summer romance (e.d.)

twelve

ethan

"robert, my man!" i exclaim, walking into the kitchen and snagging a banana.

our chef has been the only person in this household that has never gotten on my nerves. i mean, how could he? he makes anything i want if i just utter the word.

so i make sure i'm always nice to him.

robert smiles proudly, adjusting his white chef coat. "can i make you anything, ethan?"

i think for a moment. "not really hungry rob, just needed the company."

"ahh," he says, turning around to continue cleaning the counters. "what? the golf girl not enough company for you?"

i furrow my eyebrows. "what do you mean?"

he clicks his tongue as he smirks at me. "you guys leave in the middle of the night often. may i ask where to?"

my blood runs cold. "h-how did you find it about that?"

he shrugs. "word goes around. hank and i are buddies. plus, my bedroom is right above where you sneak back in."

"please don't tell my mom," i blurt. "we're not doing anything illegal or weird, but please don't tell her."

he narrows his eyes playfully. "and lose my good friend? nooo. i could never."

i sigh in relief. "thank you."

"but i would suggest coming back through the beach entrance next time," he offers, scrubbing the counter. "make it less noticeable."

i shake my head. "i don't do the beach."

he sighs, looking at me. "i know, but maybe you could try. have you tried since—"

"no," i cut him off, feeling my usual self coming back. i push the rude ethan down as i remember who i'm talking to. "i... i haven't," i say quietly.

he nods. "well, alright. i'm sure you know what's best."

do i?

i stand up from my stool at the island and reach my hand out for our regular fist bump. he returns it back and i say, "take care man. i'll see you at dinner?"

"where else would i be?" he chuckles as i walk out.

i find myself walking downstairs and down to the back patio. the sun shines brightly down on the hot afternoon sun, and i notice anna sitting beside the pool.

my body must work before my mind, because i find myself sitting down next to her.

she looks at me, utterly confused as i stick my feet in the water.

"hi," i say, staring down at our reflection.

"hi?"

i hesitate before saying, "thanks, by the way. for helping me with golf. i've never seen my mom so proud of me."

i feel her eyes on me and a smile on her face. "isn't there something else you'd rather do than golf? do you have to?"

i shrug, kicking my feet in the water. "it's always been an expectation. i've never really gotten the chance to explore anything else."

"i'm sorry," she says softly.

"it's okay."

a few minutes of silence passes between us before she exclaims, "hey! i have something for you."

i turn to face her, raising an eyebrow. "you do?"

she smiles before reaching into a small beach bag beside her. "i was down at the beach earlier today and this reminded me of you."

she holds out a small, perfectly smooth conch shell.

i don't take it from her hands, and she motions it to me again.

staring at it blankly, i ask, "why would you pick that up for me?"

she furrows her eyebrows at my hard tone. "i-i don't know. your mom told me you like seashells and—"

anna stops her sentence immediately when she sees my face, and the anger rising to my eyes. she closes her hand around the shell, pulling it towards her.

"i'm sorry," she whispers. "what did i do—"

i stand up abruptly and stomp away from her.

as i race back up to the house, i run my hands through my hair, tugging at the tips a little.

the overwhelming sense of emotion that i can only explain as grief floods my body as i pace the length of my room, just trying not to break down.

she got me a seashell.

because it reminded her of me.

there's no way she could've known the story behind my seashells, but i can't stop the anger that i feel towards her right now.

she's so lucky that she can enjoy a day at the beach and not be constantly reminded of the memories that haunt me with it. the times when my dad was too sick to bend down and pick up a shell, so i'd have to do it for him.

the last time we went out on the beach was a week before he died. i told him that he needed to stay inside, but he practically begged me for just one more shell hunt.

and i haven't stepped foot on the beach since.

all afternoon, i lay in my bed, staring at the wall.

my mom knocks on my door for dinner, but i ignore her until she stops.

they say pain and grieving stops after about a year, but why hasn't it for me?

i know eventually when i wake up tomorrow morning, i'll feel fine.

but for right now i just feel like hurting.