ANDIE

No one talks about the guilt that comes with watching your parent take their last breath.

I watched her chest crest with a weak and final inhale and pressed a hand on mine to confirm that my lungs were still moving.

Why were mine still moving, if hers weren’t?

I could feel my heart thumping rapidly inside my chest. But hers? It was still.

Her heart had given up, succumbing to the disease that slowly ate at her organs.

The emptiness inside my mom’s green eyes when she left this earth is forever ingrained in my brain. It’s an image I can’t scratch away, no matter how hard I try. I’ve mentally clawed at the cages her death built inside me, trying to understand how to live without a mother.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Who would I call when I needed to know how long to boil an egg for a perfect yolk? Even though I’ve made hardboiled eggs countless times, I always forget.

Who am I going to call when a boy breaks my heart?

She’d always tell me “Men don’t know what they’re doing half the time—just look at your father.” And I would hear him yell “Hey!” in the background and we would always laugh.

A hand grabs my shoulder, and I suddenly crash to reality, jerking my body as I sit straight and peer upwards. I shield my eyes and squint toward the sun to see Tori, my older sister, standing above me, concern evident in her eyes. Her white-blonde hair looks like a halo around her, her freckled face twisting as she stares down at me.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Yeah.” I turn to the ocean and press my feet deeper into the sand, letting the warmth bring me back to earth. I rub my thumb over the tacky heart-shaped pendant that carries a piece of my mother and watch the crashing waves in the distance. The sun is hot and heavy in the sky, making my skin feel tacky. The humidity is also no joke here in Florida. I carefully did my hair this morning, only for me to step outside and have it frizz up, making my hard work futile.

“Cynthia is about to arrive. Please don’t make this awkward for anyone.”

“Why would I make it awkward?” Tori gives me a look, her lips pressed into a thin line.

I’ve already had the pep talks, coaching, and stern talking-tos on how to behave these next couple of weeks.

Don’t be mean.

Don’t be awkward.

Don’t be standoffish.

And don’t bring up Mom.

I heard it from Tori until we arrived late last night at this half-a-million shore-side beach house that Cynthia’s son owns.

Not just her son—my stepbrother, as of last month.

Despite walking inside this grand home last night and my sister and her little family ooohing and awwwing at the mansion disguised as a beach house, I went upstairs, found a room, and took a sleeping pill to pass the fuck out.

Everything is sunny, beautiful, bright—all that I am not.

I stand and brush the sand off the back of my thighs. I grab my book from the beach and trek back to the house, on my sister’s heels. She wears a light flowy dress that skirts across her knees, her hair cascades down her shoulders in beachy waves, and her tan skin is already kissed.

She looks like she belongs.

I glare up at the white mini-mansion that stands a couple of stories tall with long balconies that wrap around. Large palm trees reach high, offering a decent helping of shade from the fiery monster in the sky. To the left of the house, there is an in-ground pool with a bar, grill, tables with umbrellas, and lounge chairs. The water in the pool is the bluest I’ve ever seen, and it is enclosed by a glass fence that borders the shoreline.

I stare at the pool with something twisting inside my chest as we ascend the stairs. At the top, Dad stands against the balcony railings, a coffee in his hand, chatting with Alan, my brother-in-law.

“Cynthia’s nearly here,” he says, eyeing me.

Why is everyone looking at me like that?

Like I might yell. Cry. Run into the ocean and disappear into the rolling waves.

“So, I’ve heard,” I say, keeping my eyes on his. My bare feet burn against the wood that’s been baking in the sun all day, but I don’t do much to lessen the pain.

“You guys are going to love her, trust me. She’s a nice woman.”

She must be if she’s replacing Mom in a meager seven months after her death.

Dad smiles between my sister and me, and Alan grabs his shoulder and squeezes with a smile that reaches ear to ear. Alan’s sandy hair wisps in the wind and small creases form around his eyes.

As I reach the top of the stairs, Dad wraps his arms around my shoulders and squeezes me against his chest. I smile, trying to seem like a normal, happy daughter for once.

“How nice Reid must be to let us all stay here and pay for our travels,” Tori says as she plops down into a pristine white cushioned chair. She grabs a throw pillow from behind her and places it in her lap, tugging at the pilling threads. “How loaded is he?”

“Victoria,” Dad warns, shooting her a look.

“What? I know I’m not the only one thinking it.”

She isn’t, because I’ve been asking myself the same thing. The home has five rooms, three bathrooms, a family room, and a large kitchen with smart appliances—oh, and a game room where Fin, my nephew, has spent the entirety of his morning. I look around, taking in my surroundings. The pool and lawn are maintained professionally, and there’s not another beach house for at least half a mile, leaving us in a secluded area.