Page 8 of The Summer I Destroyed You

5

EMMY

I walk back to my car, doing my best to ignore this sinking feeling in my chest.

I knew he’d disappoint me. I knew nothing would come of it. And if I allowed myself to feel much of anything other than irritation, I’d probably be sad that it’s over, this little flirtation that was never going to amount to anything.

It was ridiculous to have hoped he’d be different. That he’d be kind and trustworthy, unlike the rest of this town’s residents. I still haven’t put together who he was—there were only a hundred of us in my graduating class and surely I’d remember a guy who looked like that—but he was definitely one of the assholes who made my teenage years hell. It’s a distinct feeling inside me when I picture his face, some ancient hurt I can’t put a finger on yet.

Regardless of who he is, the modern ceiling tile he put in is entirely wrong—the theater is supposed to have a vintage feel to convince everyone Inspired Building cares about Elliott Springs’ history before we start tearing down their dumb landmarks—which means it’s one more problem amidst a mountain of problems I don’t have time for.

Therefore, I need to rope in my assistant.

The morons we hired to do the theater put in the wrong ceiling. I need the contract. Find out who owns Long Point Construction too.

Stella

We can only fire so many people in a single week, Em.

One of their guys called me “Princess”, Stella.

Ah. I guess I’m just glad you’re not making me dig a grave.

I arrive at home, laden with groceries. My mother is heavily immersed in The Real Housewives of Orange County and doesn’t acknowledge me.

“I was going to do steak and baked potatoes and salad for dinner,” I announce. Given my cooking ability, I’m sticking to the basics. “Do you know if the grill has propane?”

“Steak and potatoes?” my mother scoffs. “Are you trying to make me explode?”

“A small filet only has three hundred calories, Mom. A small potato has a hundred.”

“I didn’t keep this figure eating steak and potatoes. I’ll just eat the salad. And if you were smarter, you’d just be eating the salad too.”

I swallow down a sharp retort.

Jeff was the lucky one, with a metabolism that must have been twice my own. It was a running joke between him and my mother, the sheer amount of food he could pack away. “You must have a hollow leg,” she’d coo, as if his ability to eat was some illusive, adorable quality. “I don’t know where you put it.”

He could inhale eight tacos in a matter of minutes, but if I reached for a second one, her mouth would twist. She’d observe me, repulsed, always with that coffee cup in hand, her ability to not be hungry a source of great pride.

It made any hunger I felt seem sick. Unfeminine and distasteful. “Do you really need that?” she’d ask, and I’d put the taco back. And then I’d watch Jeff eat, and my hunger would turn darker and needier until it was beyond my control.

I hate, so much, how little has changed.

I now don’t want the steak or the potato. I will eat them only to show her that her words are meaningless, but the endless hunger that will follow it already gnaws at my bones.

* * *

It’s dark when my phone rings. I fumble for it blindly, uncertain if it’s night or early morning.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Stella chirps. I wonder if she’s calling this early to punish me for making her work last night. I reach across the bed to open one of the blinds. Outside, it’s barely light out. Yes, she definitely did it on purpose.

“Tell me,” I reply.

“So, you were right about the tile. It’s not what you chose. The bad news is that they ran into some supply issues and Julie, the decorator, okayed the switch.”

I groan, reaching for the bottle of water on the nightstand. Julie didn’t have the authority to make that switch. “And did you get the contact info for the owner?”

“I sent it to you. It’s the guy you’ve been dealing with. Liam.”

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