“Actually…you hungry?” My mom looks at me as she says this. “I thought we’d grab some lunch, perhaps enjoy a little therapeutic shopping, and then I made appointments for us to get our hair done. Figured you could use some girl time.” She pokes me on the tip of my nose as she says this. “Cool?”
She reaches up and ruffles the hair on my brother’s head. “Don’t worry, Bob has made plans for the two of you…although it looks like you could’ve used a haircut, too.” Penn gives her a look as he tries to flatten his hair back down. And I wonder if she knows exactly how long it took him to get it just so. “But maybe keep the racing to a minimum, okay?”
“Thanks, Mom.” I hug her tight around the waist, and she hugs me back.
Honestly, I’ll take a little quality time with my mom over a new car any day.
After lunch and some serious shopping, I contemplate how short I want to cut my hair. Right now, it falls in limp waves below my shoulder blades, and I tend to never do anything too drastic. But one look down at my cast and I decide today’s the day that all changes. I don’t know when I forgot, but it’s about time I started to live.
Besides, if it’s shorter, it will be so much easier to handle with my hand in this stupid cast.
I emerge from the salon with varying light blond highlights streaked throughout my hair. It’s been cut to below my chin in a shag style, my bangs sweeping across my forehead.
And I love it.
We get our toes done next, sitting in massage chairs, surrounded by ginormous piles of shopping bags. To be honest, I’m not even really sure what’s in some of them. But what I do know is that the last time I had a pedicure, I was sitting next to Mick instead of my mom, and we were contemplating what crazy shade of polish to paint our toes. When I look down at my feet now, I realize I picked the exact same color Mick had chosen that day, because she’d insisted, Desert Poppy will be perfect with tanned toes!
I’m still a long way from the tanned part, but even so, Mick’s choice of colors makes the corners of my mouth turn up, at least just a little. I go to twist on a strand of hair and realize it’s no longer there.
“That will take some getting used to,” my mom says, watching me from her own chair. “But I’ll bet it feels a million times lighter, huh?”
“You can say that again.” I shake my head from side to side.
“I promise, Sloane—there’s no better cure for a crappy breakup than spending your summer here. Enjoy the time away from all the drama, relax—hell—sleep in until noon, because I promise, it will all still be there when it’s time to go home. At least maybe then you’ll have had enough time to figure things out for yourself. And that’s what’s most important. But right now, the next few months are all about you, all about the fun you’re going to have…it’s all about the summer of Sloane!”
“The summer of Sloane…”
I like the sound of that.
Screw what’s happening back in Seattle. Let them deal with all that crap. I’m here and they’re not. This is my summer, not theirs, and it’s going to be epic.
My mom reaches over and squeezes the fingers on my uninjured hand. “I’m going to make sure we spend some mother-daughter time together while you’re here. I know that hasn’t always been the case in the past, especially with how slammed my office gets over the summer months, but I’m really going to try—starting with dinner tonight.” Honestly, the four hours we’ve already spent together is more uninterrupted time than we’ve had since she left Seattle. And it feels good to hear her say she wants to hang out even more. I only hope it actually happens. Because she’s right. For some reason, all the broken ankles and arms, all the random injuries, they always seem to get worse over summer break, and my mom ends up practically sleeping at her office.
But for now, I’ll take what I can get.
My phone buzzes with an incoming text and I’m hesitant to look at it, but then it buzzes again. I go to shut it off and see that the message is actually from Mia:
Hey, chica! I so cannot wait to see u. Don’t forget, bonfire tonight @ 6pm, you know the place! You and your bro better be there!
I shoot off a quick reply about how excited I am to see her, too. “So, um, about dinner tonight?” I look over at my mom, while holding my phone, and she starts to laugh.
“Okay, maybe dinner tomorrow night…that is if you can find some time on your calendar,” she replies with a smile and a wink.
My mom and I have majorly windswept hair and flushed cheeks by the time we step out of the car back at the house. The neighborhood we’re in is south of Waikiki and the infamous Diamond Head, and my mom and Bob’s house sits right on the beach.
As soon as I walk through the double front doors, the first thing I see is the entire back wall—or lack thereof. It’s made of movable wood and glass panels that slide open, allowing every possible sense to tune in to the surroundings. The sound of waves crashing on the shore, the smell of sea salt that drifts along the warm current of air, and, finally, the uninterrupted views of the beautiful ocean beyond.
Even my room has the same movable panels, which are already open when I walk in. I close my eyes as I listen to the rolling of the ocean mere feet from where I stand.
In the center of the room is the most magnificent four-poster bed with sheer white drapes that hang down to the floor and flutter gently in the breeze. And on top of the bed is a pile of wrapped packages, complete with bows. My mom really outdid herself this time.
My entire room looks like it came straight from the pages of one of those dream home magazines, because knowing my mom, it probably did.
I settle in to unpack and shoot Mia another text to let her know I can’t wait to see her tonight. Her response is immediate:
OMG, can’t wait to c u too! xoxo.
When I’ve finished unpacking, I realize not only did I bring a heavy cashmere sweater along with my spring formal dress, but also a hat, one leather glove, and two and a half pairs of wool knee-high socks. But I’ve forgotten my toothbrush, flat iron, and cell phone charger.
Why, thank you oh so much, Mr. Pain Meds—looks like I’ll be going shopping again tomorrow.
Making my way over to the bed, I pick up my phone and see I’ve received more text messages: a couple from Mick, but most of them from Tyler—the latest just ten minutes ago:
Please talk to me. Can I call u?
All I want is to see my friends and hang out, like nothing’s wrong. Like my life didn’t fall apart twenty-four hours ago. So no, you can’t call me right now.
Mick’s texts aren’t any better:
Hope you’re enjoying all the sun…I’m so jealous, it’s sprinkling here right now. :/
Ignoring both, I do a quick pass through in the bathroom, running my fingers through my new short hair. I can’t believe I cut it all off. I’ll probably freak out about that later. My phone rings, and the screen flashes with Tyler’s name and the picture I took of him after football practice last fall. Sweaty and still wearing his pads, he had just run in from a scrimmage on the field. It was one of my favorites.
I stare at his picture as my phone continues to buzz with the incoming call. But I can’t talk to him. Or maybe I actually don’t want to. I slide my finger over the screen, sending him straight to voice mail, and throw the phone in my bag.