Beach Glass by Suzan Colón Read Free Book Online

generally ask too many questions, but you have less chance of slipping up if it’s simple, something you’re already familiar with.”
    “Then I guess I could say I’m a yoga teacher. I’ve been doing yoga so long I could sound pretty convincing.”
    Brigitte nods. “Good choice. Plus guys always think yoga teachers are sexy, and surfer boys are known to be hot.” She winks at me.
    “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for sexy or hot.” My throat gets tight.
    “That’s right, you’re with that cute rock n’ roll boy.” Brigitte smiles at me. “How’s that going?”
    I bite my lips. “Actually, we just broke up.”
    Brigitte’s face falls in sympathy. “Oh, Katy, I’m sorry.” She touches my arm. “Are you okay?”
    All I can do is shrug as I try to keep the fresh tears from falling. “Classic unhappy ending. He wouldn’t marry me, and I want what you have.” I gesture toward the next aisle, where Nicholas is asleep in his father’s arms.
    “Is it just about marriage?” Brigitte asks. “I mean, the ring isn’t important.”
    I look at the gold band on her finger, confused. “But you got married.”
    “Yes, but only because I was getting more work here than in Sweden, and I needed a green card. But Will and I had been together very happily for eight years without being married. Is the ring very important to you?”
    There’s that nervous tic again, where I start rubbing the fourth finger on my left hand. “It is. I know it shouldn’t be, especially since my parents got divorced. Or maybe that’s why it is important. I still want to declare my love for him and hear him declare it to me in front of our families and friends. I want to be with someone who’s not afraid to take that risk with me.”
    Brigitte smiles. “Maybe he’ll change his mind.”
    I smile back, but I know how unlikely that is.
    FIVE HOURS INTO our five-hour flight, the pilot announces that there’s fog at the airport, and we have to enter a holding pattern. Story of my life.
    But that doesn’t have to be the story of my new alter ego’s life.
    Reaching into my oversized, faux leopard travel bag, I pull out my new journal. I turn to the page where I’d written all of the attributes I wanted: the confidence, the adventurous nature, the love of spontaneity. If I’m supposed to be a different person on this trip, let me be a really cool one.
    I try to think up a new, exotic name, but I can totally see myself forgetting and not answering to it. So I write in pretty script, Kate. It’s still me, but a more mature-sounding version. Then I add a few more qualities I’d like to have. Not afraid to speak her truth. That’s even hard to write, let alone practice in real life, but I write it out a few more times. It becomes easier to look at, if not to feel. Then I add, When things don’t go as planned, Kate is the kind of woman who accepts that and moves on, eagerly looking forward to new opportunities. And when they present themselves, she doesn’t over-think or hesitate, she takes them on. She embraces them. Kate practically makes out with new opportunities.
    Damn. I don’t know if I can actually become this Kate person, but she sounds like someone I should at least try to hang out with. Like, for this whole week.

7.
     
    I’M IN THE SAFEST place in the world, the backseat of my parents’ car.
    The even, steady motion of the car has almost lulled me to sleep. I’m about seven years old, and my little sister, still a toddler who looks exactly like the daughter she’ll have some day, is napping next to me. I don’t know where we’re going, and that’s okay. My capable dad is at the wheel, and Mom is reading a map that, I can see from the backseat, is a creamy, blank page. But she’s smiling. So is Dad. My parents talk to each other in soft voices. That’s funny  . . . I don’t remember Mom being able to speak Spanish, but I distinctly hear her ask, ¿ Estamos aqui?
    It’s not my mother but Brigitte who