Page 94 of Golden Hour

“I don’t know,” Summer says, crashing on my bed. I flop down next to her. “Mom thinks a week would be good. We might move in. Who knows.”

I laugh because this is an eight-hundred-square-foot apartment with two tiny rooms and one bathroom. Between my mom and my sister, Papa and I will have to hold our pee more than we’re used to.

Grabbing my sister’s hand, I say, “Thank you.”

“Mom talked about switching places. Taking care of Papa for a few months so you can go back to Sacramento. Mend that broken heart. Again.”

I’ve thought a lot about that in the past month. How so many memories are tucked in so many corners of Goldheart, all of them including Jackson. My workplace is owned by his family. No one would blame me for running away.

Besides what happened with Jackson, I’m happy here. I like working at the brewery. They finally perfected the root beer recipe. I can’t just leave.

Still, I’m torturing myself by staying. Every time I see him or hear his name, my stomach flips and nausea coats my throat.

“I like it here.”

Summer turns to me. “I have to say something, and I want you to take it the right way.”

“Oh no,” I say, shifting onto my side so I can look at my sister. “Tell me.”

“Just because these bozos don’t want you doesn’t mean anything, Shi.”

“I know,” I say. When I met Mark, he wasn’t in the headspace to even pay attention to me. Same with Jackson. I knew from the beginning of my relationship with Jackson that I might get nowhere, that I was competing with a perfect ghost. It was an impossible task.

All because I had a couple dreams and the man in them looked like Jackson.

“You can always come home if it gets to be too much.”

I fold my hand into my sister’s. “This is my home. I can’t keep running every time a guy breaks my heart. I need to face it. Maybe it’s a sign to really work on myself. Hang out with some puppies. WatchBlue Bloodswith Papa. Go to sleep at eight-thirty.”

Summer laughs, rolling onto her back. “Maybe it’s not so weird you dated a guy ten years older than you. There’s a grandma in there.” She pokes my ticklish side, and I convulse.

“I love my grandma-ness,” I say, tickling her back.

“We’re still staying a week, though. Mom is going to sleep for two days straight. I intend to eat my weight in carbs and walk around the cute downtown.”

“You should,” I say. “I’ll join you.” Maybe eating cookies from Gold Roast will create a new memory, that replaces all those times with Jackson.

“Do they have a year-round Christmas store here?”

“You know it.”

“Excellent,” she says. “This is technically a vacation so I can buy an ornament.” While my spending habits have been frugal to the point of obsessive, my sister loves knickknacks and workout clothes. She’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt and leggings from the store she works for, ISLAY, and she could go three weeks without doing laundry.

I own ten pieces of clothing.

“We’ll have fun,” Summer says. “Get your mind off that stupid boy. Or an adult man who’s close to AARP.”

“Stop,” I say, shoving her. Then, I grab her into a bed hug as she drapes her leg over me and sneak-attacks my ticklish spot. I groan with impact and squirm away.

“Not fair, Summer.”

“I had to.”

Our evening together is a balm for my soul. We sit around and laugh, drinking root beer and iced tea and talking about old times, like when Grandma was alive. We played Skip-Bo three times, and my sister won once, Papa won once, and Mom won once. When I walk away from the table and watch my mother laugh with her dad, how she’s willing to come back to a town that talked about her behind her back, I know I can stay.

I deserve to stay.

I go to bed before everyone else, snuggling to one side so Mom and Summer can come in whenever they’re tired. It’s the first time my head hits in the pillow in weeks that I fall asleep instantly, with not a single sad thought entering my mind.

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