Page 47 of Britta & the Beach Boy
“You should take the city’s offer to buyBritta’sand use the money to live your own dreams.” Stella’s statement stops me in my tracks, and she runs into me.
I turn slowly and face her. “You were listening to my conversation?”
Her cheeks color slightly, but she pulls her shoulders back. “It’s not my fault you all are loud talkers.”
“It’s not your business, Stella.” I step into my room, but she presses her hand to the door to stop me from closing it.
I drop my hand from the knob and glare at her.
“You know you get rude when you get defensive?” Stella glares back at me. “We’re all family, so it is our business. Maybenot financially for me, but… heritagely. Britta was my great-grandma too.”
“Heritagely? Not a word.” With Stella blocking the door, I give up, closing it and walk into my room. But my hands need something to do, so I grab an elastic from my dresser and look at myself in the mirror while twisting my hair into a topknot. “If you care so much aboutBritta’s, then you should understand why I need to go back and why I don’t want to sell to the city and why I have to keep it running.”
Stella catches my eyes in the mirror. “I do understand.I understand all of it. But I also understand that you’re usingBritta’sas an excuse to run from your feelings. You’re doing the same thing withAnnie’s.”
I finish winding an elastic around my hair, then face Stella. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re staying as busy as possible so you don’t have to deal with your grief.” Stella’s voice softens. “It won’t work. You can’t keep running. You have to deal with the trauma. It’s why you’re here, Britta. It’s why everyone encouraged you to go.”
Stella’s words stun me. I can’t move.
“What trauma?”
Stella lets out a long sigh, edged with frustration. “You watched your mom die. For five years.”
“That’s not trauma. That’s life.” My voice cracks, and I back away from Stella.
She smiles sadly and moves toward the open door. “Georgia offered you this apartment so you could slow down and give yourself time to recover. Your family knows you need this break. Let them give you that gift. How else can they repay you for taking care of your mom all those years?”
Apparently, it’s a rhetorical question because Stella doesn’t wait for me to answer before stepping out the door and closing it behind her to leave me alone.
All alone, except for my thoughts. If those count, then I’m in a very crowded room. A crowded room every inch of my body wants to escape.
But where would I go that Stella’s words, my thoughts, and my memories of Mom wouldn’t follow?
I stare at myself in the mirror. Even in my reflection, I can’t escape seeing Mom. I look too much like her. But I also see my dad in the shape of my nose, my brothers in the curve of my lips. I share so many similarities with all of them that even people who are strangers to me, but not my parents or brothers, have asked me if I’m their daughter or sister.
And I wonder if I’ve ever seen myself just for who I am, rather than who I am because of the family I’m part of.
I study my reflection more closely, searching for something that’s only me. I can’t see it yet, but I think I might if I give myself more time. I stare harder, thinking not only about what Stella’s said but also Dex’s question about what I want.
It’s an excellent question that I can’t answer. This is an unfamiliar experience for me, sitting with my thoughts, letting them sink in and take hold in a way I never have before.
Because Stella’s right. I have been running. And I’m tired. And sad. Maybe even a little lonely. Mom was my best friend. Then she got sick, and I lost the person I told everything and counted on to help me make sense of my life. That person eventually didn’t even know me anymore.
But I didn’t knowhereither. That was the hardest part; watching Mom become someone else.
I stare so hard in the mirror that my vision goes fuzzy, except for a bright green spot in my closet.
My focus goes to the dress hanging there. The green dress I promised to wear for Dex. Dex, who makes me smile. Who makes me laugh. Who makes mefeel.Whose kisses make theworld around me go as soft and fuzzy as it is right now, before bringing it into sharper focus, full of color and depth.
Watching him reach his dream was awesome, in the truest sense of the word. But knowing even a little about what it took for him to get there is inspiring. He didn’t rely on luck. He set high goals, then worked his hardest to achieve them.
I remember when I used to do the same, whether it was making straight A’s, getting into a good university, or joining clubs and networking in order to get a prestigious internship after graduating from college. In the years after Mom got sick, I stopped setting my own goals. My only focus was on keeping her alive and comfortable for as long as possible.
I’m not ready to fall in love—I’m not sure I’ll ever be. But running from the possibility—especially when the chance is so slim—isn’t the answer. Why not use the next few weeks to figure out who I am and what it is I want?
And why not let Dex be part of that?
