I sit up, grab the glass of water beside my bed, and take a gulp. My body is deeply confused. In the first place, it forgot how to lunge for pucks. But I’m working on it.

It also craves sex. I blame Bryce and his ridiculous hesitation to take the next step with me.

And Anton Bayer’s appearance in my dreams? That’s on me. All the man did was buy me some Chinese food and talk me out of my snit. He didn’t hit on me. And he sure as hell didn’t…

The image that assaults me is so vivid that I clench my thighs together, as if that would soothe the ache I’m feeling.

I drain the rest of the water. When I turn to put the empty glass back down on the table, I notice a hair pin on the wooden surface, glinting in the early morning light.

“Really, Maman?” I whisper. “What on Earth are you trying to suggest? Should I be encouraged? Patient?”

As usual, she doesn’t say.

TWENTY-FIVE

Part Mermaid

Sometimes adulting just sucks.

These are my thoughts as I drive my rickety Volkswagen Bug up my parents’ gravel driveway. I haven’t been here for most of a decade, and I’m bracing myself in every possible way. Anything could have happened during the intervening years. They could have moved away. (Although that’s unlikely.) They could have gotten divorced. (Also hard to picture.)

Conceivably, one or both could be dead.

I don’t even know how I’ll feel if that last thing has happened. My parents and I didn’t part on good terms, to put it lightly. But people can change their ways.

Not all of them do, though.

At first glance, my parents’ property looks exactly the same. The little one-story house is still clad in cheap vinyl siding, and its shade of ochre-yellow is just how I remember it.

The tall pines have been carefully pruned of their dead lower branches, which argues for the continued existence of my father, who always enjoyed firing up his chainsaw to tidy things up. Also, Dad’s old ride-on mower is visible inside the garage.

He’s still around, then. I feel a little hit of relief, which makes no sense. The man will probably shut the door in my face when he sees who’s come to visit. This is going to end badly. I’m already ninety-nine percent sure.

Still, I need to ask for their help. After paying for the gas to drive up from Nashville, I have less than four hundred dollars to my name. And no job. If they turn me away, I’m sleeping in my car again tonight.

It won’t kill me, but it’s not ideal.

Parking in front of the garage, I get out and almost bleep the locks. I’m so used to parking in Nashville. I haven’t lived under these tall pines for eight years.

Back then, I couldn’t wait to leave this place. I had my reasons, and some of them were solid. And I used to hate the trees and the winding country roads as much as I hated my parents’ attitude.