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"I'm not getting back together with him," I explain. "I just need to talk to him. It's important."
"Mom?" I hear Cash's heavy footsteps.
I maneuver around Fanny and greet Cash with an awkward wave. "Can we talk?"
Cash crosses his arms over his chest. "I told you we were done."
"I know," I tug at my fingers. "I still need to talk to you, though."
"Cash, dear," Fanny glides across the floor. "You have that golf lesson in twenty minutes. You can't be late for that. Not if you're planning on re-applying for Johns Hopkins."
"Two minutes," he says as he holds up two fingers. "Then I have to go."
I head toward the driveway with Cash following behind me. When we're out of earshot, I frown. "I thought you didn't want to go to Johns Hopkins anymore."
He raises his blond eyebrows. "I don't."
"Then why did she—"
"It's not your problem anymore, Ingrid. What do you need to say to me?" Cash cuts me off.
"It's about Wilder," I lick my lips nervously.
"What about him?"
"He's your best friend, Cash. You can't ruin a lifelong friendship over a summer fling."
The words physically hurt as they leave my mouth. Wilder is so much more than a summer fling, but if I'm going to fight for him, then I have to try to fix what he thinks is beyond repair.
"Doesn't matter," Cash scoffs. "He had sex with you."
"Why didn't we have sex very often during the last few months of our relationship?" I tap my foot restlessly.
"What?"
"We used to have sex all the time," I recount. "Any time you could get me naked, you would. But the last two and a half months before you went to Europe, you barely gave me the time of day."
"I told you already," he fidgets with the hem of his polo, "my mom was blackmailing me."
"Yeah, but most people rebel when their parents don't like their partner. Why didn't you?"
Cash shrugs. "I'm tired."
"Of?"
"Always doing the wrong thing in their eyes," he answers. "I was tired. Tired of the nagging and the endless threats. Tired of trying to be a good boyfriend knowing I was pissing my mom off every time we hung out. Why do you think I brought Wilder with us everywhere? If I was hanging out with Wilder, she couldn't bitch at me."
I'm not letting him off the hook, but this explains so much now.
"You could have talked to us," I offer.
"And say what? My mom hates you, Ingrid, and she only lets me hang out with Wilder because he’s her charity case. Do you know how many times she used Wilder to make herself look good?"
"We were your friends," I counter. "You could have trusted us."
"I could have," Cash gives in. "But I didn't want anyone to hate me."
"We wouldn't have," I reassure him.
