For The Summer Read online

  “Let’s just get takeout and watch T.V,” I suggest.

  “I knew you were my favorite daughter for a reason,” she laughs.

  I pull out of the field onto the dirt road and then follow the directions back to the main road that runs through town. The Dirty Bean coffee bar and bistro catches my eye and I pull up to the curb out front. The warm smell of roasted coffee beans fills my nose as soon as I open the door, accompanied by cinnamon and vanilla as I approach the counter.

  “Welcome to The Dirty Bean,” the girl behind the counter says. Her black hair is styled into two galaxy buns on top of her head and two ornate sleeves of tattoos extend beyond her black polo shirt.

  “Can I get your largest iced coffee?” I ask, not bothering to remove my sunglasses. Normally I would, but today I just can’t.

  “Sure can. How would you like that?”

  “Uhm. I don’t really know,” I say, dropping my head to my chest. Usually, before I leave the house to order a coffee I’ve already had at least one coffee. I’m hungover, sleep-deprived, and unable to make important decisions right now.

  “How about if I add in some cinnamon syrup and toss in an extra shot of espresso,” the barista suggests.

  “Yes. A million times yes,” I say, pushing my credit card across the counter.

  She laughs, swipes my card, and tells me to wait at the other end for my drink.

  “Rough night?” a familiar voice says behind me. I look over my shoulder and see Fin standing a foot away in dark jeans and a short-sleeve henley, a leather wristwatch on his left arm.

  “Careful, Fin. Someone might see us talking and figure out you have gainful employment,” I say plainly, still facing the coffee bar.

  “I’ll take my chances this morning,” he quips. “Is the hangover worth the answer you got? Six beers and four rounds of never have I ever is a steep price just to get to know me.”

  “Cocky and judgy is not a good look on you, Fin. For all you know I was trying to get to know Liam,” I say, smiling at the barista when she slides me a monster-sized iced coffee. “Also, it’s a little bit creepy that you counted my drinks.” I pull the straw between my teeth and take a much-needed sip of coffee.

  “Liam is the equivalent of a twelve-year-old, and someone had to keep track, you were throwing them back like a sailor for a while.”

  “I thought sailors drank rum?” I say.

  “What do you mean?”

  “In Pirates of the Caribbean, Jack Sparrow only drank rum,” I explain.

  “He wasn’t a sailor, he was a pirate, hence the name of the movie.” Fin tilts his head to the side, a smug smirk pulling at the edge of his lips.

  “Right. Well, he did sail the boat until it sank, so he was both.”

  His smile widens. “What are you doing tonight?” he asks, leaning past me to grab the hot coffee the barista placed on the bar.

  I shrug.”Netflix and chill.” I hear the words leave my mouth and immediately regret them. Sure, it’s a funny thing to hashtag or to text a friend, but who the hell says that out loud? Oh right, me.

  He chuckles. “Did you just…”

  I put my hand up, cutting him off mid-sentence. “I said what I said.”

  “Hang out with me tonight,” he says, taking a sip from his to-go cup.

  “Why?” I ask, unable to help myself.

  “Because you’re kind of weird. It’s refreshing.”

  “Gee, thanks. I bet you say that to all the girls,” I scoff. I might be a bit off-beat, but he’s kind of a jerk.

  “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. One night,” he presses, leaning against the side of the bar.

  “Don’t let the last name fool you, Fin. I’m a Walker. If you want to keep your distance this isn’t the way to go about it.” I shake my head.

  “You let me worry about that.”

  I take a deep breath. It’s not like I can’t watch Netflix with Mom tomorrow night.

  “Fine.” I shrug. Walking past him and sipping my coffee, I push the door open with my back, staring at him through my aviators.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says, casually leaning against the counter. His eyes are fixed on me until I round the corner.

  Ten minutes later I’m home. I let Ginger roam the yard for a bit while I lie on the deck, drinking my coffee like a very tame zombie. Then I climb the stairs and faceplant on my bed.

  ***

  “Amelia!”

  My mother’s voice startles me awake. I wipe the drool from the side of my face and push off from the bed.

  “Yeah?” I call out.

  “I picked up food,” she shouts up the stairs.

  “I thought you weren’t going to be home until four?” I ask, stomping down the stairs with lead legs.

  “It’s quarter of, I’m pretty darn close,” she says, pulling Chinese food containers out of a paper bag. She looks up as I enter the room and her eyes widen. “Have you been asleep all day?” she asks.

  “If it’s almost four then yes I have.”

  “Are you feeling ok?

  “Aside from the hangover I had, I’m doing great.” I sit down on a stool at the island and pry open a box of fried rice.

  “Amelia Katherine!” she says, playfully hitting my arm. “I thought I raised you better than that.”

  “You did, Mom. I wasn’t built for cheap beer. It gives me a hangover every time, I’ll drink something better next time,” I say, digging into the rice with a fork in one hand and reaching for a piece of sesame chicken with the other.

  “That’s my girl. You know if you ever need a ride home you can still call me, right? It doesn’t matter what state we’re in. If you’re responsible, I’m supportive. Her words hit me like a bucket of ice water, reminding me how close I was to getting behind the wheel last night. I’ve never driven drunk. Senior year, anytime I went to a party my mom willingly picked me up and I never hesitated to call. She’s always had what she called an open door policy. As long as I’m honest with her she’s supportive of my choices. It’s one of the things that makes us so close. So why didn’t I call her last night? Why didn’t it even cross my mind?

  “So what should we watch tonight?” she asks, loading up her plate with rice, chicken, and vegetables.

  “Can we raincheck actually? I think I kind of have a date thing.”

  “You think you kind of have a date thing?” she repeats, narrowing her eyes. “What does that even mean? Who?” she asks between laughs.

  “Well, actually. Do you remember the guy Pop was talking to when we were at their house yesterday?” I ask, getting up to grab two bottles of sparkling water from the fridge. I place one in front of Mom and the other I twist open before sitting back down.

  “Mmhm,” she mumbles through a mouthful of food.

  “Well, it’s him. He was at the party last night and I bumped into him again this morning at that coffee bar in town. He asked me to go out with him tonight,” I shrug, picking up my fork and stabbing a piece of broccoli.

  She opens her drink, takes a long sip, and then stares at me with a full smile on her face.

  “Amelia, that doesn’t sound like a kind of maybe date thing. That is a date!” she squeals jumping excitedly. “Where is he taking you?”

  “Uh, I don’t know,” I say, realizing I never asked what he wanted to do tonight which means I have no clue what I should wear. I also don’t have his number so it’s not like I can just text him and ask.

  “Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it. I’m so happy you’re jumping right into this fresh start with both feet.” She smiles and goes back to eating.

  After dinner I stand in my closet for a long time, pulling clothes off hangers and trying to decide if tonight will be pocket dress casual or jeans casual. I have seen Fin in three different settings and none of his styles if you could call them that were anything above casual so I feel confident we aren’t going dancing or to a dress code type of club. I settle on a black cap sleeve cotton swing dress, snagg
ing a pair of chucks off the floor. I shower quickly and straighten my hair before clipping half of it away from my face. Then I apply mineral powder, medium brown eyeliner, and black mascara before unclipping my hair and combing through it with my fingers. My phone buzzes along the vanity and I reluctantly turn it over. Oliver’s face pops up on the screen.

  Oliver: How’s North Carolina?

  He can’t be serious. The half-hearted apologies were annoying. Contacting me at all after what happened was completely unnecessary, but trying to act like nothing is wrong, like we can just have a friendly chat about my new locale. That takes the cake, really, a new low for him which is obviously saying something. God, I’m so tempted to text him back, something really clear and classy, like fuck off, but if I do he’ll never stop, and that’s what I want. No, that’s what I need. The lingering feels, longing for the plans we spent the last year cementing, the life we talked about beyond that. I just want to forget about all of it. I fell in love with my highschool sweetheart, and naively thought we would be in the successful two-percent that makes it work. Spoiler alert, we didn’t make it a week past graduation. I should have seen this coming, but I didn’t, and now I need to move on like millions of other stupid teenage girls have. I need a new plan. One that’s all my own, dependent on me, myself and I.

  I’m halfway down the stairs when there’s a knock at the door. I pull it open and tilt my head to the side at the sight of Fin standing on the porch.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “We have plans,” he says, confusion marking his handsome features.

  “Yeah, no, I know, but I mean most guys would just beep,” I explain, gesturing toward his car parked at the curb.

  “Not around here, they wouldn’t.”

  “Oh, I get it. This is that southern charm you’re known for.”

  “We just call it good manners.” He smiles.

  I smile back and grab my crossbody bag from the hook behind the door.

  “I’m heading out, Mom,” I call toward the living room before stepping onto the porch and pulling the door closed behind me.

  Fin holds the passenger door open. I bite my bottom lip to stop myself from smiling as I slide into the seat. Once he climbs into the driver’s side, shifting the car into drive and pulling away from the house I turn to face him.

  “So, what’s on the agenda for tonight?” I ask, eyeing him up. There isn’t much of a difference between this Fin and the versions I’ve seen after hours or doing whatever he does for my grandfather, but there is a difference. His hair appears styled, sort of parted, and slicked back. Maybe he even used some kind of product. He’s wearing the jeans from earlier, with black boots and his fitted henley has been replaced by a slim fit black three-button polo that’s snug across the chest and shoulders. I’m not complaining.

  “You’ll see,” he says, smirking and shooting me a quick sidelong look.

  “You do like your secrets don’t you?” I joke. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that being cheated on changes the way I look at things. I’m not one to dwell on stuff, at least I try not to. But my mind has wandered a few times over the past few days, subconsciously dissecting those last few weeks, trying to pinpoint when Oliver started seeing Lexi. The thing is, I can’t. I didn’t notice anything before the night of my going away party when I realized he was late. I was wrapped up in graduating and moving. My attention was so laser-focused on the future I was barely living in the present. I knew I would be leaving friends behind, and spending the summer without the guy I was going to move across the country to be with, but I was almost as ready to get out of New York as my mom. That last year was tough on both of us. The looks of pity, the gossip from teachers, parents, and peers. Some days it felt like everywhere I turned the Brenner name was being whispered in one way or another. Some people talked about my dad, his new wife, and their kid, but mostly people whispered about me and my mom. They wondered why we were sticking around. Whispered about how much money we’d end up settling for. But the worst was the people who speculated as to why my dad strayed in the first place. The constant drama and negativity were overwhelming, eventually pushing me to become more introverted than I naturally was. If I didn’t even notice a change when my boyfriend started seeing someone on the side maybe I was part of the problem.

  “This is it,” Fin says. He dips his chin and looks at me curiously.

  I look out the windshield, staring up at the sign for The Dirty Bean.

  “I could drink a coffee,” I shrug, opening the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk.

  “They have more than just coffee,” he smiles, leading the way into the coffee shop. “Why don’t you grab a table.”

  I nod and look around. The place is pretty empty. Aside from one guy in the corner typing rapidly with earbuds in and two girls huddled over a table on the opposite wall. I sit down at a table by the windows, slinging my crossbody over the back of the chair. Looking over at the counter my chest tightens. Fin and the barista from this morning are laughing about something. He leans over, reaching for something under the counter. She playfully slaps his hand and then bends down, out of view. When she stands back up she’s holding a box, she hands it to Fin and turns toward the coffee station.

  Fin turns around and I drop my eyes. I don’t want him to think I was watching him like some kind of stalker chick, but he did ask me out, and now he’s flirting with the barista? I don’t want my past relationship to make me insecure or paranoid, but that seems a little off.

  “Are you ready to have the time of your life?” he asks, holding the mystery box behind his back.

  I nod. “Absolutely,” I say, craning my neck to sneak a peek. A second later he places a long narrow weathered box on the table. I place my hand on top of it, looking into his eyes. “This is very impressive,” I smirk sarcastically.

  He rolls his eyes and waves my hand away. When he pulls the lid off the box I lean up, looking inside. There’s a game inside. The long wooden board has wells carved into it, six on either side and one at each end. Each well has a pile of colored stones inside.

  “What is it?” I ask, looking at the mysterious game.

  “You’ve never played Mancala?” he says, sliding into the chair across from me.

  I shake my head, no. And he begins taking the board and stones out of the box, setting it on the windowsill once it’s empty.

  "The concept is simple. We each have a pit," he says pointing to the large wells on each end. "The goal is to bank as many stones into your pit as you can. It takes strategy though because you deposit one stone in each valley moving all the way around the board until you've used all the stones from that turn.”

  I stare at the board and the stones. "So I'll end up putting some of my stones on your side of the board?" I ask.

  "Yes, but if you plan and count you can minimize that," Fin explains.

  The barista brings two coffees over, one hot and one iced. She sets my iced coffee on a coaster and drops a small ring of keys on the table in front of Fin.

  "I’ll put the sign in the window when I leave," she says, patting his broad shoulder as she heads back to the register.

  "Ten minutes till close, people! Yeah, Dominic, that includes you. Epic zombie novel or not you have to leave in ten minutes," she announces.

  I look at Fin. "Should we go?" I ask, confused by just about everything that just happened.

  "Nah, we're good. Do you want to go first or should I?" he asks, taking a sip from the hot cup.

  "Uh, you go first."

  I watch Fin’s strategy and count the stones in each well as I move them around the board. After a few minutes I've given up a lot of stones and the coffee shop is empty.

  "I’m out," the barista calls from the door as she flips the sign from one to closed. "If you forget to lock up I'll kill you." Then she's gone.

  "Is there something I should know?" I ask. "I’m confused by what's happening."

  "I thought it would be fun to get to know each ot
her over coffee and board games," he says looking up from the game for a second before scooping up a handful of stones and dropping them into wells around the board.

  "And the girl, the barista is just cool with us hanging out here?" I try not to sound accusatory or like I'm digging for details, but the whole thing does seem a little bit strange. A little too friendly.

  He looks up, a smile tugs at the edges of his mouth.

  "The barista actually owns the place. Her name is Kris. She's my sister."

  “Your sister,” I say, nodding my head. I can feel my face flush. Now it makes sense. The playful behavior, letting us hang out after closing time, the death threat. As an only child, I've never experienced those things first hand, but it all makes perfect sense now.

  “Did you think we…”

  “I totally thought she was an ex or something complicated,” I interrupt, not needing him to finish the question. I take a deep breath and look into his hazel eyes. “I should be honest with you. I just got out of a long relationship and my trust is a little shaky right now. I’m not myself.” I shrug. We just met and I know I don’t really owe him any explanations. But I like what I’m seeing and I’m worried I’m going to scare him away, ruin this before I can even see where it’s going. He reaches across the table, scooping my hand into his.

  “You’re doing just fine.” He stares back at me and his lips curl up into a coy smile. “You are not very good at this game though.”

  I laugh, running my fingers through my hair with my free hand.

  “Does your sister keep any other games hidden behind her coffee bar?” I ask, looking down at the wooden board. More than half the pieces are already in Fin’s pit and almost all of the others are on his side of the board.

  He gets up and walks across the room, disappearing behind the register.

  “We’ve got playing cards, Tarot cards, Candyland and a Ouija board,” he calls, peeking at me over the counter.

  “Wow, that’s some eclectic taste she has. Let’s go with Candyland,” I say, choosing what sounds like the safest choice.