“Baby, thisisslow for me. If I wasn’t taking it slow, I’d be proposing for real right now. It’s a weekend—I’m not asking for forever.”
“We can suss out the kitchen together. I’m not sending you to the wolves alone.”
Without a word, he heads for the door and gestures for me to follow. He’s waiting with a perfectly sweet smile on his face, and if he swears he’s going to be here, I guess there’s no reason to hold on to secrets. If it makes him run for the hills, I’d rather it happen now than later.
I hold a finger up to stop him. “There’s…uh, something I need to do first.”
With my back to him, I shut my eyes and tug on the underwear drawer he was close to snooping in last time—until I drew his attention away by mentioning other secrets I kept hidden. And I clutch a small bottle, shakily opening it and tossing a small white pill to the back of my throat.
“Okay. Now I’m good.” I turn to him, praying secretly that he didn’t notice me take it. Even though, in theory, Iwantedto have that conversation, I’m not sure I actually want to have the conversation.
“What was that?” He tilts his head.
Fuck.
“Live, laugh, Lexapro.” I scrunch my nose, cringing at my attempted humor. “Uh…depression meds.”
“Okay.” He holds his hand out to grab mine, entirely unfazed. “Are you ready to go face your parents?”
I don’t say a fucking word. Because all I can think about is shoving him against the wall and kissing him, so I do. I pressmy chest into his, backing him against the bedroom wall, and his arm accidentally triggers the light switch. Leaving us in the dark—save for light trickling down the hallway from the kitchen—and I kiss him like my life depends on it. Maybe it does, a little bit.
—
“Mornin’,” I say with a false cheeriness in my voice when Denver and I enter the kitchen, as if we didn’t hear the commotion a few minutes ago.
“Hey, sweetie,” Dad says, not bothering to look up from the pan he’s scrubbing a little more aggressively than usual.
The atmosphere’s charged like somebody dumped gunpowder over every surface, and one comment might be the match to kill us all. But Denver plops down into the seat across from my mom, and leans on his elbows to see the crossword puzzle set out in front of her—likely the thing that put her in a bad mood in the first place. Crosswords are said to help with memory retention as you age, but the daily puzzles my mom’s completed with ease for my entire life have quickly become the part of her memory that’s slipping away fastest. Some days she’ll spend hours obsessing over a single puzzle.
“Shit, Mrs. Hart, this one looks hard,” he says with a smile.
I wince when she looks up. Prepared for him to face her wrath, but that damn boy with his disarming smile. She never stood a chance.
Mom gives him a warm look, nodding keenly. “I think a lot of people underestimate the Sheridan newspaper’s weekly crossword, but I’ve always said it’s one of the harder ones out there.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about it.” He taps a word she has filled out. “I wouldn’t have figured that one out in a million years.”
“Ire?Oh, you’re being silly. It’s one of the most commoncrossword answers out there. A three-letter word for wrath? Simple.”
“Simple for you, maybe.” Denver laughs. “I clearly need to learn more vocabulary, because I’ve never heard that word in my life.”
Mom gently smacks his forearm. “Oh shush, give yourself more credit. You’ve always been a smart boy—I’m sure you know plenty.”
I fill two mugs of coffee slowly, exchanging a look with Dad while he dishes up a plate of food for Mom.
“Here’s one that shouldn’t betoohard for you.” She spins the newspaper so it’s facing him, and her thin finger finds the clue.
“Oh, come on now. You’re giving me the easy ones.” He smiles up at me when I set a mug of coffee down in front of him with a look. I’m sure Dad provoked her ire with a simple word suggestion, but Denver put her back in the teacher mindset and she’s essentially a new person.
Mom takes a slow sip of her coffee, waiting for his answer. With a shake of his head, Denver grabs her pen and jots the letters into their respective squares, then spins it back around to Mom.
Mom shrugs. “I think anybody outside of the agriculture industry would say that ‘freemartin’ is not one of the easy ones here.”
“Free what?” Dad timidly asks, leading Mom to raise her hands with an expression that says,See!
Denver plows into a lengthy speech about the negative effects that arise from a female calf being born alongside a male twin—a condition referred to as freemartinism. Dad listens intently, and I can’t help but stare in awe at this man who would’ve been top of the agricultural science program in university, if he hadn’t deferred. He gave up his own dreams for the sake of his family, because he isn’t just funny, smart, and handsome. Denver’s unwavering ability to love is unlikeanything I’ve ever known. When he finishes his spiel, Mom gives him an encouraging wink, and I squeeze his knee under the table.
Crisis averted, Denver makes no mention of sneaking away for cinnamon rolls, and neither do I. Instead, we talk casually with my parents over breakfast, and it’s like no time has passed at all. He keeps a hand on my thigh, drawing hearts with his fingertips, and we share quick glances in our periphery.
