Page 52 of Promise Me Sunshine

“Sure, but my dad didn’tfeelcomplicated. Like, he was just a genuinely nice guy who made everybody feel good. People loved being around him. He was gentle and thoughtful and…I was always so proud that I was the one he loved best in the world.”

I’m just reaching a hand across the table to pat her shoulder when she suddenly sits up.

“And I’d probably like Miles too if he weren’t such an asshole!” she asserts all at once, fire in her eyes.

Oh. Well, when she started that sentence at the beginning of this conversation, that is not exactly how I thought she was going to end it.

“Miles is—” I start, but she’s already swerving back in.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with being an asshole.” She’s gesticulating wildly now. “Plenty of people are assholes and it’s charming. But it just bugs me.” She pounds one fist, once, against her chest. “It bugs me that he’s nothing like my dad at all. And why would he be? My dad wasn’t there for him.”

“Reese—”

“Do you know what one of the very first conversations I ever had with Miles was?”

“I can only imagine. He doesn’t make a great first impression.”

“He knocks on my door, and Dad says,Reese, this is your younger brother you never knew you had.And then twenty minutes later, Miles is pulling me aside and berating me for how bad Dad’s condition was. How could I not see it? he wanted to know. And worse, how could I be letting Dad take care of Ainsley in his condition.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Yeah.” She leans back and drops her head to look at the ceiling. “And the worst part, the part I really can’t forgive him for, is that he was right!” She laughs though nothing is funny and props her elbows on the table and her forehead on her hands. “I was too close to really understand just how rough a shape Dad was in. And he insisted to me that he was fine. That he could still help with Ainsley. But then, secretly he’s calling Miles in to come be reinforcement. And I’m stuck looking like the woman who didn’t even notice that her dad was too sick to take care of her daughter.”

“Oh, Reese.” I reach across the table to squeeze her hand, but she ends up just giving me a few efficient pats.

“The two people I loved the most in the world and Icouldn’t take care of them. And the person who called me out on it is, you know…”

“Mr. Personality,” I supply, and she laughs.

“Exactly. And now he’s got this idea about me. That I can’t see what’s in front of me. That I can’t make the best decisions for Ains. That I wasn’t kind to Dad when he was failing.”

“Reese, I really,reallydon’t think that Miles is judging you like that. I think he’s just trying to figure out where he’s needed in your life. And he’s not…graceful.”

“Not graceful…” she muses. “Every single thing he does reminds me that my wonderful, perfect dad totally hung him out to dry while devoting his life to being a father to me. To helping raise Ainsley. And what am I supposed to do with that?”

The question hangs there. She can’t accept Miles for who he is, because it’s painful. And the Miles she’s created in her head is constantly judging her. This would all be so much easier if she could let herself like him.

The front door bangs open. “Mom!”

“Shit,” she murmurs, standing suddenly and swaying a little.

“I’ll cover for you,” I offer her. “I can stay with Ains.”

She blinks at me. “Are you sure? I feel terrible making you stay late just because I—”

“Pay me double, then.” I flash her a grin and turn just as Ainsley and Miles enter the kitchen.

“Why was there a tomato in your shoe?” Miles asks me, holding up the offending produce. “Oh. Hey, Reese.”

“The bag broke when Reese got home.”

“Ah.” He walks the tomato over to the fruit basket and then busies himself with putting all the badminton stuff away in the hall closet.

Ainsley is on Reese’s lap, eating the pasta from her bowl. I know Reese is drunk because she didn’t make her wash her hands first.

“How was badminton?” I ask them.

“Miles can hit the shuttlecockfourstories into the air,” Ainsley informs me, her cheeks flushed and her hair static clinging to the air. “I could only do two. But then he hit it so hard that it banged into Mrs. Greer’s window and she leaned out and yelled at us.”

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