wait.”
“No, I think the more appropriate expression is: the family that plays together… ruins our perfectly good afternoon.”
Luke laughs, a deep belly laugh that sparks something warm in me. Then he rolls onto his side. “So I guess the next best thing would be lunch. You hungry?”
“Starving.” I hop up and towel-dry my hair while Luke unpacks a picnic lunch: green glass bottles of sparkling water, cuban sandwiches wrapped in thin white paper, and fat green grapes. The water is so cold it’s almost frozen. I chug most of the bottle.
“Careful,” Luke warns.
“What?” I feel a rumbling in my belly, and before I can stop it, emit a burp so loud, one of the kids turns to stare in admiration. “’Scuze me.”
“God, you’re sexy,” Luke deadpans.
“Oh, stop, you.” Playfully, I flick my layers over my shoulder.
“So...” Luke takes a huge bite of sandwich. It takes him a full thirty seconds to chew and swallow. “How’s Miami different from New York? I’ve never been up there.”
“Um, where do I start?” My laugh is short, nervous. Now more than ever, I don’t want to lie to Luke. Not when I’m feeling this close to him. “Some things feel the same, actually. Like in my high school, there were a lot of kids with really powerful parents. Kids whose families had a lot of money.”
Like mine.
“Kids like Hayden Santiago,” Luke nods. “Heard he’s been giving you a hard time.”
“I can handle him.” I slip a grape into my mouth, feeling the skin pop. “But yeah. Kids like that.”
“What was it like for you, growing up… like that?” I can hear in his voice that he wants to know if I come from money.
“It was normal, you know? Normal for me. I guess everybody has their own version of normal.”
He nods. “And what about your family?”
“What about them?” I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.
“You said you lost your parents, right? Was that when you were really little, or, like, recently?” He pauses and catches my eye. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to be nosy. I just… I want to know you.”
“No. It’s okay. I… lost them pretty recently. My dad sixth months ago, and my mom… after that.”
“Think you’ll ever go back?”
My laugh comes out in a sharp, bitter explosion, and I can see the surprise in his eyes. “No. I don’t think so. No.”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes three times. His
I’m sorry.
“It can be rough, thinking about going back to the place where something tragic happened. My grandparents keep asking me if I’ll ever go back to Greece. And I just don’t think I can.”
I squeeze back. “Plus, it’s like, after I lost them, the way people acted—it made me feel so weak.”
“People suck,” Luke announces. “Whenever anything bad happens, they just, like, shrink away from it. It’s escapist. It’s like, I’m uncomfortable, I can’t handle your shit, so I’m just gonna run away.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, even though his words don’t exactly ring true. People didn’t run away from me when my family fell apart. They lurked, swooped like vultures feeding on my family’s misery. For days, weeks, months, leading up to the trial, they splashed my image on the covers of magazines. Waited outside my house, followed me to document my misery. People did suck. But I wish they had run away. I wish they’d left me to grieve in peace.
“Listen, I…” Luke’s gaze travels my face. “…we don’t have to talk about this anymore. I didn’t mean to push.”
“It’s okay,” I exhale. My hands find my face, and I’m embarrassed that my cheeks are wet with tears. “Really. It’s not your fault.” As much as I fear slipping up and exposing something ugly, it’s freeing to talk to Luke this way. Releases just the tiniest bit of pressure. I haven’t spoken about my family since I got to Miami. I realize how much I needed to acknowledge that I had
“No, I think the more appropriate expression is: the family that plays together… ruins our perfectly good afternoon.”
Luke laughs, a deep belly laugh that sparks something warm in me. Then he rolls onto his side. “So I guess the next best thing would be lunch. You hungry?”
“Starving.” I hop up and towel-dry my hair while Luke unpacks a picnic lunch: green glass bottles of sparkling water, cuban sandwiches wrapped in thin white paper, and fat green grapes. The water is so cold it’s almost frozen. I chug most of the bottle.
“Careful,” Luke warns.
“What?” I feel a rumbling in my belly, and before I can stop it, emit a burp so loud, one of the kids turns to stare in admiration. “’Scuze me.”
“God, you’re sexy,” Luke deadpans.
“Oh, stop, you.” Playfully, I flick my layers over my shoulder.
“So...” Luke takes a huge bite of sandwich. It takes him a full thirty seconds to chew and swallow. “How’s Miami different from New York? I’ve never been up there.”
“Um, where do I start?” My laugh is short, nervous. Now more than ever, I don’t want to lie to Luke. Not when I’m feeling this close to him. “Some things feel the same, actually. Like in my high school, there were a lot of kids with really powerful parents. Kids whose families had a lot of money.”
Like mine.
“Kids like Hayden Santiago,” Luke nods. “Heard he’s been giving you a hard time.”
“I can handle him.” I slip a grape into my mouth, feeling the skin pop. “But yeah. Kids like that.”
“What was it like for you, growing up… like that?” I can hear in his voice that he wants to know if I come from money.
“It was normal, you know? Normal for me. I guess everybody has their own version of normal.”
He nods. “And what about your family?”
“What about them?” I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.
“You said you lost your parents, right? Was that when you were really little, or, like, recently?” He pauses and catches my eye. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to be nosy. I just… I want to know you.”
“No. It’s okay. I… lost them pretty recently. My dad sixth months ago, and my mom… after that.”
“Think you’ll ever go back?”
My laugh comes out in a sharp, bitter explosion, and I can see the surprise in his eyes. “No. I don’t think so. No.”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes three times. His
I’m sorry.
“It can be rough, thinking about going back to the place where something tragic happened. My grandparents keep asking me if I’ll ever go back to Greece. And I just don’t think I can.”
I squeeze back. “Plus, it’s like, after I lost them, the way people acted—it made me feel so weak.”
“People suck,” Luke announces. “Whenever anything bad happens, they just, like, shrink away from it. It’s escapist. It’s like, I’m uncomfortable, I can’t handle your shit, so I’m just gonna run away.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, even though his words don’t exactly ring true. People didn’t run away from me when my family fell apart. They lurked, swooped like vultures feeding on my family’s misery. For days, weeks, months, leading up to the trial, they splashed my image on the covers of magazines. Waited outside my house, followed me to document my misery. People did suck. But I wish they had run away. I wish they’d left me to grieve in peace.
“Listen, I…” Luke’s gaze travels my face. “…we don’t have to talk about this anymore. I didn’t mean to push.”
“It’s okay,” I exhale. My hands find my face, and I’m embarrassed that my cheeks are wet with tears. “Really. It’s not your fault.” As much as I fear slipping up and exposing something ugly, it’s freeing to talk to Luke this way. Releases just the tiniest bit of pressure. I haven’t spoken about my family since I got to Miami. I realize how much I needed to acknowledge that I had
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