Heart Bones

“Yeah, he said the same thing when I told him you might be here for the summer. But you could change your mind after you meet him.”

I have met him. And I’m still not interested. “The last thing I need right now is a boyfriend.”

“Oh, God. No,” Sara says. “I wasn’t saying you should date him like that. I just mean…you know. Summer fling, but whatever. I get it.” She sighs, like that saddens her.

I’m just waiting for her to leave so I can have some privacy. She stares at me a moment, and I can see her mind trying to come up with another question, or anything else to say. “My mom and your dad won’t be very strict since we’re out of high school. They just want to know where we are at all times, which is basically in the front yard, at the beach. We make a fire every night and hang out.”

It just occurred to me that this girl knows my father’s parenting style better than I do. I hadn’t thought about that before this moment. I know his name is Brian, his leg isn’t broken and he’s a financial planner. That’s about it.

“Where do you want to go shopping for new stuff tomorrow? We’ll have to go to Houston, all they really have here is a Walmart.”

“Walmart is fine.”

Sara laughs, but when she sees I’m not laughing, she bites her lip to stop her smile. “Oh. You were serious.” Sara clears her throat, looking hella uncomfortable now, and this might be the moment she realizes we’re nothing alike.

I don’t know how I’m going to last an entire summer with a girl who thinks Walmart is laughable. I’ve shopped at thrift stores and garage sales my whole life. Walmart is a step up for me.

I feel like I’m about to cry and I don’t know why.

I can sense the tears coming. I suddenly miss my old house and my addict mom and my empty fridge. I even miss the smell of her cigarettes, and I never thought that would happen. At least that smell was authentic.

This room smells rich and sophisticated and comfortable. It smells fraudulent.

I point toward the bathroom. “I think I’m gonna shower now.”

Sara looks at the bathroom and then at me. She realizes that’s her cue to leave. “Try to hurry because Mom likes to have dinner as a family on the weekends.” She rolls her eyes when she says family, then she closes my bedroom door.

I stand in the center of this unfamiliar room, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more alone than I do right now. At least when I was in the house with my mother, it felt like I fit there. We belonged there together, no matter how mismatched we were. We learned to navigate and weave our lives around each other, and in this house, I’m not sure I can invisibly weave around any of these people. They’re like brick walls I’m going to crash into at every turn.

It feels claustrophobic.

I walk over to the balcony doors and I open one of them and step outside. As soon as the breeze hits my face, I start crying. It’s not even a discrete cry. It’s an almost twenty-four-hour-delayed-sob.

I press my elbows onto the railing and cover my face with my hands, trying to suppress it before Sara decides to pop back into my room. Or worse, my father.

Nothing works. I just keep crying. Five whole minutes probably pass while I stand and look out at the water through blurry, tear-filled vision while I sob.

I need to tell my father what happened last night.

I inhale several breaths and wipe my eyes, mustering up every ounce of resolve in me in order to regain control of my emotions. I eventually wipe enough tears out of my eyes so that I can actually appreciate the view of the ocean under the moonlight.

The girl Samson was kissing in his kitchen earlier has just crossed over the sand dune between the two houses. She joins a crowd of people gathered around a fire. They’re all young, probably in their late teens and early twenties. They’re likely all rich and carefree and confident. This is probably what Sara does every night, and those are probably her friends.

More people I have nothing in common with.

I don’t want anyone to see me up here crying, so I spin to go back into my room.

I freeze.

Samson is standing alone on the balcony next door. He’s staring at me with an unreadable expression.

I stare back at him for two seconds, and then I walk into the bedroom and close the door.

First, he sees me eating bread off the deck of a ferry. Then he offers me money, and I’m still not sure of his motives behind that offer. Then I find out he’s my new neighbor for the summer.