For a second.
Nothing more.
Her voice doesn’t break like mine when she says, “I have no interest in whatever you’re selling. No interest. At all. Don’t come back.” She squares her shoulders and hurries away from me like being in my mere presence is painful to her. The bag bounces on her shoulder as she pulls her two children with her, ignoring their questions.
She slams the car door behind her and her tires screech as she exits their driveway.
While I’m still standing here.
My broken heart bleeding at my feet.
CHAPTER 30 - NICK
I’m out of the car as soon as I see the woman storm into her Honda. I couldn’t hear what she said to Em but it must’ve been bad, because Em seems to be frozen in place.
“Em!” I call but she doesn’t answer. Her body doesn’t move. She doesn’t turn my way. I’m not even sure she blinks.
“Em,” I whisper once I’m close enough to touch her. But she still doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t scream. “Come on, let’s go.”
I wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her with me.
“Wait,” she says finally. But her tone is dry, there’s no emotion. She grabs the blanket that had fallen to the floor. It’s dirty but Em holds it close to her heart. She keeps on holding it in the car, the whole drive home, still clutching it as I park in front of her house.
“What happened?” I finally ask.
“There was a scenario I had not considered. That’s all. I’ll get over it,” she replies without looking at me. “I should go.” She pauses. “Let’s cool it for a while, this thing between us. Summer’s not over but people are starting to get back. More people will be at the studio and well, we don’t want them to get the wrong idea.”
I want to say something. I want to scream that she’s wrong. But she’s right. If we keep on going, we’ll fall into a certain habit. I’m already having a hard time not calling her every single time I feel like talking to someone.
So instead, I don’t say anything. I stay silent and she nods her head. Once. “That’s what I thought.”
And she doesn’t even slam the door on her way out.
CHAPTER 31 - EM
My heart hurts so much I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to cry. I want to scream. But nothing comes. Nothing. It’s like I was a painting in the making and someone erased me. I promised myself that no matter what I found it wouldn’t change anything at home, it wouldn’t change how I feel, but I can’t help but analyze every action, every word.
Are my parents even happy with me? They've got their first child—their blood—accomplishing miracles, helping others, becoming someone. And then they have me—the one they adopted—the one who can’t make it to the top, the one who has no idea how to deal with the blow she received right in the stomach.
I bring the blanket to my face, and smell it... I used to believe I could smell my mother’s perfume on it, that I could see her tears.
It’s all bullshit...
She hates me. I could feel it, the waves of her disdain, of her hate toward me. Like I ruined her. Why?
Why did she even bother with the ballerina blanket if she hated me that much? I don’t understand.
Nick’s face floats to my mind and bile shoots up in my mouth. He didn’t stay. I wanted him to protest when I said we should end it. I wanted him to tell me how much I mean to him. I wanted to hear the words. The ones about love.
But I got nothing.
I grab a pair of scissors from my desk and slice into the fabric of the blanket. I cut it piece by piece, slowly.
Instead of throwing them out though, I carefully place them in my desk drawer, a sad reminder of this day, a sad reminder of what happened.
Mom knocks at my door a couple minutes later. “I’m on my way to help at Nonna’s. Since you’re already back, do you want to join me?” Her voice is too happy. It doesn’t match my mood. Can’t she feel that I’m in pieces? Can’t she feel that all the hope I had has been torn away from me? Can’t she see a hole where my heart used to be?
“No, I’ll stay here tonight. I have to watch performances of Sleeping Beauty’s Ballet. They’re thinking about doing it at next year’s showcase.”
“Don’t work too late,” she replies without opening the door and skips out, calling Roberto, saying she’ll meet him there.
Roberto doesn’t even bother passing by my room. I check my phone. No calls. Nothing from Nick. Except his resonating silence in the car, a silence that definitely spoke louder than words.
No words from my so-called friends who are having the time of their lives away from the city. No words from Natalya, who’s probably having fun with her best friend, the one she laughs with on the phone from time to time, when she’s not consumed by dancing.
Dancing.
That’s it. If only I could reach the top. If only I could become number one, then I’m sure it would change. Nick would see me differently. He would be proud to have me by his side. He would be proud to call me his girlfriend. Because let’s face it, if he really wanted to, he could date someone. He could have someone. I wouldn’t prevent him from training, I would encourage him, I would push him forward. He must know that.
And then my birth mother would also be proud of me; she wouldn’t push me away. I could send her an invitation and when she'd see my name, she would beam.
My parents would be proud. I’d accomplish something. Finally, I’d be someone.
Because right now...right now I feel like I’m no one. That no one cares.
I glance around my room and then reach under my bed for the secret box where I keep mementos of Nick. I touch the bracelet he gave me and carefully, I open the drawer where the pieces of what I believed in lie scattered and sad.
CHAPTER 32 - NICK
I hate myself for the pain in her eyes. I punch the wheel and punch it again harder until my knuckles bleed.
But what does it change?
“Your father wanted to let you know that he’s expecting you to call Jennifer Harrison today or tomorrow,” Sarina tells me as she hands me a glass of fresh water.
I want to throw the glass of water on the family portraits adorning the hallways. But what did Grandmother Madeleine ever do to me?
I climb the stairs and lock the door behind me. I jump on the bed and lie there for what seems for hours. I could go against my father. I could tell him to fuck off. I could explain to him how I feel.
But he would answer that men do not talk about feelings. We’re strong. We’re here for the win.
I feel like a complete loser right now.
It’s almost dark when my cell rings. “Roberto?” I ask. He only calls that late these days if he’s had a fight with Giovanni.
“Have you seen Em?”
“Earlier today but it’s been a while.”
“We can’t find her. She’s not in her room, she’s not at the School, she’s not at any of her usual spots.” His tone rises. “Where the fuck is she?”
“I think I know.”
CHAPTER 33 - EM
I’m out of breath when I arrive at the park. It’s almost dark out but there are still groups of people wandering around, five women are jogging and cheering each other on, an old man is sitting on a bench talking to no one in particular.
He seems content to be there. But then, a man about my dad’s age sits next to him and they cry together. I don’t know what their story is, but my heart cries with them.
The back of my throat hurts and my chest feels heavy.
I hurry away from them, walk until I find our spot. It looks the same and it looks different. That’s where I told him I liked him on the Fourth of July. It seems like such a long time ago, it seems like I dreamed this moment, that it never happened.
I imagine him being here, I imagine him leaning closer to me and telling me the words I’ve been dying to hear. But the fireworks couldn’t bring us closer and our relationship isn’t meant for the grand g
estures, for the grandiose and epic love I always dreamed of.
Nonna told me that my grandfather fought for her, that he courted her for years before her parents even let her talk to him. She laughed, saying they used to sneak out, that it was harder than today without the phone and what she calls the end-of-romance technology. Poppa took her dancing, Poppa told her that he wasn’t afraid of going to war but that he was afraid of losing her.
They had a real relationship. They had true love.
What I had with Nick wasn’t even a relationship. Just a simple agreement between friends to help each other for the summer.
And the summer is almost over now. Finding my birth mom hasn’t changed the face of the world. I only know I need to become better. That I can’t be second best anymore.
I take off my shoes and let the grass go through my toes.
“Em!” Nick calls my name, but I don’t turn around.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “How did you even know where to find me?”
“Your brother called me. He was panicked because you weren’t home when they got back from your Nonna’s restaurant. They all were. They looked for you everywhere. At school, at the usual spots.”
I look up at the sky. “I wanted to sleep at school, in the rehearsal room actually, but then I felt the urge to come here, to see the water, to imagine I was on a beach with the warm sand almost burning my feet, with the salt water splattering on my face. So, I came here. Do you remember last year, how much fun we had in the summer?”
He nods and sits behind me, wrapping his arms around me. I stiffen.
“I’m here. I’m here for you,” he whispers.
And I don’t put up a fight, it doesn’t change anything and for a few minutes, I simply want respite. I let myself fall into his embrace because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. “It all seemed easier before. I’m sixteen and I feel like it’s never going to be the same again.” I pause, but the tears I’ve been trying to keep inside of me spill out in a sob. “You should have seen the look on her face when I knocked at her door. You should have seen how she closed the door of her car. She didn’t close it, she slammed it.”
“Maybe she didn’t want to be found.”
“I’m not sure. It wasn’t like she said she didn’t want to be found, or it’s not like she was scared. She looked disgusted. By me.” I shudder, and he tightens his embrace.
There are laughs in the distance and the breeze gets stronger. “She has a family. She has everything she needs. Why didn’t she keep me?” My body shivers and my voice trembles. “Why wasn’t I enough?”
“Em...” he says, but then I turn my head to him. Our faces are close to one another. I want him to kiss me, I want to feel his lips on mine again. Forget about all those talks we had about not getting involved, forget about all the reasons why it’s not a good idea: his career, his parents, my brother, his reputation, my need to focus on dancing...
I’m sixteen and my summer romance cannot end this way. My summer romance cannot end with that hollow feeling inside my chest.
“One last time,” I whisper, getting lost in his green eyes.
“One last time,” he replies, and his lips find mine.
One last time.
THE END
Do you want to know what happens to Nick & Em? Don’t hesitate to check out Always Second Best, available now.
A little message to my readers
Dear Reader,
Thank you SO MUCH for reading A SUMMER LIKE NO OTHER! I know you have the choice between a lot lot loooot of books and I’m grateful you took a chance on mine.
Hope you enjoyed getting to know Emilia & Nick!
Would you like to read some bonus scenes? Leave an review on the e-vendor of your choice for this book and you will receive the following extra content:
- Emilia and Nick flirting in the Hamptons.
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SNEAK PEEK
CHAPTER 1 – EM
I SHOULD HAVE STAYED at the School of Performing Arts this weekend. I should have spent more time rehearsing for our big end-of-the-year showcase audition. I should have repeated each movement until I reached perfection...
I’m never going to be ready.
My throat tightens. I need more hours, more days, more time.
“Do you want more lasagna?” my grandmother—Nonna—asks. Her gray hair is cut short and even though the lines on her face are getting more pronounced, even though she’s pale and thinner, even though she gets tired more easily, her smile is still the brightest in all of New York. “Or maybe more salad?” She mixes the tomato mozzarella salad again. She grows the basil herself, and believes that she could have an entire menu using only recipes with basil, like pesto steaks, or basil sorbet.
“A bit more salad, please.” I hand her my plate. Nonna’s restaurant is usually bright and full of laughter and people and waiters trying not to run into one another, but tonight it’s only her and me. Nonna opens the restaurant for lunch on Sundays and keeps her evening free.
“There you go.” She sips her water. “Your father was so cute when he was little. That day he brought me a bouquet with roses from our garden, I didn’t have the heart to tell him he shouldn’t have cut them. Instead, I made sure to put one in his baby book,” she says and then inhales deeply as if trying to catch her breath. She smooths the red tablecloth on our small table. She called tonight a “grandmother-granddaughter” date night, setting up candles and even putting some Italian music on in the background.
Even though I should be rehearsing, I couldn’t say no to her. I didn’t want to say no. And not because her lasagna is the best in town.
“I’m talking, I’m talking but I know you have to go,” she says, standing up, holding on to her chair.
“I can stay,” I reply.
“You’re sweet, but you’ve started to fidget on your chair, that means you’re already running late.”
I cringe—I hadn’t noticed I was doing that. “Dinner was really delicious. Thank you.” I gather the plates, but she takes them away from me.
“I’ll take care of that. You go.”
And there’s so much tenderness in the way she looks at me that I want to bottle up the emotion I feel and keep it for when I have a bad day, or for when I see Nick—my forever crush, my brother’s best friend, the guy who broke my heart last summer. I hold her arm and together we walk to the entrance. The restaurant smells of fresh bread mixed with garlic and basil. It smells of my childhood spent in the kitchen with her and Poppa.
When everything was so much easier.
I grab my coat, careful not to knock one of the pictures she has on the walls. Her memory wall, as she calls it. Lots of pictures of Poppa, and my own father, and my entire family, and of Italy. She recently put one up of Mr. Edwards, the man who has been courting her for almost a year now.
“Goodbye, Bellisima,” she says, kissing my cheeks loudly. “Thanks for spending time with your old grandmother.” She winks.
“You’re not old.”
“You’re right. I’m ancient.” She laughs and hugs me again. The perfume Mom gets her every Christmas is another reminder of all the happy times I’ve had with her. She coughs and leans against the wall. “I know you wanted to stay at school this weekend, so thank you again.” And before I can reply, she pushes me out the door. �
�Now, go. You don’t want to be late.”
“Love you,” I tell her. I put on my coat and my scarf.
“I love you too, Bellisima.” She pauses. “And say hi to Nicholas for me,” she says.
Nicholas. Nick. I force my lips into a smile, I force myself to not think about Nick. I force myself to wave to Nonna. “I’ll see you next week.”
And I glance at her one more time before slowly making my way to the subway. I used to love going back to school on Sundays. I used to wait for Nick at the corner of our street and we’d walk together. We’d talk about our weekend. He’d make me laugh and I’d try to not stare at his lips while he talked about his parents, our last audition, the video game he managed to get his hands on before its release, because he knew I wanted to play it and he knew some guy who could make it happen.
That was before.
Now, I take the subway from Brooklyn, where my family and I moved after Nick’s father fired my dad.
Alone.
Now, I don’t spend every possible second with Nick, I don’t send him random text messages to make him laugh, I don’t smile every time I see him.
Now, I avoid him as much as possible and lie to his face about dating some guy I met at my Nonna’s restaurant.
I readjust my bag on my shoulder and look up at the gray sky. New York has had its share of snow and winter and icy sidewalks but it seems we’re in for another round, even though we’re already in March. There’s a small coffee shop nestled between bigger buildings one block before the subway. It’s crowded and I’m tempted to push the door and get in line. Hide in there and forget about real life. Forget about school.
But instead of entering the coffee shop, I march straight ahead. I pass a group of students who are talking about an epic party they went to yesterday, and I barely avoid a couple whose PDA is so over the top I can almost hear my brother telling them to get a room. I settle in an empty seat in the subway.
And my mind wanders to the same game it always plays. If the third person to enter the car is a woman, I’m going to talk to Nick. Really talk to him. I’ll come clean about not seeing anyone.
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