Love the One You're With Read Free Page B

beans he was sautéing. “Baby, I hope you don’t mind, but I took a look at some of your
     photographs.”
    Baby glanced up from her cell, where she’d just texted Sydney with an invite to the Bahamas. Next to Remington was the digital
     camera Baby had left on the table, filled with shots she had taken this weekend, for
Rancor
, the school’s art magazine. It was run by her best friend, Sydney Miller, a multi-pierced and tattooed girl who described
     her sexuality as “flexual.” Baby had always been sort of interested in photography, but had only been taking pictures with
     an artistic sensibility for the past couple of months.
    “I like to look at art while I’m cooking. It inspires me,” Remington added. Weird banjo music filled the room, and he was
     shuffling from one earth-friendly woven hemp moccasin to the other.
    “Oh,” Baby replied uncertainly as she retrieved the camera.
    “I couldn’t help myself. You’ve got an amazing sense of perspective. Just like your mom,” Remington said thoughtfully, as
     he passed Baby a clove of garlic. “Mind chopping that?”
    “Sure.” Baby took a knife and began slicing the white clove into teeny-tiny squares. Even though she’d just made a mental
     note to hide everything in the apartment from now on, Remington was nice, and actually pretty cool, as old men went. And Baby
     was just happy her mom was happy.
    “You know, Baby, my daughter, Layla, is just a few years older than you. She’s a sophomore at Oberlin. Smarter than me, that’s
     for sure. A straight-A philosophy and math double major. I think you and she will really get along,” Remington mused proudly.
     He peered over her shoulder. “Good chopping!”
    Baby smiled, pleased with the compliment. Just then, her cell beeped with a reply from Sydney.
    You elitist bitch! Sorry but I have to spend Thanksgiving in Bedford with the senile grandma, so she can be disappointed in
     me before she dies. Thinking of what else I can pierce/tattoo before then. Have fun for me. I won’t.
    Baby smiled at her friend’s allover randomness. Knowing Sydney, she probably
would
get a tattoo before Thanksgiving. She already had a star on her arm and a fish on her ankle.
    Maybe she could consolidate and get a starfish on her ass.
    “Your friend coming?” Remington asked, not even turning around. It was weird how he seemed to notice
everything.
    “No,” Baby mumbled, her excitement dwindling. Without Sydney, she was staring down a string of days hanging out alone. After
     all, Avery would be with Jack, trying on sundresses and drinking mojitos and whatever the hell else their newfound best friendship
     was based on, while Owen and Rhys would swim and run and parasail together.
But,
Baby thought,
it’s the beach!
Even if she just sat on the sand alone with a book, she’d be happy.
    The doorbell rang, interrupting Baby’s thoughts. “I’ll get it,” she announced. Remington smiled gratefully, his hands covered
     with the gooey orange innards of the squash.
    Baby ran to the front entranceway, swung open the door, and found herself face-to-face with a petite girl with crazy blond
     curls piled under an enormous purple wool knit hat. She wore an oversize gray American Apparel dress, black leggings, and
     a huge, furry brown sweater instead of a coat. She was carrying a large black guitar case covered with stickers from old-school
     girl bands like Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney and Le Tigre. She looked cool and like she didn’t give a fuck.
    “Hello?” Baby asked suspiciously. Was this really Remington’s daughter? She didn’t look like a math-and-whatever double major
     at all. In fact, she looked a little bit like a girlier version of Sydney.
    Ask and you shall receive….
    “You must be Baby. Or are you Avery?” the girl asked in a lilting voice. She dropped her duffel on the floor, then pulled
     off her hat and shook her blondish-brown hair out of her face. “I know it’s so weird, but I feel like we