Page 53 of Meant to be Mine

“Mom.” I nudged her again, harder this time.

She reached over and patted my hand with her good one. The international maternal signal for I hear you and I am choosing to ignore you. “I’m just saying.”

Dad cleared his throat and I thought for one blessed moment he was going to steer the conversation somewhere safer. “Kensey, have you ever thought about moving back to California?”

I put down my fork. “Dad.”

“You’ve been out east for a few years now. I’m just curious.” He cut into his short rib with the calm of a man who had not just lobbed a grenade on the table. “You love your students. I know that. But do you ever think about coming home?”

“I love my job. It’s a good school.”

“California is better,” Mom said.

“I don’t think that’s really fair.”

“I’m not pressuring you. I’m just saying the door is always open and we would love to have you closer.”

“I know,” I said.

“Drew, have you ever thought about the east coast?”

I put my hand over my face. “Dad. Come on.”

“I’m making conversation,” he said, perfectly serene.

Drew laughed. “It’s okay,” he said, glancing at me with amusement before looking back at my father. “I’ve spent time in New York. The cousins are all based there. But honestly, no. California is home. I can’t see myself leaving this coast. The ocean is part of how I function.”

“Of course,” Dad said, nodding thoughtfully. “Of course it is.”

The implication hovered over the table. My parents were as subtle as a bull in a China shop. I looked at my mother. She was sipping her iced tea with a serene expression.

“Can we just enjoy the view?” I said. “It’s a beautiful day. We’re at a lovely restaurant. Can we simply be here and eat our food without conducting a joint interview?”

“I was making conversation,” Mom said sweetly.

“Mom.”

“I just love you both very much. That’s all.”

Drew took a piece of bread from the basket in the center of the table, tore it in half without asking, and put one piece on my plate. A completely automatic, completely familiar gesture that he’d been doing for years.

Mom watched him do it but said nothing. I didn’t even stop to think it might look like something it wasn’t. Drew and I were always eating off each other’s plates and ordering for one another.

We finished eating and walked out onto the pier. There was a breeze off the water. My hair lifted off my shoulders. It was warm but not too hot with the cloud cover.

Dad stopped to lean over the railing and look down at the water, and Drew stopped with him, the two of them falling into easy conversation about something involving tide patterns. Mom and I walked a little ahead.

“It’s a beautiful day and I’m very happy to be out of the house,” Mom said. “Your young man is very kind.”

“Mom, stop.”

“I’m done,” she said cheerfully. “I’m simply walking and enjoying the view.”

We reached the end of the pier and stood there for a moment, the four of us. Down the beach to the north I could see the surfers, a loose cluster of them sitting on their boards waiting for the right wave. One of them caught a wave and rode it in a long, clean arc toward the shore. We all watched.

“I used to surf,” Drew said.

“You still surf,” I said.