Page 13 of Cruel Summer

That her body belonged to her, and she had to choose to be nice to it—to herself—and not let herself pick apart every lump and curve that didn’t fall right where she wanted it to.

Not pick apart the stretch marks and other imperfections that made her a human being and not an ad, airbrushed to impossible smoothness.

She put on the bikini and bent over, watching the shape of her body change. A shape that she would have called unflattering an hour ago but was trying to see differently now.

She decided against the bikini. Her liberation might not be found in showing her whole stomach and half her ass in public. Maybe eventually it would be. Right now it felt like it would just make her self-conscious, and she didn’t need to heap difficulty onto her situation.

It felt like a win to choose a skirt and two dresses without asking anyone else’s opinion, though. She did the same at the makeup store she went to—she really did love makeup—where she chose the kinds of lipstick colors she normally would have thought were too bold.

When Chloe texted her to say they were finished with lunch, Sam went out to wait for them on the sidewalk, and hurriedly got into the back seat again when they pulled up, dragging her bags in behind her.

“Good thing we off-loaded Chloe’s care package. But remember, you have to fly everything you buy back with you.”

“I’ll manage,” she said.

She knew she sounded a little snappish, but honestly. She was used to managing space and travel for four other people. It wasn’t like she didn’t know how it all worked.

She listened to Logan and Chloe chat all the way back to the college and then shifted her position to the front seat and waited in the car while he walked her to the door and gave her a hug. Sam looked down at her phone.

He got back into the car and put it in Reverse.

“It’s hard,” she said, not really knowing she was going to say it out loud until she did. “Leaving them.”

“I’m proud of her,” he said.

“I’m proud of my kids too. It doesn’t mean it isn’t hard that they moved away.

Jude met a girl going to school on the East Coast, and right now they’re planning on staying there after graduation.

I’m proud of him. But it doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.

They…they’re your whole life. Until they go have lives of their own.

Which is exactly what you raise them to do, but… ”

“Did you write this into one of your parenting articles?”

“Ouch. And yes. I believe I did.” She would be more offended if it weren’t true. But she was trying to be nice.

“I think I read that one.”

She paused. “You…read one of my articles?”

“I read all your articles, Sam. It would be weird not to, wouldn’t it?”

“I… No. I don’t think anyone else reads all my…or they don’t talk to me about them, anyway. They’re just…little pieces that go on to whatever different news aggregate or blog. They’re not anything major.” She blinked. “Why do you think it would be weird not to?”

“We’re friends.”

Logan thought they were friends.

She had never thought of him as her friend.

He was their friend. A family friend. Who was bonded to them in the context of that. Him with Chloe, with all of them.

She looked at his profile as he took them back onto I-5.

“I don’t think any of my friends read all of my articles.”

“Well, I’ve found them useful, actually. I’ve been a single dad for ten years. Your meal planning and organization stuff is good.”

He’d used her tips. They’d helped him.

It made her feel…disoriented. Profoundly so.

“I’m… I’m glad.” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to be trite by…quoting myself. It’s just…anything like that I write is me processing my own stuff. It was hard when the boys moved out.” She laughed. “I didn’t think I’d be moving out.”

“Life is a series of surprises. More often than not, kind of terrible ones.”

“That should go in a greeting card.”

“Or another article.”

“I’m not writing about this,” she said.

“Why?”

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Every life crisis doesn’t need to be monetized?”

“Fair enough. Though I wasn’t thinking of it in those terms.”

She shook her head. “Everyone needs to learn to organize their pantry. Not very many people need to learn to navigate their husband asking for an open marriage.”

“A lot of people need to learn to deal with life changes they didn’t ask for, though.”

“My life didn’t change. My life is on pause, so while it’s on pause, I decided to step out of the frame and explore.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I know you, Sam. I don’t know how you’re going to go back to him after knowing what he’s been doing all summer.”

“I’m not going to know. I’m going to take him back, no questions asked.”

“Ah. The denial.”

And that infuriated her, because she couldn’t even argue with him. Maybe it was denial. Maybe a little dose of denial was how everyone got through life.

She liked to think that as a parent, she was a consistent disciplinarian.

But she did often pretend she didn’t see something so she didn’t have to punish her kids.

If that was denial, fine. It allowed her to create boundaries, consistency, and to not be permanently installed up her kids’ asses. So there.

They ended up stuck behind a tractor on the road going east to Bakersfield, and it made the last twenty minutes take forty. By the time they pulled into the Holiday Inn, she was exhausted. Who knew riding in a car all day even without kids could be so tiring?

You might not be with three little boys, but you are with him.

True. Fair.

They walked up to the attendant at the check-in counter and got their room numbers and key cards.

“I want to get on the road again at six,” he said.

“Six?” she parroted. She looked at the sign sitting on the front desk. “Breakfast doesn’t start till 6:30 a.m.”

“It would be a damn shame to miss your ride over a continental breakfast, Sam. We need to make some headway tomorrow.”

“Aren’t we going to Flagstaff? That’s like eight hours.”

“I thought you wanted to sightsee?”

“I do but are you planning on feeding me and giving me coffee at some point?”

“I wouldn’t dream of denying you. I like all my digits right where they are.” He held up his hand and wiggled his fingers, and then began to walk toward the elevator.

She went after him, just managing to get inside before the doors slid shut. He pressed Two, and then pressed Four.

“I don’t understand the implication,” she said as the elevator starting going up.

“Maybe you’ve forgotten,” he said, the pitch of his voice lowering. “I’ve traveled with you before.”

Something about the way he said it made time seem slower. She looked at his face, the lines there. His blue eyes. His mouth.

She blinked hard.

The elevator reached its floor, and maybe it was something about the way it swayed when it stopped that made her feel like she was turned a little sideways.

The doors opened, and he stepped out. “I haven’t forgotten!” she said.

“See you at six.”

The doors slid shut again, and she rode the extra two floors up to the fourth floor. She stumbled down the hall to her room and unlocked it quickly with the key card.

The room was dim and cool, all of the bedding white, and she was ready to stretch out on that bed, order late-night food delivery and just breathe.

Maybe it was being in a hotel room alone. Maybe it was being away. Something giddy built in her chest, and she took three large hops across the room and leaped onto the bed, laughing when she sank into the mattress.

She was so glad she had gotten away.

She was so glad she was here.

Now she was going to order whatever the hell she wanted and eat it in her pajamas.