Page 13 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
“Don’t be late,” she says, like now the big concern is my punctuality. “And I mean it about the tile.”
“Tomorrow.”
I don’t say goodnight before I end the call. I have too many memories of playing the goodnight game—You hang up first. No, YOU hang up first.
I program Merritt’s number into my phone, remembering the moment I deleted her contact information from the beat-up iPhone I used through most of high school. It was the night before I married Cassidy—my final attempt to root Merritt out of my heart once and for all.
Little good it did.
For ten solid minutes, I sit there, holding my phone, willing it to buzz again in my hands.
FOUR
Merritt
Unfortunately,I only drank enough wine last night to loosen my tongue and lower my inhibitions.
I did NOT drink enough wine to forget the things I said when I called Hunter. Asking about Isabelle. Saying how my nickname meanssea—something he told me over and over back then.
And the clincher:Can you come over?
New York Merritt is frowning in disapproval. Come to think of it, Oakley Island Merritt (or whoever I am now) is also disapproving. Overall—bad form. Terrible choice.
And now it’s morning and I get to live with my wine mistakes. Yay!
I roll my eyes and limp around the kitchen while I wait for my coffee to brew. My ankle is better, but I can’t even pace like a normal person who needs to physically work off steam. Normally I’d run, but that’s definitely out for a few more days at least.
Ugh. Stupid sand. All uneven and … sandy. In New York, I might have to sidestep a rat here or there. Maybe dodge a group of tourists taking selfies or a guy selling watches out of a suitcase in the park, but at least there, the concrete was smooth and even. I could run for miles without stumbling.
What was I thinking—asking Hunter to come over? Ofcoursehe couldn’t come over. Hewouldn’tcome over. And what conversation did I honestly think we would have if he had actually shown up?
I mean, yes—there are things I want to ask him. I have a million questions running through my brain. About Isabelle. About Cassidy. About our whispered promises, our plans to grow up and tackle life together.
But then, I know the answer to that question, don’t I? I have no one to blame but myself.
Your life is too small for me, Hunter. And if you never leave Oakley, it always will be.
I cringe as the memory of my own foolish, angsty, teenage words rushes through me like an icy breeze.Hurt people hurt people, Gran used to say.
I hate when trite sayings are true.
I don’treallywant to go down this path of remembering, do I? What purpose will it serve to drag up old memories? To unearth old hurts?
Last night, in the dim lamplight, the edges of everything softened by wine, my mind was just hazy enough to think it was a good idea. To … miss Hunter.
But now? In the crisp, clean morning light, I think I’d rather have a root canal than deal with the past. A double root canal. WithoutNovocaine. While being forced to watch a horror movie or golf—which has to be the most painful sport to watch.
I smooth down the front of my shirt and take a steadying breath. I can’t change the fact that Hunter Williams is the contractor Eloise and Jake decided to use for the renovation. My best bet is to keep things professional. Talk about tile and backsplashes and flooring and cabinets without focusing on the fact that he was the first boy I ever loved.
And the first boy to ever break my heart.
You broke his too, Mer.
I don’t know where THAT voice came from but—rude!
I pull a coffee mug out of the cabinet, setting it on the counter a little forcefully. A tiny piece chips off the bottom, and I don’t bother putting it in the trash. It’s like a tiny rebellion, leaving that broken shard. Take that!
I’m not sure who I’m rebelling against or trying to teach a lesson. Me? The universe?
