won't be so preppy the next time he sees her.)
He kisses the top of Stevie's head. She smiles, eyes a little teary. "Call when you get there. Please." He chucks the underneath of her chin with two knuckles. "Of course, S." His gaze moves to little Olivia, if he had to pick his favorite blond child—it be her. She's quiet and kind and small. She doesn't know what she lives with yet. Poor girl. He crouches down before her and gently drags his finger down her nose, she laughs something young. He kisses her small head, "Bye Livy." She does a little wave with her small hand. He snickers.
