Not Our Summer by Casie Bazay (best ebook reader for ubuntu .TXT) 📕

after the letter, and truthfully, I have no idea where we stand now, especially since K. J. pretty much shut down on the drive home.

“Do you want me to call Sam and tell him that the two of you know?” Mom asks, though I can tell it’s the last thing she’d rather do.

“I guess. Someone probably should.”

Mom nods. “Okay, I’ll do it tomorrow.” She rises from her chair and takes her mug to the sink. She’s been unexpectedly serene about all of this. I guess I’m still waiting for the crap to hit the fan. For her to get angry about the affair all over again.

I seal the bag of trail mix and push back from the table, stifling a yawn. “I’m going to bed.”

After returning the bag to the pantry, I turn to find Mom standing behind me. She opens her arms and pulls me into a hug, holding me there for several moments. I pat her back but can’t bring myself to fully return the gesture.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers into my hair. “For everything.”

It’s not enough really. She can’t expect me to forgive her for this right away. I clear my throat as she releases me. “Good night.”

Her mouth twists into a sad-looking smile. “Good night, Becka.”

An hour later and no closer to sleep, I switch on my lamp and grab my phone from the nightstand. Maybe I’ll just go ahead and call Sam myself. I’ve never called him Dad to his face because, in my mind, he’s never been deserving of that title. He can be all right sometimes, but for the most part, I still think of him as just a sperm donor. My two stepdads have been more involved in my life than he ever has.

He answers after four rings, sounding groggy. “Hey, Becka. Everything okay?”

“It’s fine.” Then I change my mind. “Actually, no. It’s not.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?” His voice shifts, a bit of concern coming through.

“I know about K. J.”

“Huh? Who’s K. J.?”

I roll my eyes. “Your other daughter, you know, the one you had with my mom’s sister.”

Silence hangs in the air for several moments. “You mean Katherine?”

“She goes by K. J.” Not that he would know that.

He clears his throat, pausing again. “I wanted to tell you, but your mom asked me—”

“I know,” I say, cutting him off. “She told me.”

Silence again. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t get why adults think those two little words are enough to excuse years of wrongdoing. I let out a quiet sigh. “Why didn’t you ever contact her?”

“Jackie didn’t want me to.”

“Don’t you think you should have at least paid child support?” My voice comes out angrier than I intended, but I don’t apologize.

“She didn’t want that either. I tried.”

I rub my finger over an ink pen mark on my bedspread, wondering when that happened. “She’s had nothing her whole life. They live in a trailer park. Did you know that?”

“Yes, I know.”

“You should reach out to her. She deserves to hear from you.”

“Yeah, okay. I can do that.” He sounds terrified at the thought, though.

“Good.” I yawn, fatigue suddenly making a reappearance. “Well, I’m gonna go. Talk to you later.”

“Okay,” he says again. He’s beginning to sound like a broken record. Or a child who needs to be told what to do. It’s funny how adults can be like that sometimes.

“Bye, Sam.” I hang up before he can throw an awkward “Love you” in there. I touch the ink mark once more before switching off my lamp and laying my head back on the pillow. Just as I’m about to drift off to sleep, I realize I never told Mom about K. J. backing out of the rest of Grandpa’s bucket list. There’s no doubt she’ll be upset. I don’t need the money, but Mom obviously does. Maybe I can still talk K. J. back into it somehow, but I’ll have to worry about that later. I close my eyes again, determined not to give any more thought to my cousin-slash-sister or my dad or mom.

I’ve had enough of them all for one night.

I sleep until nearly ten o’clock the next morning but awaken with an uneasy feeling stirring inside my gut. I need to talk to K. J., and since I still don’t have her number, I reluctantly decide to call the only person I know who would have it. Mr. Sisco seems surprised but also pleased that I’m asking. After saving K. J.’s contact information, I start a text to her:

Hey, it’s Becka. How are you?

A few seconds later, a dot-dot-dot bubble pops up, but then disappears. The bubble appears twice more, vanishing seconds later each time, and finally, nothing. I frown at my phone and set it aside. Maybe she needs a few more days to adjust. I can respect that.

The house is quiet since both Tim and Mom are at work already. After scrubbing stain remover into the small line of ink on my bedspread, I place it in the washer to soak for a while. Then I pad to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of orange juice and grab a bagel from the fridge. As I nibble on my breakfast, I text Lexi and Maddie, asking when we can schedule our next coffee meetup. So much to tell them, and I don’t want to do it via text message.

As I wait for my friends to respond, I check the weather, finding that it’s supposed to be ninety-five today. Hopefully, it’s not too hot yet. I should go do my morning run and maybe drop by the gym later today, too. My summer workouts have been sporadic with everything else going on, but I need to get back on top of my game for the upcoming soccer season.

Lexi responds, quickly followed by Maddie, and we plan for next Thursday morning. I’m about to get off my phone and grab my running shoes but decide to Google the rodeo from Grandpa’s letter first. The