Chapter 184
Summer's POV
We sat in the living room, Diane perched on the edge of the sofa like she was worried it might contaminate her coat. Mom hovered in the doorway, arms crossed, radiating disapproval.
"I'll be direct," Diane began, folding her hands in her lap. "My son has been struggling since your breakup. His grades have slipped, he's withdrawn from his activities, and frankly, he's not himself."
I blinked. "Okay."
"I'm here to ask you to reconsider your decision. Evan made mistakes, I understand that, but he's a good boy. He cares about you deeply."
The words hung in the air, so absurd I almost laughed. "Mrs. Whitmore, with all due respect, I don't think you understand what happened between Evan and me."
Her smile didn't waver. "I know there was some unpleasantness with his friends—Blake and the others. But boys will be boys, Summer. They didn't mean any real harm."
"They humiliated me," I said flatly. "Repeatedly. And Evan let them."
Diane waved a hand dismissively. "You're a beautiful girl. You should be used to attention by now."
Mom made a noise in the doorway, something between a scoff and a growl. I shot her a look that said let me handle this.
"Mrs. Whitmore," I said carefully, "I appreciate you coming here, but my decision is final. Evan and I are not getting back together."
Her expression softened, almost convincingly. "Summer, I understand you're upset. I do. But I want you to think about what you're actually walking away from here." She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to something that sounded like concern. "I know this phase feels important—dating someone with such… different circumstances. There's an appeal to that at your age, the sense of being adventurous, of proving something. But the reality is that those differences don't just disappear. They compound."
My hands clenched in my lap. "You mean Kieran."
"I mean that I've seen this pattern before." She tilted her head, studying me. "A bright girl from a good family gets drawn to someone who seems exciting, someone with struggles she thinks she can help him overcome. And for a while, it works. But eventually, his problems become her problems. His family's difficulties become her responsibility. His lack of connections closes doors she didn't even know were open to her." Her voice remained gentle, almost regretful. "I'm not saying he's a bad person. I'm sure he's very… determined. But determination only goes so far when you don't have the right foundation."
"Is there a point to this?"
Diane sighed, as if I were being willfully difficult. "The point, Summer, is that I had someone look into his family's business. The Happy Patty—that little food cart? It was shut down last week. Health code violations, apparently. Or perhaps something more serious." She paused, letting the information land. "I'm telling you this because I care about your future, not because I take any satisfaction in being right."
The air left my lungs. Shut down.
Last week.
She'd had someone look into them. Not a casual drive-by. Not a coincidence. She'd actively, deliberately investigated Kieran's family to find ammunition, and now she was sitting in my living room pretending it was concern.
Catherine would never just close up shop—that cart was how she paid for Lily's hearing aids, for everything they couldn't afford to lose. And Kieran hadn't said a word. Not one.
I thought about the past few days. The texts I'd sent him, full of complaints about college applications and Brooke's drama. He'd answered every single one, but now that I replayed it in my head, his replies had been shorter. Quicker. Sounds rough. You'll figure it out. I'm here. At the time I'd thought he was just tired from work. He always said he was fine.
But the cart was his work. Without it, what did he even have?
Mom stepped fully into the room now, her voice like ice. "Mrs. Whitmore, I think it's time for you to leave."
Diane stood gracefully, smoothing her coat with deliberate slowness. "I know this isn't what you want to hear, Victoria. It's never what mothers want to hear." She glanced at me one last time, her expression almost mournful. "When this becomes more complicated than she expected—and it will—please know that my offer stands. Evan still cares about her. Some bridges don't burn as easily as we think."
"Get out of my house." Mom's tone left no room for argument.
The door clicked shut behind her, and I stood frozen in the middle of the living room, my mind racing through everything Diane had said, but especially that one phrase: shut down. Last week. And Kieran, carrying it alone.
Mom turned to me, her expression shifting from anger to something more complicated—concern mixed with something that looked uncomfortably like agreement.
"Summer," she started carefully, and I already hated where this was going. "You know I like Kieran. I do. But what Mrs. Whitmore said about the cart—"
"Don't." I felt my throat tighten. "Don't tell me she's right."
"I'm not saying she's right about you two." Mom's voice was gentler now, but she didn't reach for my hand yet. "And I'm certainly not taking her word for anything. But honey—" She hesitated, and I could see her choosing her next words carefully. "If there are legal issues with his family's business, that's a serious problem regardless of where the information came from. These things don't just happen randomly. I'm not saying I believe Diane's version of it. I'm just saying that as your mother, I have to worry about what you're walking into."
I pulled my hand back before she could take it. "You think it's Drake."
Mom's silence stretched a beat too long. "I think," she said slowly, "that I don't know what's happened, and neither do you. And that's what concerns me. Not because I believe Diane, but because Kieran hasn't told you. That's a lot to be carrying alone."
Something in my chest loosened, just slightly. She wasn't blaming him. She was worried. There was a difference, even if it felt the same from where I was standing.
"It's not Kieran's fault," I said, my voice coming out harder than I intended.
"I know that." Mom's voice was firm now, no hesitation. "I'm not saying it is. But you need to understand—dating someone means sharing their burdens too. And if he's not sharing his with you, that's not about his father or his neighborhood or anything Diane said. That's about the two of you." She paused. "I'm not telling you to walk away, Summer. I'm telling you to talk to him."
The words landed differently than I expected. Not an accusation. Not a warning. Just the truth.
I grabbed my bag from the couch. "I have to get to school."
"Summer—"
"I'll talk to him." I paused at the door, not turning around. "He's not like them, Mom. He's not."