14. Britta

Chapter fourteen

Britta

S tella stays silent for a solid five minutes after we leave the Rip Tide house. This is a record, and I worry I've broken her. We shared the same dream of living in LA someday, but her driving reason was to rub elbows with celebrities. She's never wanted to be one herself, but she's fascinated by fame. The party tonight was a dream come true for her.

"I'm sorry, Stella," I say when I can't take the silence anymore.

"You should be." She sits up taller. "Now, what's going on with Britta's ?"

"I don't know yet." I pull onto the freeway, relieved that Stella seems to have forgiven me. "I need to call Adam when I get back to the apartment. Things were too loud at the beach, and it would have been harder to call at a party."

"This humidity is killing my hair. I shouldn't have bothered straightening it." Stella tugs an elastic from her wrist and pulls her dark hair into a ponytail. "We've got an hour's drive ahead of us. Why not call Adam now?"

And there's the Stella I know and love, bouncing from one topic to another.

"It'll be boring." I reach for the stereo, but Stella swipes my hand away.

"Just because I don't have any ownership in Britta's doesn't mean I don't care about it. If you're worried enough to pull me away from a celebrity-filled party, then I get to be privy to the conversation." Her penetrating stare leaves no room for argument.

"Fine." I press the call button on my steering wheel. "Call Grumpy Adam."

A loud ringing fills the car, followed by my brother's too serious, "Hey, Britt."

"Hey." I smile, Adam's familiar voice settling my nerves. "Stella's here, too."

"Hi, Stella. I'm at Dad's. He wants to talk to you."

A quick shuffling follows as Adam hands off the phone. "Hi, honey!"

Dad's cheerful voice is so close, I can picture the smile lines around his eyes. I've missed those lines and that face. "How are things in the big city? Have you been relaxing like I told you to?"

"Yeah. I spent the day at the beach watching a huge surf competition. Stella and I had a great time." I echo Dad's cheerfulness, even as a sliver of regret needles me about not celebrating with Dex after he'd been so generous. "I'm just a little worried about Britta's. "

I get right to the point to keep my mind drifting back to Dex.

With no more prompting, Adam launches into the long list of problems we face with Britta's. He has years of construction experience, so when he says the foundation is the biggest problem, I trust him. One option—an expensive one—is to jack up the building and try to repair the water-damaged parts of the foundation.

But the age of the building makes that a risky option, plus the fact the wooden frame of the building has termite and water damage itself. It may not survive being lifted, and with a heavy winter expected, the job would have to be done soon and quickly before the snow comes.

"Will insurance pay for any of it?" I ask. " Britta's is barely in the black now."

All the money I've saved has to get Britta's through the winter and most of the spring before the busy summer season.

"Maybe," Adam says. "But more expenses will pop up as we go. That's the way it always is with construction. With every estimate, tack on at least another ten percent."

I slow down as the cars in front of me brake, illuminating the night with hundreds of red taillights. "We have to do whatever it takes to save Britta's. I can come home tomorrow."

Stella shakes her head so vehemently; she may throw out a disc. Dad, on the other hand, was so worried about me leaving that I'm surprised when he doesn't tell me to pack my bags and get on the road immediately. Instead, he and Adam are both quiet.

"We're not making any decisions tonight," Dad says, finally, in a more decisive way than I've ever heard from him. "Let's take the next week to think about it while you enjoy your time in LA. Once we have a better idea of exact costs, if you still want to come home, then do it."

I want to argue, but then I remember I've promised Annie I would help her at the coffee shop. I don't want to go back on my word, and volunteering there will also give me something to take my mind off Britta's. Another week in LA might appease Stella, too .

"Are you sure?" I ask.

Stella lets out a sigh of relief.

"There's nothing you can do here until I put together an estimate," Adam says. "That will take a few more days, then we'll need to decide together what to do."

I stiffen at his together. The decision should be mine.

The anger I was determined to leave back home threatens to creep through the tiny opening I've given it. I feel it burrowing through my sternum. But a familiar sound in the background catches my attention, and I change the topic.

"Are you watching the Sound of Music, Dad?" My forced cheerfulness comes out sounding as unnatural as it feels.

Mom spent the last year of her life watching that musical on repeat. All of us have it memorized. Not just the songs. Every line.

Dad lets out a sad laugh. "I'm used to it being on in the background."

I don't have words. Dad is lonely, which only deepens my concern that I should come home. He needs me even more than Britta's does, and I'm about to tell him again that I can be home by tomorrow night, but he speaks first.

"Honey, we didn't get a chance to talk before you left. I got the feeling you were avoiding me," he says in his soft voice.

"Not you, Dad. Saying goodbye. I hate it." I glance at Stella, who looks out the window as though that will give me the privacy I suddenly want.

Dad takes a breath. "I understand why you're upset Mom didn't leave Britta's to you. You have every right. You put your life on hold to run it. But I think Mom wanted you to pick up your own life after she was gone."

As gentle as his words are, they leave me reeling.

"She should have known I would carry on what she and her grandmother created." The words come out on a staggered breath. I've thought them a thousand times, but never said them out loud. It hurts too much to think Mom didn't know me as well as I thought she did.

"She knew you'd do it out of duty, but not out of love, and she didn't want you to be saddled with that obligation if it wasn't your choice," Dad says.

His reasoning doesn't make things better, but I can't pinpoint why. Maybe because there's a truth in it I'm not ready to grapple with.

"But I don't have a choice now, and I do love Britta's, " I say finally.

"You can love something and still let it go when it's time to say goodbye." His gentle tone holds me so close we could be in the same room.

"I don't want to do anymore goodbyes, Dad."

"Maybe it's time you did." Dad doesn't exactly scold, but there's the quiet urging of a loving parent in his tone. This is advice I can't easily dismiss.

We say I love you and hang up. I'll consider what he's said, but I'm not ready to use the g-word with him or Britta's . It's too soon since I had to say it to Mom.

I'm lost in my head when Stella says, "Real talk, Britta. Why did you want to leave instead of staying for Dex's party?"

Traffic picks up, and I press the gas. I change lanes and speed past the car, moving too slowly in front of me.

"Britta…" Stella prods.

There's no bypassing her question, so I take a deep breath. "I worried I'd given him the wrong idea about why I was there."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know… I just… he kissed me, and I kissed him back. Then he said we could stay at the house again, and I was afraid if I said yes that he'd have expectations I wasn't going to deliver on." Hearing the words out loud doesn't make them more convincing.

"Why not just tell him you weren't going to sleep with him?" Her question is valid, but also annoying because I'm supposed to be the older, wiser cousin.

I throw up my hands. "I don't know. I panicked."

Stella studies me from the other side of the car, her eyes digging into me, searching for the secrets I've tucked away.

"You ran," she says. "That's not like you."

"I was worried about Britta's. " That's my only excuse. It's not like I can tell her she's wrong. I've never had a problem setting boundaries with guys.

Stella lets out a frustrated sigh that forces me to look at her. "I know how important Britta's is to you." She reaches across the car and squeezes my hand gently before letting it go. "But my career is important too, and that party tonight would have been an amazing networking opportunity."

I wince at her words. "What do you mean? You work for Georgia."

"Yeah, and Zach and Georgia will move back to LA once her project in Paradise is done," she says this like I should believe it, just because Georgia has been saying she's going back to LA since she came to Paradise. "And I want to take on more clients before then so I can move here, too. I can do some work remotely, but I can't build the clientele I want in Paradise."

Traffic slows again, and I mull over what she's said. "So, if Dad and Adam had said I needed to come home right away, would you have stayed in LA without me?"

When she doesn't answer, I glance at her long enough to see her blink in disbelief before she speaks.

"I've got a little over a week until Georgia's show starts again. We're living next door to the World Champion of surfing and his friend who starred in a TV show and who also is the twin brother of Frankie Forsythe. And… AND, their best friend is Rhys James." Stella puts her palms up, like duh.

"Okay, fine. When you put it that way, you have a pretty excellent opportunity here." I weave around a car as two lanes merge into one.

"Yeah, so do you, Britt."

"What do you mean?" I'm taken back by her words and nearly miss the red taillights in front of me and have to slam on my brakes to avoid rear-ending the car in front of us.

"I mean, you used to want to go somewhere bigger than Paradise. You wanted your own business, your own life, and you gave that up when your mom got sick."

I keep my eyes pointed forward. She's not telling me anything I don't already know. Occasionally, I let myself imagine what my life would be like now if Mom hadn't gotten sick. But it's a pointless exercise. Those opportunities I gave up are gone, and I'd give them up again.

"What else was I supposed to do?" While traffic is stopped, I face her. "Dad couldn't take care of Mom by himself and run the grocery store at the same time. And my brothers have their own businesses. They did what they could, though. We all did."

"I know they did. You all pitched in." Stella scoots closer and pulls me into a side hug. "But you're the only one who doesn't see that you gave up the most. The internship in LA. The chance to live somewhere you weren't Pete and Heidi Thomsen's daughter or Adam, Zach, and Bear's sister. The chance to be who you really are instead of how other people define you."

I close my eyes, tempted to sink into Stella's hug, but we're in the middle of traffic. And I'm not ready.

In general, I try not to think about what I gave up to take care of Mom, because when I do, I get angry. Not just at her because Britta's isn't mine, but also at my dad for not selling the store so he could take care of Mom full time. At my brothers for not having the same expectations or pressure to care for our parents because society thinks it's a woman's job.

At Mom for getting sick.

That's the one I feel the guiltiest for. Logically, I understand it's not her fault. She didn't ask to get Alzheimer's in her fifties. She didn't want to leave Dad alone or miss seeing Bear get married. Adam and Evie are ready to have kids. Mom would have loved having grandkids.

None of it is fair. That's what makes me mad. And being mad over things I have no control over leaves me feeling like a spoiled little girl. That's not who I am. I'm the girl who holds things together. It scares me to think that person could disappear if I admit that I'm angry.

Because life isn't fair, right? No one gets it easy. Childhood dreams aren't reality for anyone. But I'm uncomfortable with the thoughts Stella's brought up for me and I'm not sure how to sort them.

"Thanks, Stella." I pull away from her as traffic starts again . "I really appreciate you looking out for me. I'll commit to staying at least until you leave."

"Good girl." She pats my head like our Grandma Sparks used to do to us. "And don't run from Dex anymore, okay?"

My mouth drops and I choke out a "What!" before coughing a laugh. "I'm not running from Dex."

I feel Stella roll her eyes. That's the magnitude of her disbelief. "Yes, you are. But what are you really afraid of? That you were going to have to tell him no tonight? Or that you might catch feelings for him?"

Now it's my turn to roll my eyes. "People don't just catch feelings."

"Not if they don't let themselves," she counters with a smug smile. "Is that what you're doing?"

I pull my lips in tight, refusing to answer her questions. I'm already uncomfortable enough thinking about them.

Stella gets the message, because she pulls out her phone and scrolls through Tik Tok. She chatters about what she's watching and shows videos to me when we're stopped in traffic.

I answer when I have to, but I'm back in my head, thinking about what both Dad and Stella have said tonight. There's a lot to consider, especially when I get honest with myself about what I want for the future.

Maybe it's not Britta's.

Maybe it is Dex.

Or maybe it's neither. I'm not sure. But I'm open to the possibility of finding out.