Page 115 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“I did. His name’s Oliver.” I hesitate, more than understanding Eleanor’s aversion to writing George’s name in her diary, lest her mother find out and mock her. Or worse, track him down and giggle like a 12-year-old.

“And how did you meet Oliver?” Mom’s clearly trying to return to my good graces, because she sounds artificially formal.

I decide to go for it. She might need the whole picture if she’s going to tell me what to do. “He works at Shoreline, too.”

My mother’s gasp is anything but formal. “Oh. My. God.”

“Mom. That’s not productive.”

Now she’s laughing again, which makes me want to hang up, but I stay the course. Fortunately, she clears her throat and assumes a more serious tone fairly quickly. “Sorry, sorry. I just would have thought, after what happened with your last workplace relationship…but never mind.”

She doesn’t even know half of what happened with Kyle, or she’d probably be even more shocked. “It’s different with Oliver. It feels like a risk I have to take.” I realize it’s true as the words leave my mouth.

“I see,” she replies, her tone suddenly far more receptive. “So, in Springfield, you’d be starting fresh. And in Ogunquit, you have Oliver.”

“Right.”

“How about pay and benefits?”

“More or less the same,” I answer. But it isn’t really about the money. What I really need from my mother, I think, is permission to turn down the Springfield job. I realize, deep down, that’s what I’m asking for.

“What would make you happy?”

“Either, in different ways.”

Mom’s voice is quiet. “Ivy.”

“Mmm?”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

I breathe sharply. “I want your opinion.”

“My opinion is this: I think you already know what you want. I can hear it in your voice,” she offers gently.

And she’s right. I do know what I want. But I don’t think I can have it without hurting the person who’s my reason for wanting it in the first place.

Oliver texts me after his shift and asks if he can come over. I don’t want to see him.

I also want nothing more than to see him.

It occurs to me that forcing Laurel to hang out with us might be a good way to walk the line between the disparate desires battling it out in my mind right now.

“Hey,” I chirp with false levity, sticking my head through her doorway. She’s hunched over her laptop, where I’m starting to think she is going to spend the rest of her life.

“What’s up?” She sighs and turns toward me. The circles under her eyes are even darker than they were yesterday, when I last saw her outside her room.

“You look like you could use a break. Want to go grab some drinks with Oliver and me?” I’m fully expecting her to say no, but I have to try.

Laurel nods slowly, as if convincing herself. “Okay. I suppose I could use some time away from this mess.” She closes the lid of her computer. “Let me just get changed, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

I text Oliver. Want to meet us in 45 minutes at the dance hall? We can grab some drinks.

Sounds good. Wear your curtain dress.

He immediately follows up with a winking smiley face, which makes me smile, too. Then, my chest caves in—how can I see him and act like everything’s fine? How can I take an opportunity away from him? Alternatively, how can I leave town next month and walk away from the way his words have rewritten the song on my heart?