Love Me for Me(4)

Libby’s phone rang again.

She pulled her bag off her shoulder and dug out her phone. “Hello?” she said, taking in the magnificent view in front of her and trying to shake the memories as they flooded her mind. She walked closer to the water and let the foam slip between her toes, the sea breeze ballooning the bottom of her dress like a parachute around her legs.

“Are you here yet?” she heard the shrill but friendly voice of her mother.

“Yes.”

“Where are you? I’ve been waiting about fifteen minutes, hoping you’d get here.” Without so much as a pause, she continued, “How are you dressed?”

Libby looked down. Her golden hair—a two hundred dollar investment, her hairdresser had told her—dangled in her line of vision. “I have on a sundress.” She thought of her shoes, pondering how she’d clean them up with no cleaning supplies in the house.

“Oh, good! I want you to meet me at Miller’s.”

“Miller’s?” The only time they ever went to Miller’s restaurant was for Sunday dinners. It sat right on the water and had the most spectacular array of seafood in the area.

“You’re home! I’d like to celebrate!”

What Celia really meant, Libby was certain, was that she needed to keep her head held high, her chin up, and act as though her trip home were just a blip in her path to success. Coming home is just a slight setback, nothing more, she could almost hear Celia saying. Libby felt like crawling into a hole somewhere to hide in embarrassment. She couldn’t keep her head held high feeling the way she did. She wasn’t successful. Anymore. And the insecurity she felt because of it was nearly more than she could handle.

“Can I meet you in twenty minutes?” she said, trying not to fall apart right then and there. When she ended the call, she turned back toward the sea air to give her calm. She’d need it before facing the town she’d run away from so many years ago, never looking back.





Chapter Two





Libby tried not to notice the scenery outside as she drove the rental car down the familiar route to meet her mother. In twelve years, it hadn’t changed at all. Every single place that she passed by had a story: the library, the place she’d spent so many silent hours, where she found solitude from her battling parents; the recreation center where she’d practiced day after day, trying to secure a swimming scholarship; the park, her escape when she needed time to think.

She pulled the car along the curb outside Miller’s restaurant in front of a small strip of shops and got out. She pretended to fiddle with something in her handbag, but she was really stalling. The very last thing she wanted to do was to meet her mother there. Just thinking about it she felt anxious.

When she was young, she’d worried that she would disappoint her mother, but now, she knew that she probably had already done that, so the thought of facing her, listening to her try and spin the situation into something that she could boast about, was horrifying. From the time she was a little girl, her mother had paraded her in front of her friends: Libby knows all her ABCs! Show them, Libby! Or, Libby just got first place in the swim meet! Now, there she was again, most likely going to make a show. Libby! She could hear her now…

“Libby?”

She stopped moving. She knew that voice—and it wasn’t her mother’s. With one word, he’d sent her heart thudding inside her chest. Her eyes still on the items in her bag, she was too mortified to look at the person in front of her, yet the excitement of hearing his voice made her lightheaded. Her hands began to tremble. Whenever she got nervous, it was very difficult for her to calm down, and she hoped she wouldn’t rattle right off the sidewalk.

“You decided to grace us with your presence?” he said.

She shut her bag and looked up. There he was. It had been more than a decade since she’d seen him, but he looked just as he had back then. His sandy brown hair was a little longer but not much. His green eyes still light against his suntanned skin. She waited for the crooked grin that went all the way up to his eyes, his gentle expression as he looked down at her, the protective way he put his arm around her waist—but as she snapped into the present, she realized she wouldn’t get any of that. Her heart was drumming so loudly that she was nearly sure he could hear it. She searched his face for any indication of how he felt about their meeting. Other than the shortness in his tone and the tiny crease between his eyes, his face was expressionless. That alone gave her enough of an answer.

“Pete,” was all she could get out. Memories of all the insensitive things she’d said to him so many years ago were clouding her ability to form words. It made her flustered.