Sitting forward, he leaned his forearms on his thighs and his eyes promised the frankness I both wanted and dreaded. Boyce never lied to me. That was why I often sought him out when others might have made more sense on the surface—because he told me, bluntly, the truth as he saw it.
“I grew up shifting for myself instead of being looked after,” he said. “It was do or die and I chose do. But I think there’s a difference between spoiled and privileged. Your best friend thinks she has a right to anything she wants without earning it. That’s spoiled. Privileged is what anyone with sense would want for their kid. Your needs were seen to. Most of your wants too, maybe. But that’s nothing to feel guilty over. And it doesn’t mean your parents get to decide your life for you.”
I’d never thought of it that way. Privileged was something I became when Mama and Thomas married, though compared to the hand Boyce was dealt, I’d been privileged my whole life. Since he used her for an example though, I felt the need to defend Melody. “Mel’s parents have always dangled material things in front of her to manipulate her, you know. She earns what they give her by relinquishing any claim to make her own choices.”
The answering set of his jaw told me he would always fight granting Melody any sort of concession for her overindulged behavior. I couldn’t blame him. She’d been unkind to his best friend in high school. He didn’t know her like I’d come to know her, or the lengths to which her entire family went to control her.
“Hmm,” he said. “Maybe the difference is your mama didn’t have to manipulate you because up till now, you and she wanted the same thing where your future was concerned.”
He was right. I couldn’t remember a point where I hadn’t regarded the world from an analytical perspective. All my mother had to do was support those innate desires—no tactical guidance required. This was my first deviation from The Plan for Pearl’s Future.
“Oh God.” I put my face in my hands in full, miserable comprehension that this was it—or not. This would be my sticking point or the point where I ceded control over my future. It was my choice.
Chapter Thirteen
Boyce
“Plans tonight?” I asked her at the door, ready to text Thompson and cancel for tonight without blinking an eye.
She glanced up, the little crease between her brows signaling her concern over what I’d said or the decision she had to make. Me and my stupid fucking mouth. She wanted me to give her the straight-up truth, but that didn’t mean I had to be a dick.
“A group of us are going out,” she said. “It’s the first official weekend here for the incoming class. Those of us who chose summer start, at least. I’m the only townie, so I’m supposed to know where to go. I’m also the only one who did premed as an undergrad, so I have to prove I don’t have a stick up my butt… although I’m pretty sure they all assumed I didn’t make the med-school cut.”
“You set ’em straight on that?”
“No.” She shrugged, pushing her sunglasses on and digging keys from her bag. “I guess I’m kind of afraid they’d all think I’m as irrational as everyone else does.”
“Not everyone,” I said, coaxing a crooked little smile from her.
She squeezed my forearm—one second, maybe two—but my skin burned where her fingers skimmed. “Not everyone. Thanks for that.”
I watched her drive away for the second time in a week, waiting until she turned the corner before I turned to go inside.
Randy Thompson and I headed to Avery’s every Friday after work for chicken-fried steak the size of a platter, buttery potatoes, and iced tea. The ritual had started in high school with Maxfield, Vega, and Thompson’s younger brother Rick. Randy had been a senior when the rest of us started high school. He’d been dealing then, mostly weed. He hadn’t gotten into the harder shit until later. Since coming home from Jester, Randy had been living with his parents in the home he grew up in, across the street. He worked at his mom’s shop now, which sold island-themed décor, T-shirts, and jewelry Randy made.
“That Pearl’s car over at your place earlier?” he asked, swiping a forkful of steak through a pool of potatoes and gravy.
“Yep.”
“She graduated with Maxfield last month, right?”
I nodded, chewing. I’d meant to go to the ceremony, but between Dad’s final trip to the hospital, the increase in business, and the eight-hour round trip, I hadn’t been able to get away.
“Cool. Maxfield’s heading to Ohio?” Thompson was no idiot. I didn’t discuss Pearl with anyone, and he was no exception. “He coming home first?”
“Not sure he considers this place home. But yeah—he’ll be here in a couple weeks.”
“Cool,” he repeated.
Our waitress, Honey, arrived with the pitcher and topped off our glasses with fresh-brewed tea so dark I grabbed two extra packets of sugar.
“You boys staying outta trouble?” she asked. Thompson stared at his plate. A childhood friend of his mom, Honey was probably more familiar with the details of his time in Jester than the rest of our small town.
“Yes, ma’am, we are.” I winked, grinning. “Unless you’re offering to lead me astray. Don’t tease me now.”
She swatted my shoulder. “You stop that flirtin’ or one of these days I might take you up on it just to watch you run outta here like your pants are on fire.”
“Oh, they’re on fi—”
“Hush!” She laughed, shaking her head before moving to the next table.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, and my thoughts wandered to Pearl for the millionth time since she’d come home. I’d never imagined her moving back here to live. She’d be gone for a few months come fall, but after four years of her absence, a few months was nothing. Unless she returned with another boyfriend. Someone from her program, maybe. I’d watch her grow older, settle down, have children. I’d know those children existed because I’d saved her life, and that fact should make me proud, but it made me want to throw the table across the room.
I set my fork down before I bent it.
“I’m never going to live it down,” Thompson mumbled.
His assertion felt like something I’d think about Pearl, and I had to shift gears. “Honey didn’t mean—”
“I know,” he said. “It’s not what she said so much as…” He sighed. “It feels like there’s some implication under every word anyone says. Some reference to the fact that I’m a fuckup. I’m always expecting it, whether it’s actually coming at me or not.”