He's the guy moms warn their daughters about. Bold, outspoken, and self-confident, Brian O'Brien returns to his hometown only to discover some things changed in his absence.
Brian has a new neighbor - a shy, smart girl Leah, who hates his guts since...
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Brian is taking me to the place where it all started, and for the next few days, there won't be anything more important than us.
We stopped to buy groceries. Luckily, I kept some clothes of mine at Brian's. His grandparents are away, visiting some friends, and although I wouldn't mind spending time with them, I am relieved we would be alone.
My arms are wrapped around Brian as he maneuvers the bike, dodging traffic. It's still early, and the sun is bright, unlike my dark, miserable mood. I swallow hard when the recollection of what I'd seen in my kitchen makes my eyes water, and rest my cheek against Brian's back.
Fat Boy takes a right turn, and we are riding down a country road, surrounded by trees and stillness. Unlike that first time in winter, the woods around us are painted in shades of vibrant green.
After entering his grandparents' estate, Brian rides straight to the cabin and parks the bike at the entrance.
"Are you okay?" he asks me, furrowing his brows when I shrug and look away.
"Leah..."
"Can I see the beach while you're putting away the food? Please?"
I love Brian to pieces, but I need a moment to myself if I don't want to lash out at him when he's the only person who didn't let me down.
"Sure. If you need to be alone, just say it. I'll give you the space you need."
"I just need a moment. Join me when you're done. Okay?"
Brian nods and kisses my temple. I take the familiar path and stroll toward the beach hidden behind the evergreen trees.
The sea is calm today. The waves caress the shore and retreat lazily. I sit on the warm sand and wrap my arms around my knees, blinking once, twice, three times when the unwanted thoughts break through the state of my fake bliss.
I don't see the ocean anymore. I see myself as a kid, clutching my mom's hand as I follow her around the store. My gaze lingers on the doll I want for Christmas, and Mom shakes her head even before I say the words.
When it's Christmas Eve, she gives me some clothes instead, and I'm grateful. I know things are rough. Mom is always tired and never smiles. Unlike the moms of the kids I go to school with, she doesn't wear pretty clothes or makeup.
I seek her affection like a puppy, clinging to her whenever I can, and asking myself if she is also tired of me. Her tender gestures toward me are less frequent with each passing day, month, and year.
Now, as I stare at the glistening water, I see the teenage Leah, awkward in her shapeless, cheap clothes, bullied by her classmates because, just like her mother, she has no reason to smile. She has no friends and is afraid to dream because she isn't used to getting what she wants.
She didn't get that doll, and she didn't get that pretty pink dress, and she didn't get her mom's hug or a well-done each time she got an excellent grade.
