Page 38 of The Best Worst Mistake (Off-Limits #2)

Dax

We left the brunch spot a few hours ago, after they’d had three mimosas each, finding a clear spot on the shore of Corona del Mar.

“I’m starting to rethink this whole west coast thing,” Abby had said after setting eyes on the Pacific once we got here, her toes dug into the hot sand.

“If you like this, then you need to come see me in Hawaii, babe,” Liv had answered. “Like, stat. This ocean might be the same one here but it’s literally turquoise when you’re standing on the beach where I live. When is this deal supposed to be done — so we can plan a trip out?”

The deal.

They’d carried on, making plans for Abby to visit Liv on the North Shore, while I pinched myself, remembering that Abby and I are butting heads in the conference room nearly every day of the week, and through email too, plus over the phone when all else fails, on behalf of our clients.

It’s hard to believe that the girl that I admire for her tenacity in that negotiation space is the very same one here this morning.

Wild and free, now down by the water with Olivia, piling up a little mound of sand between them.

They were talking about God knows what, out of earshot, when I went to go find us a few waters and another bottle of sunscreen from the shop down the way.

There are other beaches I could’ve recommended, ones that are longer or whiter or softer, but I like the way the cliffs jut out along this one.

They give it a rugged feeling, regardless of the luxe neighborhood it borders.

It can be reasonably quiet here, a harbor really, tucked in among the multi-million-dollar mansions that line the cliffs above.

I’ve often seen celebrities walking their dogs, or hiding on a blanket beneath the rim of a sunhat with giant sunglasses so they, too, can enjoy it in peace.

If I could have cleared the whole beach for her to have it as it should be, quiet and soul-cleansing, I’d have done that. However, this way — with her best friend and three mimosas down beforehand — is pretty great, too.

Now that I’m back, waters and sunscreen in hand, they’ve peeled off their sundresses in favor of bikinis, even though the water is still chilly, and are now holding their arms side by side, comparing hues, laughing about the way Abby’s skin tone is more like a vampire’s than a human’s.

Abby has always been beautiful, but this particular version of her is the very best version I’ve ever seen.

She’s let her hair down out here. Figuratively and literally — pulling it down from that dark top knot she favors, to let it spill out, thick and wavy, nearly reaching past her elbows, blowing out behind her in the breeze.

Her amber eyes glow, somehow absorbing each ray of sunshine before pushing that ray back out again.

I’m almost glad she forgot her sunglasses today because it means I don’t miss anything beaming out of her eyes.

The joy, the carefree way laughter radiates from her — head thrown back, laughing with her closest friend.

She and Liv marched their way down the beach when we got here, holding hands, giggling with their heads pressed together, talking the whole way as they walked.

I stayed back, letting them have their moment.

Knowing how excited Liv must be to get Abby to join her near her beloved Pacific, and Abby having her chosen ‘sister’ here to encourage her to experience yet another thing she’s wanted to do since she was a kid.

I had my boarding school brothers from the time I was thirteen, my own pseudo family while away from home — a band of brothers, never bonded by blood, but by choice.

We each missed our families, but having that safety net gave us the courage to grow together while away.

I know how important such formed-by-chance relationships can be to shaping a story, and a life.

After spending just one morning with them, it’s clear to me that Olivia is Abby’s family.

It’s easy, when you have both biological and chosen family or friends, to see how both can exist and each be just as special as the other.

How friendships can live alongside family bonds, flourishing so strongly that friendship becomes nearly as important as family relationships. Sometimes, even more important.

Abby doesn’t need her family to be loved. She has Olivia. And, if she continues to let me in, she’ll have me, too.

“How is your skin only showing signs of a tan instead of a burn?” Olivia asks, pressing a finger into Abby’s shoulder. “You should be red as a tomato by now.”

We’ve reconvened on the sand together, away from the water’s edge.

The girls are wrapped in a couple of thick towels that I keep in my car for spontaneous jaunts to the beach while the three of us are sitting on a blanket, watching a family of four build an intricate sand castle a few yards away between us and the waves.

Abby presses a finger to her chest, watching her skin change color when she releases it.

“I have no idea. Good genes, I guess?” she says.

Olivia chuckles, but I stop watching the family to look right at Abby. That’s possibly the first and last time I’ll ever hear Abby refer to herself as having good genes .

“My mom might have had skin that tanned well. I think, from what I remember, anyway,” Abby says, inspecting her skin.

“I could be wrong about that, but I know that I inherited my hair from her. That’s one of the things I remember.

I used to braid her hair for her whenever she’d pass out on the couch.

I’d watch TV and brush it, braid it. It was thick and coarse, just like mine. Dark as mine, too.”

Liv stares at her, then shifts her eyes to mine and raises her brows before moving her gaze back to Abby, who’s missed the looks on both of our faces. Instead, she’s watching the family play, intently.

“I’ve never heard you say a word about your mom,” Liv says, quietly, letting a handful of sand run through her fingers.

“I haven’t thought much of her until this trip. Does that sound awful?” She winces, suddenly searching our eyes for any judgment, though I know she won’t see any there, from either of us. “Like I blocked them out until now.”

We shake our heads in unison. I frown, wondering what it must be like to never think of your parents.

“I keep thinking I see them here. A woman with a dark head of hair, or a grungy-looking guy in a Lakers T-shirt or something, will walk by and I’ll do a triple take, like it might be them.

I never did that back in New York. Ever since we went to the house .

. . it somehow solidified that everything was, or is, real, or something.

I think I’d convinced myself that maybe I’d imagined how bad my childhood here was. But everything was real . All of it.”

I squeeze her hand, wishing I could take the worst of the memories away from her.

Wishing we could go back and erase whatever horrors she experienced as a kid.

Sure, it made her into the unassailable force that she is today, but there must be easier ways to make a diamond than squeezing a lump from a coal mine.

“I don’t want that stuff to define how you see me, though,” she says, staring at both of us, her eyes scolding us for something we haven’t yet done.

“I’ve tried pretty hard to keep my past away from who I am now, but there’s been something about being back here and being taken care of by Starry and Charlie, and” — she brushes her cheek against my shoulder, smiling — “no offense, having you totally reject me unless I got out of my own way.” She shakes her head.

“I don’t want it to hold any more power over me than it has for all these years.

My parents weren’t perfect, my life was far from perfect, but I shouldn’t have to hide it, right? ”

“Never,” Liv says, drawing Abby into a sitting hug.

“I don’t think you should ever feel like your past gets to define who you are.

Growing up with two normal parents — although, really what’s normal anyway?

— doesn’t make me more worthy of a single thing.

Just like growing up with abnormal parents doesn’t make you any less worthy of being surrounded by people that love you.

I’ve been trying to tell you that for years, Abs. ”

“No, I know that now,” Abby says, squeezing her back.

A cheer from the castle-building family in front of us catches our attention.

The little girl can’t be more than five or six, while her older brother must be closer to ten.

They’re working to fill a blue bucket with waterlogged sand, repeatedly flipping it onto the beach to create a wall for their castle.

Each time the boy lets the girl pull the bucket off, a bit of the castle wall crumbles.

She looks toward her parents, who clap and cheer when it stays mostly standing.

Her older brother beams at her, pushing the broken bits back up the wall, patting them into place whenever needed, patiently showing her how the wetter sand compacts better than the dry.

The parents watch their kids, holding hands over a worn, denim blanket stretched beneath them.

Abby continues watching, a faint smile on her lips, making me wonder if building a sandcastle at the beach with her parents was another thing she always dreamed of doing. I’m sure it was.

“I’m starting to feel like I want some of those things,” she says, nodding toward them.

“Want that?” Liv asks, pointing toward the family. She widens her eyes. “Kids?”

Abby laughs. “Slow down, tiger,” she says, holding up her hands. “What I mean is that I’m starting to feel like, at the very least, I want a life outside my office.”

I smile. I’ve seen this side of her coming out more and more since our trip down memory lane, but I’m happy to hear her say it.

“Not to scare you,” Olivia says, pausing dramatically, “but I think you’re already succeeding at that here.

” She winks at me, but Abby is too busy watching the little girl carry a sloppy bucket of water and sand over to her parents to notice.

The mom screeches when it almost lands on her lap, and we all laugh.

Olivia holds my eye and smiles, no longer studying the family in front of us like Abby, but me instead.

“Thank you,” she mouths silently.

I smile back, not sure what the thanks is for, but feeling like it has to do with a lot more than just taking them to the beach today.