Running Back

When had he even—Kate had mentioned I’d looked like her yesterday. I’d completely forgotten. Had he looked it up before or after last night?

I forced a soft laugh. “If you call her a MILF, I’m going to throw up.”

He turned his head. “Why did you just do that?”

I’d thought I’d handled his discovery fairly well. “Do what?”

“Turn the source of one of your issues into bad comedy material.”

I stiffened. “I think I’m allowed to react however the hell I want to about my family.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t your reaction, you just slapped it on so I wouldn’t see how you really felt. You know, it’s okay to talk about your family issues. I find it kind of helps.”

I turned so my back pressed against the wall and my elbows rested on it. “Really?”

He gave me the crooked grin I loved. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

I smiled apologetically. “Sorry I snapped. But I’m fine with my mom. Really.”

“Then how come you never once mentioned she spent ten years modeling all over the world?”

So, he’d done his research. Or at least read her Wikipedia page. “I’m not going to run around inserting her into conversations. That’d be awkward.”

“No, but you shouldn’t hide from it. It’s not a badge of shame.”

“Are you kidding?” I was hot and embarrassed and angry. “Of course it is.”

We stared at each other and I felt even sicker. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I won’t.”

I took a deep breath and collapsed on the swing. “How’d you know it was one of my buttons?”

His arm brushed mine. “The first time I complimented your eyes you freaked out.”

What? No. When had that happened? “No way.”

He tilted his head.

I sighed. “It’s just weird, you know? Like, she thinks what I’m doing is so weird, and she doesn’t even realize how messed up her own career and life was.”

He didn’t say anything, so I let my thoughts verbally roll out. I didn’t talk about my mother often—with my brothers, I always felt like I had to defend her, and the same with Cam, though I knew my best friend only meant to be supportive. “She grew up in this small town in Eastern Russia, where the talent scout from Paris found her when she was only fourteen. It just seems so wrong—these scouts pluck these kids, who didn’t speak any French or English, and move them to model homes in France.”

“Did she like it?”

I flipped my hand over indecisively. “If you talk to her about it, she makes it sound like the best thing in the world. But she’s the least happy person I know. I can’t imagine she was ever that happy.”

“And she wanted you to model.”

Startled, I glanced up at him. “Did I say that already?”

“You said you were a bad doll.”

“Right.” My jaw worked and then I let out a breath of old, stale anger. “I did a couple times when I was a kid.”

For a brief instant, he looked uncomfortable. “I know. I saw them.”

No way.

He ducked his head. “I have powerful Google-fu.”

I shook my head. So he’d seen me as a twelve-year-old in pastel dresses and round curls. Fine. “Did you see the ones of my mom? The Goddess series?”

He shook his head.

I pulled out my phone. It didn’t take me long to find my favorite. “Most of them were fashion shoots, but this was the one that really made her famous. Happened right after she arrived in Paris, and she just went around seeing everything.” The series was my favorite, because for the only time in her career, Tamara Bocharov looked like an actual person—overwhelmed, lost and childishly excited.

“This one’s called The Gray-Eyed Goddess.” My mother wore a white, Greek-inspired dress, her blond hair bound back to intensify her gaze. From other photos, I knew my mother was posed around the Louvre, but this one focused on her face. “They used to call her that. But what’s funny—well, kind of stupid—is that they mixed their names. No one ever called her Athena, which is what gray-eyed meant. When they gave her a name it was always Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. Which was appropriate.

“I always thought that if I had to pick a Greek goddess to share attributes, I would be Athena. Wisdom and war. I understand that much more than love or Artemis and her hunting, or Hera, devoted to marriage and children.”

“Wisdom and war...” he repeated. “What about your dad?”

I’d laughed before, the few times I’d told this story, but it struck me now that I didn’t really find it funny. Just sad. “He was her lawyer. Turned out a contact lens company had been using her image illegally for years, so she sued.”

He studied me. “I’m guessing they didn’t just fall madly in love.”

I shrugged and examined the silver around Mom’s pupil, which faded into dark, crushed charcoal. “She was young and beautiful. He was older and successful. Tale as old as time.”

“Real beast?”

I snorted real laughter. “Married one too.”

“That sucks.”

“Ah, well.” I looked down at the picture for a long moment.

Mike didn’t move. Behind us, bursts of laughter spilled from tourists and cameras flashed brightly.

“I’m always so angry whenever I’m with them,” I finally said. “But the rest of the time, I worry. Isn’t that ridiculous? I think my father thinks my mother is silly and petty, and Mom thinks he’s abrasive and uncaring, and I kind of think they’re both right. And I shouldn’t worry, because it’s none of my business, and if they get divorced, wouldn’t that be a good thing if it’s what they want?

“My mother just emailed and said one of those reality shows offered her a judging position. But not all those shows are nice, so I worry she’s being exploited and they’ll make fun of her. And if Dad found out he’d be furious.”

“Would it make her happy?”

I turned around again, back to the serene water and gentle waving trees. “Is that what we’re supposed to base our decisions off of? What makes us happy?”

Mike caught my arm and turned me slightly, and then he smiled the crooked smile, my smile, and it said, you would make me happy.

And so I kissed him, and he kissed me, and I was happy.

“Natalie! Mike!”

We broke apart and found Anna waving at us. “Come on, we’re headed to the house!”

“Oh my God,” I muttered as she ran after the others. “I can’t believe she saw that.” Then I scowled. “I can’t believe she’d didn’t look the least bit surprised.”

Chapter Fourteen

After touring the house, we walked down to the lake, and later stopped in Cork at a Mexican restaurant Lauren had found online. We still returned to Dundoran by eight, since Anna had plans with a cohort of names the rest of us couldn’t remember.

The next week was an endless stretch of happiness. In the mornings and afternoons, I talked to locals about the surrounding land, visited nearby libraries and town halls and read newspapers and local publications. In the evenings, the O’Connor family took me in, and we’d either hang out at the inn or meet up with acquaintances or thrice removed relations in Dundoran.

And the nights, I spent with Mike.

That Friday, I met with Mrs. Harrington from three towns over when she was visiting her sister in Dundoran.