29
Summer
Summer:Winter, can we please talk? I’m coming back to the hospital today. I can meet you any place, any time. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I would just like to tell you my side of the story.
Winter:There’s nothing to forgive.
Summer:Okay. Can we please just still talk? I know things are strained between us, but I love you. I want to make sure you’re okay.
Winter:I’m not okay. I’m pregnant. And the father of my child has been lying to me for years. I’m not ready to talk. Please stop asking. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.
* * *
Rhett:How is Kip?
Summer:Apparently, fine.
Rhett:How are you?
Summer:Tired.
Rhett:What can I do to help? Just tell me.
Summer:Nothing.
Rhett:Have I mentioned how sorry I am?
Summer:Just be safe tonight, please.
* * *
“So, tell me about the cowboy.”
I decide not to turn around. Instead, I busy myself rearranging some of my dad’s flowers in their vase. “Hm?” I ask like I didn’t hear him.
“You know. Long hair. Punches people who’ve wronged you. Featured on your wall as a teenager.”
I groan, dropping my chin to my chest.
“Bet you thought I didn’t remember that.”
“Yup.” I stare at the white sneakers on my feet. I finally snuck back to our house this morning. As though it might make me feel better, I took a shower, blow dried my hair, and put on a pretty matching bra and thong set. I threw on some jeans and a soft, gray jersey pullover and came back to keep Dad company.
Feeling right as rain. If this were my last moment, I’d want to be happy with my dad. So, I’m forcing myself to feel that. To do that. To control what I can.
And I’m failing because I’m sick about Winter. I was literally sick over that last message she sent me. I have to keep busy somehow. Rhett rides tonight, and Willa’s bar is hosting some concert this weekend, so I’m here with Kip, who is now asking questions I don’t want to answer.
With a sigh, I turn and face my dad, who appears awfully pleased with himself. “You should look worse. You just had a heart attack.”
He waves me off. “A minor heart attack. And you know what would make me feel better?”
“What?” I perk up, eager for something to keep me busy and out of my head. Something other than arranging flowers that don’t need arranging.
“Tell me about what went down with Rhett.”
“Ugh.” I stomp across the room, feeling notably childish as I flop down into the chair beside him. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Do you like him?”