Without Holding Back

Prologue

                           

                                                                               

 I wake up to the sounds of a perfect summer morning - the same sounds I've been waking up to for fifteen years. Birds chirping, lawn mowers revving up their engines in the distance, sprinklers spitting out water. I like to think of it as my summer song. It's one I know all the words to; one that never changes its tune.

I don't bother looking in the mirror before heading downstairs. I already know that Connor will tease me about my legendary bedhead. It's always lighthearted, though, and I'll accept his gentle ribbing with a smile and tease him back about the way he unconsciously flexes his lacrosse-toned biceps every time he passes by the front hall mirror.

I join my dad at the kitchen table. He's also on summer break, leaving his high school classroom behind for a few months of freedom from grading papers and disciplining unruly teenagers. It's only 9:00 am., but he's already had two cups of coffee, completed the NYT crossword (with a pen, of course), and is opening his laptop, presumably to answer emails and do other managerial- type tasks associated with being the head of the English department. He always likes to get his work finished early, which leaves him with the rest of the day to putter around his work shed in the back yard or complete one of the many tasks that come with maintaining a hundred-year-old home.

He doesn't get very far though. As soon as my mom descends down the stairs, he closes his laptop with a gentle click.

Emme trails behind my mom. She's eight and going through a headstrong phase. It's been going on for months now, and I'm starting to think it's not just a phase. I can sense my mom's exasperation as they enter the kitchen.

"No, Emme, you cannot skip swim team practice again. I know you need to practice your Oscar speech, but it'll just have to wait until later today. I'm not going to tell you again. It's not..."

My mom pauses when she sees my dad, and I watch a silent conversation take place between them; her head tilts ever so slightly, he nods almost imperceptibly. When you've been together since high school like they have, I suppose words aren't always necessary.

My dad clears his throat loudly, which startles Connor, who's carefully measuring out precise scoops of protein powder for his morning smoothie.

"Connor, Emme, Livvie," my dad says, his voice calm and steady as always, "we need to talk."

My parents lead us outside to the porch which, in hindsight, is something I'll never forgive them for. Here's the thing about our front porch; it's sacred to me. It's my happy place. There's a rickety swing that's been there for as long as I can remember, wide plank floors that are so worn down that they don't even feel like wood anymore, and a view of my best friend's house right next door. In other words, there's no place I'd rather be in the whole entire world, especially in the summertime.

I beeline for the swing, beating out Connor to claim the best seat. I rescue the book I was reading last night just before Emme squishes her body next to mine. I didn't even bother bringing the book inside; I just left it splayed open on the swing, awaiting my return this morning after breakfast. I had just gotten to the good part, too; the exact moment when the heroine declares her feelings to the unlikely and reticent love interest; the guy who's been hurt before and no longer believes in true love. Can she convince him that love is worth the risk? Will he heal from his past and learn to love again? Unfortunately for me, I couldn't force my drooping eyelids to stay open long enough to find out, and I reluctantly put myself to bed.

I gaze longingly at the book, hoping this little "talk" is quick so I can get back to it. Some people like to curl up with a good book. I like to curl up inside a book, to immerse myself fully in the characters' lives, to lose myself in the emotion of it all.