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“I just…you usually hate putting yourself on social media. You dumped a cup full of goo on your face.”

“But look”—I pointed to the comments below—“people are signing up. We already have ten people for our next event and it’s only been posted for three days.”

“That’s cool. I was just surprised to see you in the video.”

Maybe Asher did bring out a different side of me. A better one. Maybe Icouldbe a person who didn’t have to know how things turned out before I committed to them. “I’m going to go with you to Mom’s.”

Zoey’s mouth fell open and she shut it again. What I expected to see on her face, happiness, was not there. Only shock.

“Do you not want me to?” I suddenly wondered aloud.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to,” she said, ever the peacemaker.

“It’s beginning to feel like it is,” I said, when she didn’t go on.

“I want to have a good trip. I don’t want you to come and be mean to Mom and for it to turn into a crappy weekend. I want to have fun. I haven’t seen her in forever.”

“Neither have I.”

“You haven’t wanted to,” Zoey reminded me.

“True.”

“But if you want to come and you’ll call a truce for the weekend, I think it could be good. For all of us.”

So not only was I going, I had to be nice too? Maybe it was time to give our mom a second chance (or third or fourth or whatever number we were on). Everyone wanted a relationship with their mom, I was no different. Plus, it would be nice to spend some time with Zoey. Ever since she moved out, I felt like we’d drifted a bit. “Okay,” I said.

“Really?”Therewas the happy expression I had been waitingfor.

I nodded.

“Sister trip! I’ll make the playlist.”

“I’ll bring the snacks.”

There was a buzzing sound. “You got a text,” Zoey said, still holding my phone. She scanned the screen and read out loud, “Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“You’re reading my text?”

“I was holding your phone, it was reflex.” She had obviously read the name too because she said, “Asher? Is that Olive Garden Boy? What are you guys doing tomorrow?”

I honestly had no idea. I plucked my phone out of her hand and reread the text. The last time I had talked to Asher was when he called after sending the video. We hadn’t made any plans. “I don’t know.”

Another text came through:Invite Kamala because Dale wants to come. Is that okay?

What time again?

Noon by the bay.

The bay? As in the ocean? I hoped he just wanted to sit and look at it because there was no way I was getting in the water, not even to uphold plans that Gemma had obviously made.He’s still messaging with her?How? How was she pulling off pretending that she knew the things we had done? Was this someone he knew? Someone who had insider information? I had assumed he had stopped DMing her when he started texting with me, figuring we were one and the same, but he obviously hadn’t.

I thought about texting back that something had come up.Work, orsomething.But Asher knew as well as I did that the shelter was closed on Wednesdays. And besides, I hadn’t seen him in three days and I found that I really wanted to. Also, what if Gemma showed up this time? Decided to come clean. What if this was her do-over? Her chance to really meet him? I needed to be there to tell my side of the story.

Rule:If a guy wants you to go in the ocean, he needs to provide the protective metal cage.

“Do you think the real Gemma will show up today?” Kamala asked as we sat on the beach towel I had spread out on the sand, still not sure exactly what we were doing. Maybe we were going for a ride in Dale’s boat. I could handle that. In front of us was the rocky shore; to our left a boardwalk ran along the water’s edge lined with restaurants on the land side and boats of various shapes and sizes on the water side. I didn’t remember what Dale’s boat looked like from the one picture I’d seen on Instagram, but it could be one of those.

“I don’t know.” I’d been wondering the same thing the day before.