The Girl in the Striped Bikini

Chapter Twenty One

Cale Morrison

I don't know why I'm surprised. How could I be stupid enough to convince myself Kendal was going pick me?

My track record should have been my first clue. It's not like I've ever been successful at dating in my entire life. Kendal was the closest thing I've ever had to a potential girlfriend. And now that's over.

We still have an entire month left in California. But I almost wish I could get back to Alabama and back to reality.

I've been out of bed for an hour now and the house was still quiet. It's seven AM. My parents wouldn't be up for at least another hour to an hour and a half. And Carmen wouldn't drag her self out of bed until Mom forces her out for breakfast.

With nothing else to do I go back upstairs for a shower. I grab a towel and a rag from the hall closet and walk into the bathroom. Before undressing, I turn the knob for the hot water and turn the cold water tap just enough to where the water wouldn't burn my skin. The bathroom quickly started to steam up, fogging the mirror.

Once in the shower, my mind doesn't clear like I hope it would. It starts working overtime. What would Parker do or say if he was here? I know one thing, he wouldn't be letting me pity myself right now. He would be encouraging me to keep fighting for her. Or be looking for a replacement for me. One of the two.

If he's been watching, he's probably disappointed. Probably chomping at the bit to come down here and do something. I wish I could be more like he was. But I'm clearly not, and never will be.

I stayed in the shower until my fingers were starting to prune. Turning off the water and grab my towel to dry off.

Once I was out from behind the curtain, I could smell bacon frying. How long have I been in here? I grab my phone from the bathroom counter. 8:03.

Surprised, I quickly dry off and get dressed. I've never been in the shower for nearly an hour in my life. Thank God my parents don't pay the water bill for this place. They would have stroked out.

When I get downstairs I expect to find my mother cooking. But much to my surprise, I walk into the kitchen to see my Dad facing the stove. And he was clearly struggling.

"Damn!" Dad jumps nearly a foot when the bacon pops and gets him in the arm.

Despite my mood, I find myself laughing at him.

Hearing my laughter, Dad whips around to face me. "Dad, what are you doing? You know you can't cook."

This is not even an exaggeration. I think I have the only Dad on this earth who is so terrible at cooking, he can't even grill. If we have a cookout, my Mom is the one on the grill.

He glares are me. "I thought I'd give it another shot. Your mother has been cooking every morning and most nights. She's been working just as hard here as she does at home. I thought she needed a break."

That is actually really considerate of him. I sit down at the bar. "So, what else are you attempting? Pancakes? Eggs? Or gravy and biscuit?"

"Eggs and toast. I'm not gonna push my luck." He laughs.

I'll be surprised if the scrambled eggs aren't runny or the toast isn't burnt. But I'll keep my mouth shut. "What time you think you'll be done? I might take a walk."

He sighs, looking like he's getting frustrated already. We're gonna be eating cold cereal, I just know it. "At least another hour."

Hopping off the barstool, I slip into my slides and open the back door. The beach was pretty empty right now, but there were a couple families already set up out here.