Emily
The Present…
“OH MY GOD,” I SHRIEK. “They didn’t use protection!”
Mom gives me a soft, happy smile. “No, they didn’t.”
“When I think about them as a story, it’s not that gross,” I say, scrunching my nose. “But when I think about you and Dad…” I trail off. “Gross.”
She laughs. Mom’s laughs always soothe me. No matter what’s going on in my life, she makes it all better. Her laughs are contagious and comforting. “I can assure you, nothing about my love story was gross.”
“This is the most romantic story ever, Mom,” I say with a sigh. “They’re going to get married. A happily ever after. It’s sweet and perfect.”
Mom stiffens and drains her wine glass. “Nothing is perfect, baby.” She turns her emerald eyes my way and they flicker with pain.
“But you got Dad. I know you won. I know the story ends happily,” I argue.
She swallows and looks off into the distance. “Our story may end happily, but the story isn’t over yet. You’ve seen chapters, but not all of them.”
“Theo,” I hiss with disdain.
“Theo was the least of our worries, honey.”
My phone buzzes and I pick it up. Finn sent me a picture of the two of us. Last summer at the lake. We’re both eating popsicles and happy. Back then, I did foolishly wish for more than our friendship because at the lake in our swimsuits we weren’t two people on different rungs of the social ladder. We were equals. But all it took was drying off and getting in his expensive-ass car to grab some burgers to remind me we’re not equal at all. He goes to school with socialites and other rich kids.
And me?
I’m a normal girl who is seeing a normal guy. Porter is better matched for me. He’s my true equal. It’s who I should choose if I were smart.
But…
Apparently I’m being stupid. My heart is tugging me farther and farther away from Porter with each passing second. I’m not sure I’d ever even given it to him in the first place. A stubborn boy with blue eyes and a devilish grin, who just so happens to drive a Maserati, took it when I wasn’t looking and never let it go. I thought it wasn’t his to begin with, but he always does what he wants.
“Finn is a good man,” Mom says, peering over my shoulder at the picture.
I let out a huff, trying to bite back the smile. “He’s difficult.”
“All the best ones are,” she says. “Do you think your dad was easy? He drove me insane most days.”
“Not like Finn. Finn infuriates me. A rich dick.”
A rich dick who smells good. Who makes a good pillow. The man who tells the stupidest jokes that somehow always make me laugh.
My heart aches in my chest. The ache has been there for months while I’ve been trying this thing with Porter. I assumed it was because I wanted Porter to fall madly in love with me. Turns out, my heart ached because I missed my best friend.
“Finn is also the only person I’ve ever seen to make you smile like that,” she says softly. “Regardless of how much money he has.”
A pang slices through my chest and I tap out a reply to him.
Me: Stop trying to butter me up. It’s not working.
But it is working. It always works. He knows me better than anyone else and has always had the ability to make me happy with one of his handsome grins.
My heart does another little flutter and I try to ignore it. I want him to respond. Finn may be spoiled rich and gets his way a lot, but he’s never once made me feel like I’m merely an option. He always puts me first. His interest in me never wavers. When I’m with Finn, we laugh and have fun. He doesn’t try to get in my pants or push me away when I try to know more about him. Finn gives and gives.
What happens if I give back?
Nervous energy thrums through me. My mind drifts to images of Finn and I watching a movie on the couch like usual. But instead of just cuddling, what if we kissed instead? What if we did more? Heat, fiery and intense, burns through me. It’s a foreign sensation and one I can’t get out of my head now that it’s been planted.
I can see the dots moving, but I set my phone down. “Tell me the rest,” I tell my mother, taking her hand into mine. “Tell me what Heath did.”
“You’re so sure it was Heath?”
“Come on, Mom,” I say in exasperation. “The whole story was about him. You were simply a character in it.”