Emily
Present…
“MOM!” I CRY OUT, HORRIFIED by the turn of the story. “This is awful! Why would he do such a thing?”
Her hand shakes as she pours another glass of wine. The ring that belonged to my grandmother catches the light and shines. She sips her wine and smiles at me. How could she be smiling after telling me this story? It’s horrible.
“He was an awful man,” she mutters. “That was an awful time.”
My phone buzzes. She laughs lightly and nods at it.
“You better answer that so we can finish our story,” she says.
With tears threatening, I snatch my phone up.
Finn has sent another picture. This one is of me. I’m asleep in the front seat of his car. My hair is a mess and my cheeks are sunburned. I have a book clutched to my chest. He wanted to fish a little longer, but I was beat after being at the lake all day. We argued and I told him I was going to sit in the car. He told me to have fun suffocating. It was hot, but I was determined to have the last word. I sat in the car until I fell asleep. He must have unknowingly taken my picture. When I woke, I found the car on and the air conditioning running.
Finn: I know you say you don’t date guys like me, but I don’t care. You’re my heart, angel. You have been since we were twelve years old and I found you skipping rocks on the lake.
He doesn’t mention how he pushed me in. I’d been so mad I pretended to drown. He dove in and saved me. I’d been smitten with the little asshole right then. We spent the next day, and every day after, teasing each other. Then, we were inseparable. It wasn’t until two years later that I realized our financial differences were something that set us apart. He was a have and I was a have not. I hated the way his parents flaunted money like it made them better than people like my parents. My parents are the best people in the world. I hate money and all it implies. So, by default, Finn gets shoved into that category. And if he wasn’t such an annoying, persistent brat, I would’ve stopped being friends with him long ago.
But he always shows up.
We don’t go to school together, but he always shows up to pick me up and cart me around places. I let him know at every chance that his stupid money won’t buy my affection and he just laughs at me.
“He loves you,” Mom says softly. “I think he always has.”
“Finn?” My entire body thrums.
Her smile widens. “Yes, Finn.”
A smile of my own tugs at my lips, but then I deflate as reality sets in.
“Mom, you of all people know what money does to people. It makes them vile and horrible and selfish. Your entire life story proves that. Finn Browning is loaded and he’s an asshole,” I grumble.
But he’s not. I know he’s not.
I can’t even lie to myself anymore.
Mom frowns. “Is that the message you’re getting from all this? That money determines who a person is inside?”
“Yeah,” I say. Duh.
Mom’s lips purse together. “Sweetheart, love doesn’t care about money one way or the other. What matters is how a person makes you feel.”
“Finn makes me feel angry sometimes,” I argue. That’s the truth.
“Your father makes me angry all the time.” She shakes her head and then sips her wine. “But he makes me feel. All of the emotions. All the time. There isn’t a dull moment with him. Just passion and fire always. I know you can’t see it, but I see how Finn pokes at you to get a rise. It’s because your eyes flare such a brilliant shade of green when you’re angry.”
I huff and gape at her.
“But when you’re sad and he makes you laugh, your eyes that shine with tears grow soft. Or when you’re frustrated and he helps you with something, relief and admiration shine in your gaze. Sweetie,” Mom says with a sigh. “He wants all those moments. You just have to let him in.”
I try not to think about how last week I was bummed about Porter ignoring my texts and Finn showed up in his ridiculous Maserati. He brought my favorite kind of pizza and some movies. While I brooded and pouted, he was quiet and allowed me to wallow in my rejection. But not alone. He was there. Like always.
Tears burn in my eyes and I feel a lump of emotion in my throat. I’ve been clinging to this thought that money was bad and it bred hate. All while ignoring my heart. That’s what I’ve been doing after all. Hardening my heart and protecting myself from the stinging rejection of not being good enough. Not rich enough. I wanted to be a step ahead.
A shudder wracks through me because it reminds me of something Heath would do. Blinking away my tears, I reply to Finn.
Me: Sometimes the heart is confusing.
He replies immediately.
Finn: It’s the mind that’s confusing, angel. The heart always knows.
Speaking of hearts, mine patters in my chest.
Me: I’m sorry.
Before he can respond, Porter replies.
Porter: Panties? You never answered my question.
I cringe as I finally tap out a reply to him.
Me: Plans have changed. I can’t hang out.
No response. I’m not surprised. He’ll just call up some other girl instead. I used to let it bother me. Not tonight, though. Tonight, I’m excited for something different and familiar all at once. I’m excited to take a step. To see what happens. And if I screw it all up, I’ll deal with it when it happens. Until then, I’ll throw caution to the wind.
Finn: I’ll be in our spot. Come find me.
My heart does a flop in my chest. Our spot is on the dock at the lake. The same spot he chose to throw me into the water. The same spot I pretended to be dead and he frantically tried to give me CPR, giving me my first taste of a boy. The same spot I’d give him all kinds of hell. The same spot we’d share popsicles and smiles and secrets.
Our spot.
Me: I’ll be there. Just as soon as I finish talking to Mom.
Finn: I’ll be waiting. I always will.
When I look up, Mom’s smiling. “You ready to hear what happens next?”
Despite wanting to kick off my shoes and run all the way to the lake, I nod. I can’t get this deep into the story and stop now.
“I need to know what happened,” I tell her. “All the awful details. I can handle it.”
She pats my hand. “You can handle anything, sweetheart. You’re my daughter.”