Page 123 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“Seems like we all have some things to talk about,” I say wryly.

Mom makes some tea even though it’s 80 degrees outside, and we sit around the dining room table to catch up. In this instance, “catching up” means me talking rapidly about everything under the sun other than the reason I came here.

“So, Dad,” I ask during a lull in the conversation, “what are you doing at the house?”

The quick glance he exchanges with my mom doesn’t escape my attention. “Just came over to get some things.”

I raise a brow over my mug. “Uh huh.”

“I needed my tool kit!” He’s trying so hard to look incredulous rather than guilty. It’s adorable, honestly. “There’s something up with the washer at my apartment, but the super’s taking ages to get out and fix it.”

“I already told you that you can just do your laundry here,” Mom says quietly.

“I don’t want to put you out,” he answers, giving her a look I can only think to describe as effusively affectionate.

I take a sip of tea to hide the smile growing on my face.

“So, Ivy. Care to explain what brought you here in tears today?” Dad rests his chin in his palm.

“I wasn’t in tears when I got here.”

“So it was your mother’s fault, then?” His eyes twinkle.

“Excuse me?” Mom pretends to hit him. “I’ve been nothing but accommodating.”

“Hey,” he shrugs, “you’re the one who answered the door.”

A chuckle rolls out of my throat. “There’s been a lot happening in Ogunquit this summer.” My gaze sweeps to Dad, who suddenly looks very serious, and Mom, whose expression has shifted to therapy mode. “You both already know bits and pieces of it. But I think I should—I think I have to tell you the rest.” I look down at my hands, curled tightly around the tea cup like it’s the middle of winter and I’ve just been skiing. “It’s gotten to be a bit more than I can handle on my own.”

“We’re here for you, kiddo,” Dad says.

“This is a safe space.” Mom nods encouragingly. “You can tell us anything.”

And so I tell them everything.

I spend the night in my childhood bedroom, full of pizza and wine and the satisfaction that only several Scattergories victories can bring. My parents had listened to my plight with empathy (Mom) and the occasional joke (Dad), but getting everything off my chest did wonders for my emotional wellbeing.

Even though everything isn’t okay just yet, I’m starting to realize that it’s going to be. I don’t know when, or how, but things are going to work out the way they’re supposed to—because I’ll continue relentlessly striving until they do.

The next morning, my father makes pancakes. I don’t bother asking where he spent the night; I don’t want to damage whatever fragile peace my parents seem to be establishing by prying.

Especially if they’ve been spending time together in a romantic way. I’d prefer to know absolutely nothing about that.

After breakfast, Dad rolls up his sleeves. “Why don’t we go to your place together after I tackle these dishes?”

My mom raises an amused brow. “Dishes, Steven?”

“What?” He accepts the faceoff. “You might remember that I’m great at keeping a home in order.”

“Hmm.” Mom barely gets the sound out before snorting into her coffee.

“Anything for my girls,” Dad adds.

Mom reaches out to squeeze his arm. “Well, thank you. That’s very sweet.”

I’ve never seen my dad blush before. Usually, he’s all puns and feigned masculine bluster. But pink edges up his cheeks now.

“Well, that’s my cue.” I sweep my plate off the table and head to the sink. “I’m going to get going. I have a lot of packing to do.”