Page 153 of Hooking Up
"Working at the beach?"
"You ever see a guy scribbling on a legal pad in board shorts?"
She shakes her head.
"Then you've never seen my dad at the beach."
"What's he do?"
"Business consulting. I'm not sure, exactly. I tune it out."
"And your mom?"
"Same kinda thing. Finance. The details always escape me."
"They worked a lot when you were a kid?"
"Yeah. We had a nanny when I was young, but she didn't really hang out with me. It was always me and Bree. She'd help me with my homework, make me dinner, let me tag along with her friends."
"You were close?"
"Yeah. Best friends. Until she went to college. She was always there to make shit better. Our parents are the type to sweep shit under the rug. They'd always pretend like everything was fine, try to hide their fights. But they didn't. I always heard them. It freaked me out. Bree would calm me down. Distract me."
Iris's lips press together. Her eyes go to her nails. They're lilac.
"I… um, I guess I should try to actually catch one of these." She motions to the waves breaking toward the beach.
Yeah. I'm here to teach her. Conversation can come later. The beach isn't the place to zone out. The ocean is merciless. It's easy to lose control. Get pulled into the depths or smacked into the sand.
I don't mind taking that risk every time I step on my board.
But I'm not asking that of Iris.
I'm here to protect her as much as I'm here to teach her.
Still. "These are shit waves. After the next set."
"I have no idea what that means."
"Parents didn't make you do Jr. Lifeguards?"
"No. Swim team. Our neighborhood had one."
"Whose didn't?"
"True."
"What was your stroke?"
"Breaststroke. You?"
"Freestyle."
"Of course."
"Of course?" I raise a brow.
"You just seem like the type." She scrunches her brow. Thinking.
