“And how’re your folks?”
I don’t think he realizes he’s already asked that.
“They’re fine.” I pause. “I mean, they got divorced, sonowthey’re fine.”
He nods as though he expected this news, and it’s a struggle to shove down the memory of us in my childhood bedroom, late at night, after he snuck in through the window. How he’d hold me, speaking quietly in my ear about our wonderful future far away while my parents rattled the walls with their yelling andslamming doors. The steady rhythm of his heart, warm arms banding around me to keep all my loose pieces together, his eyes glinting in the dark.
“Mom’s living in Dayton with her new husband. Still a divorce attorney,” I tell him. “Dad remarried, too—Dawn’s a folk singer. They live in California with her teenage kids.”
The corners of his mouth curve into a smile, the too-rare sort of smile you see on somebody and think,Oh, they truly mean that all the way down to the bottom.
“And you?” I ask, cringing at my own eagerness. “I can’t believe you’re going to have a stepdad!” Alex’s father died when he was little. Kristin never dated the whole time I knew her, still went byMrs. King, still wore her wedding band. “What have you been up to?”
“You running your own daycare yet?” He leans forward just a fraction as if he actually hopes to hear I’ve done exactly what I used to say I would. The rest of the room begins to fill with voices that my ears register only as a low drone, life resumed.
“Ah.” My voice hitches. “No. I used to work at one but not anymore.”
“I can’t get over your hair.” Rough fingers pass through the white strands, briefly grazing my cheek, before shrinking back. He used to twirl my brown ponytail where it splayed across the headrest in his truck, seats reclined, other hand burrowed into the pocket of my hoodie to rest over mine. Fiddling with his class ring that I wore, with masking tape wrapped around the base so it would fit.
He slides the offending hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“Oh, yeah.” All my words are getting stuck to my tongue. It’s too warm in here. “I bleach it.”
“Shefriesit because she uses box dye at home instead of getting it done by a professional,” Trevor inserts.
“Is that any way to talk about your better half?”
We all turn to Allison, who’s materialized from thin air.
Trevor blinks at her. “What.”
“Hey, guys!” Another woman joins us—it’s so crowded in our huddle that we have to move some chairs around.
Trevor’s body language transforms immediately; he straightens up, dropping my hand. “Teyonna,” he says.
I hold in a gasp.Teyonna!I’ve never met the legendary woman who bent Trevor’s heart into a pretzel. I think she lives in Ingham, close by.
She smiles at him, a dimple popping. She’s about my height, with deep brown skin, hair pulled back tight in a curly black puff. She’s wearing flip-flops, silk basketball shorts, and a neon green shirt that readsZANESVILLE VARSITY VOLLEYBALL 2014.
“Wow.” Trevor exhales. “Hi. I mean, hey.” His words are piling up on top of each other. “So, you still like volleyball?”
Teyonna cups a palm under her chin, knuckles against her mouth. Her liquid gaze darts from Trevor to me, a hint of a smile still hidden behind her hand. “Yeah?”
“Cool.” He tries to lean against the table, but his hand misses and he flails, righting himself on somebody’s plate of steak and fries. “That’s cool.” He wipes ketchup from his hand onto the back of my dress. I pinch the scruff of his neck like a mother cat handling her unruly kitten.
Teyonna laughs. “You’re such a dork, Trevor.”
He flashes a lopsided grin, as if being called a dork is the highlight of his day. “You are.”
“Teyonna, have you met Trevor’s newest girlfriend?” Allison announces loudly, gesturing to me.
Multiple sets of eyes swerve to mine, and my ears turn hot. Alex pales, then reddens. Kristin claps a hand over her mouth. At one time, Kristin and I were as close as mother and daughter. It takes a lot to throw her, and this particular expression is a DeLorean back to her kitchen in another time and place, her son pacing circles around the table while I stood with my back against the closed laundry room door. I still dream about that house sometimes. I hear an echo of her voice from long ago:You want to WHAT?
“The two of you are dating?” she utters. “Small world!”
Trevor recovers faster than I do. He’s sizing up Teyonna’s reaction and seems to be bolstered by the faint notes of disappointment stirring above her head. “Guess you’re not the only couple with shocking news,” he says to his father, a bit haughtily. He’s definitely taking it personally that he wasn’t warned about this wedding. He squeezes me against his side. “Must be that Moonville magic at work. Love in the air, and all that shit.”
Alex doesn’t move but in a blink he seems to have traveled to the other side of a wall. A furrow in his brow deepens as he studies Trevor and me. Trevor’s casual drop of the wordloveechoes on and on: I watch the letters oflovestretch out,l-o-v-e, vibrating, forming circles that ripple outward.
