Page 10 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
I could use a little of Isabelle’s noise right now. While I do love my quiet life, today is one of those days when the quiet feels as heavy as the humidity in July.
Or maybe it’s just that the lack of sound leaves too much space for my thoughts to get loud. And ever since I saw Merritt running on the beach, my thoughts have been screaming.
Earlier this week, Lo oh-so-casually mentioned Merritt would be taking her place overseeing the renovations. I had about forty-eight hours to prepare. Not nearly enough time to know how I feel about her return. About her.
I’m still not sure.
What’s strange to me is that Lo clearly had no idea what happened between her sister and me. I don’t know how to feel about that.
I mean, on the one hand, Lo is a good five years younger, at least. Which doesn’t matter so much now, but back when Merritt and I werewhateverwe were, Lo was close to Isabelle’s age, so not likely aware of what Merritt was thinking or feeling. But to think that Merrittnevermentioned me? That I was less than a speck in her rearview mirror?
I guess it only makes sense—that’s what I was.
After our last, ugly conversation, Merritt never called. Never texted. No email, no regular mail, no adding as a friend on social media. For the next year, I waited. Then another, and another. Then I decided I was an idiot for thinking Merritt would ever come back, and I tried with Cassidy. Tried being the operative word.
A sharp bark disturbs me from my thoughts, and I realize I’ve just been standing here at the sink, staring out over the marsh for I don’t know how long.
“Coming, guys.” I grab my water and head back out, where Vroom, Lilith, and Sunbeam are milling about in the yard, eager for our evening walk. Creatures of habit, just like me. Banjo has wandered off into the yard, probably looking for a place to nap.
At the fence, Sunbeam nudges the latch.
“Don’t even think about it,” I tell the shepherd mix, easily the smartest of the bunch. He may only have one eye, but it doesn’t slow him down the least bit or keep him out of trouble. I’ve had to rework this latch several times to make sure he can’t escape and let the others out.
As soon as the gate is open, the dogs tear off down the path toward the marsh. Only Lilith, the old Great Dane, circles back to lumber alongside me. She moves right up against my thigh, nudging her big head under my hand.
“What—you think I need a friend? You would be right. It’s been kind of a day.”
Talk about an understatement.
Seeing Merritt for the first time left me feeling a little woozy. Unsteady.
I’ve seen grown-up Merritt before, courtesy of her LinkedIn profile. And yeah, maybe I joined under a fake name just to look her up. Her profile wasn’t very personal, but I still learned a lot. Namely, that Merritt became exactly what she told me she’d be back when she was breaking my heart: a big city-dweller working a high-powered job. She has the kind of accolades under her belt most people work decades to achieve.
Not to mention she looked beautiful.
Even if the polished, professional headshot of her was almost unrecognizable compared to the wild-haired, shoeless, free spirit who ran around every inch of this island with me. Her hair was the same color, at least, and the photo revealed the same stormy blue eyes that captivated me all those years ago. But the freckles that always popped out after she’d been on Oakley a few months were nowhere to be found. And her smile looked … wrong. Fake? Or just different. Even through the smile, her expression felt stern. Closed-off.
That one professional photo made me question all my memories of her. Maybe she was never who I thought she was. Or, I don’t know. Maybe it was only that she was having a bad day and hates having her picture taken like I do.
What is not up for debate is that I’ve spent too many hours staring at that one LinkedIn profile picture, trying to superimpose the memory of Merritt’s ghost onto the woman she grew up to be.
Today, though, when I saw Merritt fall—I saw a crack in her seemingly perfect veneer. It was lucky I saw her at all. I don’t typically spend time near the beach, but I’d been negotiating prices with the guy building new cabinets for the beach house and had wandered toward the water in search of a stronger breeze. Merritt crossed into my view not seconds after I hung up the phone.
Then she tumbled, her expression shifting, and I caught a glimpse of the girl who would go crabbing with me, leaning over the dock with a chicken leg tied to a string. The one who wore the same dirty cutoffs nearly every day of summer, only washing them when her grandmother forced her to take them off.
It must have been the glimpse of the old Merritt that made me pick her up and carry her off the beach. It was stupid. Overbearing. Caveman-like.
I thought it might satisfy my craving, to get close, to test the limits of my self-control by helping her when she needed it—even if she didn’t want my help.
Instead, it only woke the long-sleeping desire for more of her.
The dogs and I reach the end of the trail where the land slopes down to marsh grass. Vroom chases Lilith—a good match-up since Lilith only has three legs—and I find a stick to throw for Sunbeam.
Yesterday, this evening ritual felt like enough—the dogs, the sunset, the pop and crackle of the marsh with its briny scent. For years, this has been theamento end every day.
But today, just like the quiet, this feels off.I’moff. And I know without needing to say it, it’s because of her. I hate that even just seeing Merritt again was enough to throw off the equilibrium of my life.
Standing at the marsh’s edge, watching as Banjo appears out of the brush and joins Vroom in his chase, I promise myself I won’t let Merritt’s presence derail me anymore. She’s my past. Temporarily part of my present.
