What A Kiss Is

Chapter Seven

Seven

I don’t mind being back in Washington because it’s everything New York’s not.

None of my old friends are here. Nothing here reminds me of Mom. Just the weight in my chest that I’ve decided might never go away. Well, and the fact that she sent me here and right now, being upset with her is a lot better than some of the other feelings I’ve been dealing with. I text Gem to tell her that she really helped me out when I needed it. She texts me back and says she misses me. It kind of makes me feel like shit because I like Gem, but mostly I like what she does for me. What kind of guy does that make me?

I haven’t been out since we got back, a week ago, maybe two. I’m sure this is lame and pathetic of me, but I don’t want to be part of anything that will make me wish Mom could be a part of. I can’t imagine it. Not yet.

Dad’s on the deck of the boat talking with Lynn. There’s no such thing as privacy on a boat. That, and, they’re right above my room on the bow.

His voice is quiet, but I can make out every word. “Part of me was scared to death he’d want to live on his own out there. It’s not that I don’t think he can do it, because I know he can, but the stuff available to these kids…especially the ones with money…”

“He came back with you, though. That’s something, right?”

“I think he’s using this as an escape for right now. And that’s okay. I’d rather him spend time here for a bad reason than to not spend time here at all.”

“You’ve missed him.”

“Yeah, a lot. He was always so much like his mom. I knew she’d do great with him, give him things I couldn’t. And she did.”

Part of me wonders if this is some of the reason he took off. I’m still not ready to ask, not ready to hear his answer. What if it’s crap?

“You have a lot to offer someone, Harris.”

“Hmm.”

Why didn’t Dad ever say anything? About how much he missed me? It’s so weird. We have genetics in common, and that’s really it. Well, and writing I guess. But we don’t write the same. I’ve read enough of his books to know that much. He’s a lover of the suspense. I love language. Words. Dad loves them to get his story out. This is why I don’t tell people I write. What kind of guy admits to loving the way certain people put words together?

But what do I do now? I know I could go back. I could get emancipated or whatever, but I’m almost eighteen anyway, and then what? At the same time, do I really want to stick around here? On a boat?

“Antony?” Amber’s voice calls through the boat. “You here?”

I shake my hands through my hair. I’m a complete mess. Whatever. It’s Amber. No big deal. Right. But I have these nerves that start to build in the center of my chest, because even though I don’t want it to be a big deal to see Amber, it sort of is.

“Yeah,” I call back.

“You gonna show your face or aren’t you pretty enough yet?” she teases.

“Those are the first words out of your mouth?” I chuckle as I open the door to my room, and then I freeze. She’s in a sweatshirt and teeny running shorts. I’m sure my mouth drops open, or I do something equally embarrassing because all I can think right now is how much I’d like my hands on her legs, or to have them wrapped around my waist.

“Hey, you here?” She darts her head back and forth to catch my eyes.

“Sort of.” Now I wish I would’ve taken the time to shower or shave or something.