Chapter 11

11

It was almost forty minutes of waiting in this fancy, way too expensive restaurant before I saw my mother walk through the door looking unrushed. Her blonde hair was pinned to perfection, and not a smear of makeup was out of place. She looked as put together as she usually does — the exact opposite of how I felt, especially with the wait. I'd been talking myself out of leaving and feeling extremely out of place.

My mother and I were complete opposites. She liked order, I took every day as it came. She likes the city, I like the beach. I think maybe that's why we clash a lot. We are not alike. The only thing we share is a similar face.

She walked to the table with her head held high and in a perfect posture, and to be honest, I kind of envied that, the way she could put on a front of confidence. Because, there I was, slumped in my chair, making myself small and wishing I wasn't there.

I half expected her to be a normal mother and show some sort of motherly affection, even just for the show of it. A hug would do, even with how tense she usually was on the rare occasion she gave them. So, when I went to stand with a forced smile on my face, it slipped straight off when she slid into her chair before I could even leave the seat.

That was how the majority of that dinner went, with a tiny sprinkle of hope that it wouldn't be as bad as I thought, doused by disappointment when it went exactly how I thought it would.

She talked about all the possibilities that could come with following in her footsteps, just like Nate was. How I could be just like Nate if I just gave it a try. If I just put some effort into my life. I zoned her out mostly after her second comparison to Nate and me as the food arrived.

It wasn't until during dessert that I could feel it all taking a toll on me. I had practically blocked out her voice and was only nodding and humming at reasonable times, so she thought I was still listening. But then, the next words made me snap back into the world.

"I wish you were more like your brother. He was so much easier and knew exactly what he wanted at this stage in life. He was never this clueless."

I could feel the muscles of my shoulders tense with that comment. Before I could even think about it, everything I'd ever had to swallow down and hold myself back from saying because she was my mother, bubbled to the surface. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't keep quiet while she ridiculed my life and continued to compare me to my brother.

My gaze snapped to hers and my jaw clenched.

"Well, maybe you should write me off as your daughter with how pathetic I am then. If I'm too much, maybe you should just forget that I exist and make your life that much easier."

She gaped at me before leaning forward to speak in a hushed, sharp tone. "Dakota Summers, how dare you?—"

I interrupted her. "You know what, I'm over this. I'm leaving."

I got up out of my seat as she seethed.

"Dakota, you are making a scene. You better not leave me here. We have much to talk about."

I turned to face her as I pushed in the chair. "No, Mother, you have much to talk about. None of the things you want to talk about interest me." I shook my head and looked to the ceiling with an exasperated scoff before looking back at her. "Have you ever thought that maybe I don't want to go to university? Maybe I'm not meant for academics because I'm certain you knew what my grades were like in high school. So stop pushing me to be this person you want me to be. Because I'm not her."

I left before she got the chance to say anything more. I couldn't handle hearing any more words from her.

It was like the restaurant had been so stuffy that it restricted my ability to breathe. So, when I stepped outside, I gulped down every bit of fresh air. After standing up for myself, it was like some of the weight had lifted. But, I could still feel the burning heat of anger inside me from her comment. I was so frustrated and dejected that I felt like I was five seconds from bursting into tears. All I knew was that I needed to get out of there.

I was always compared to my brother. I was always told how much more difficult I was to raise and how perfect my brother was in every aspect of life.

My brother, however, I was thankful for, he always had my back and never rubbed it in my face whenever Mum made the comparisons.

When we were younger, I resorted to acting out sometimes to get her attention, but then, as soon as I got home, she would yell at me before telling me, ‘Why don't you act more like your brother?'. It would tear me apart every time, and I would retreat to my room. But Nate would always follow me, hug me, and tell me it was okay — that I was perfect the way I was.

Then, when we grew up, he would brave the storm and stand up for me and tell Mum to back off before she would get mad at him as well and walk away.

But his protection didn't mean I wasn't left with the scars of feeling like I wasn't enough. As much as I wanted to deny that her words had any effect on me, they did.

But, I didn't have my brother to run to today to remind me that her words are just words, reminding me of the phrase he always said; that they have no meaning to the beating muscle inside me.

So, I went to the only other place I knew I could go to gather my thoughts and have some time alone to clear my mind.

It was still early in the afternoon, and traffic was busier than usual, with everyone heading home for the day. It made it harder to hold the dam walls up with every minute I had to sit in traffic, slowly creeping forward, but as soon as I pulled up by the river, they burst right open. Tears immediately stained my cheeks as I leaned my elbows on the steering wheel and pressed the heels of my palms to my eyes.

I hated being so emotional. It felt so relieving to tell my mother all I had been holding back, but the confrontation of it all and her hurtful words had my hands shaking. Sobs shook my shoulders, and I let it all take over, not caring about the late afternoon runners and people walking by on the riverwalk and seeing this strange girl sobbing in her car. I let myself be vulnerable in the safety of my car, where no one could hear my scream of frustration. I'm sure I looked crazy. I felt it as I scrubbed the tears on my cheeks away with the palms of my hands and relaxed against the headrest with deep breaths to calm myself.

But as I opened my eyes, through the blurred vision of tears, I saw him through the windshield, pausing in his stride as his eyes met mine, taking in the clear remnants of my breakdown. I didn't mind the thought of strangers seeing me like that, but having someone I know witness this raw, vulnerable moment I was having made embarrassment heated my cheek.

Anyone else I'm sure would have walked away just like the many other strangers wandering passed, but Reece subtly nodded towards the passenger side of my car, awaiting permission to join me in the solace I had taken up in my car. I don't know if it was just the familiarity of him, or my need not to want to be alone at that moment, but a wave of relief swept over me. My shoulders relaxed and my hands fell into my lap. I nodded and unlocked my doors when he was near.

I was still mad at him, having not spoken to him in three days and ignored all of his texts of apologies and pleas to talk. But as soon as he dropped into the passenger seat next to me, the tightness in my chest eased with every bit of my senses he invaded, and I forgot why I was even mad at him.

He was in his baseball pants and a tight-fitted shirt, having just finished practice I gathered by the sweat that clung to his hair, but he still smelt like earth and sandalwood somehow.

I found a packet of tissues in the middle console and started wiping the remnants of mascara that stained my cheeks, busying myself on ignoring the anxious feeling building with his closeness. Then, his hand appeared in front of my face, stealing the tissue from my hand before nudging my head to the side with his knuckles to face him. I did so in a kind of daze, unaware of what he was doing.

I met his dark eyes as they simmered into mine with sadness, helplessness, and comfort. I melted into them as he skimmed his fingers along my jaw, holding my face gently. His other hand began to wipe under my eyes with the tissue he had taken from me. I didn't remove my gaze from his, even as his focus strayed to my cheeks. The silence stretched out between us and I almost felt like crying all over again with how gently he cared for me.

He pulled away all too suddenly, and the absence of his touch on my skin sent a chill through me.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His voice was soft and careful.

My first instinct was to shake my head, but I also wanted to scream and curse and get all this frustration I felt out. It didn't feel fair to unload that onto him, though it spilled from my mouth before I could really decide.

"It's nothing really. Just my mum and I had a fight, and I'm just so damn frustrated. So—" I motioned to my face that I could see was blotchy in the rearview mirror. "—that's why I'm a sobbing mess."

His chuckle came out as a breath as he looked out towards the river in view through the windscreen.

He nodded with his next words. "I get that. My dad and I don't really get along very well, so we fight a lot." Then he smiled and looked at me, but it was a different than his usual ones. One that didn't meet his eyes but told me he could relate to me. Somewhere between sad and understanding. "But, don't worry, you still look pretty."

I scoffed. "Are you seeing me right now? Think you need your eyes checked."

He shook his head, and his lips softened around the edges. His eyes flickered between my own. With his molten gaze and that smile, giving just a hint of his dimple, everything faded around us, and I fell into this little world of just the two of us.

"I'm seeing you just fine." His words whispered into the space between us, and I felt myself melting further. I couldn't for the life of me think of why this thing between us was a line we couldn't cross. Why everything with him was so complicated, but felt so simple.

In this bubble we had created in the confinements of my car, it would have been so easy to just lean across the console and touch my lips to his. To feel his breath intertwined with mine. To feel his hand brush against the side of my face to pull me closer. To just have one taste.

I snapped myself out of the daze as nerves took hold of me, and I remembered that this was Reece I was thinking about. Someone I valued too much to lose just for one moment of temptation.

I knew he would never see anything more developing between us. He proved it when he dumped our friendship quicker than a thought. I didn't want to risk him running away again. But sometimes, I caught myself in lingering gazes and having illicit daydreams of him and I. Of what it would be like if I did toe that line and he gave in just a little.

"Come on." Reece's voice broke the silence that grew between us. "I brought a bag of peas. We can feed the ducks like we usually do."

Just like that, it was back to normal. It was funny how he could flip with a flick of a switch. Like nothing even happened.

"But if I get attacked again, I'm using you as a shield," he added as he opened his door.

When we met here two years ago, I found him picking off bits of the pastry he had bought to eat and flinging them into the river. I had to interrupt him and stop him, telling him it was bad for the ducks.

"What do you recommend then?" He had questioned.

I had just shrugged. "I don't know, look it up. I just heard about it once that bread is bad for them."

And that is what started a night-long conversation with a stranger that distracted me from my mother's incapability to let me live the life I wanted to live.

It didn't hurt that he wasn't too bad to look at, either.

That simple night brought us together, and we just clicked. We talked, laughed, and sometimes fed the ducks, until one day, one bit Reece's leg as he dangled them off the pier. I laughed hysterically, of course, as he swore up and down the park and threatened never to go there again if I kept laughing. It only made me laugh more before he started laughing, too.

I smiled at the memories as we got out of the car. When he was close enough, I pushed him, making him stumble to the side.

"Just don't stick your hand close to them then, idiot."

He nudged me back. "You're meant to be my knight in shining armour, Summers."

I laughed, throwing my head back. "You got the wrong gal, Fischer."

His lip twitched like he was forcing himself not to smile. He tsked. "Damn, I thought I was getting pretty lucky with you."

I hummed as I rested my fists on my hips. "Well, sorry to disappoint you."

"Ah. It's okay," he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "You can make it up to me."

"Uh-huh. And how's that?"

"I can think of a few ways," he drawled, grinning as I shoved him again.

Just like that, like the night we met, he made me forget about the dinner with my mother and the feeling of being the child of disappointment to her. It was never easy to slip away from that feeling, but with just a dimpled smile and a few jokes between us, the light dimmed on those words and shone in a different direction.

It was a feeling I chased.

A feeling I wanted to hold onto.

A feeling I grasped for the next four hours as we sat there on a bench next to the river and threw peas around for the ducks, talking, laughing, and dreaming of the unattainable.

Something I wished I held onto.