“What’s his name?” she asks, unbothered by his snark.
“Reid,” I reply before quickly adding, “He’s a little bit older.”
My mom must have me on speaker phone because my dad’s voice comes through loud and clear.
“How much older?”
“Kevin!” my mom shouts.
“How much older, Jodi?” he repeats.
“I don’t know his birthday. Thirty or so.”
The line goes silent. I don’t even hear my dad’s breathing.
“He must be a good guy if he’s friends with Nick,” he says finally. His tone is resigned and I wonder if he covered the phone speaker to discuss the age gap privately with my mom. “Is he coming home with you?”
The question isn’t as shocking as it should be. Love moves fast in my hometown and I’d be lying if the thought of taking Reid home to meet my family wasn’t something I’d already considered.
“We just met.”
“I married your mom a week after we met,” he reminds me. “Are you bringing him home?”
“He’s going to Crescent Ridge after the holidays to visit his friend,” I reply.
“Hm,” he hums. “We’ll see.”
My mother’s soft voice returns, and she asks a dozen more questions about Reid before she lets me go.
Interrogation over, and my car trouble still a secret from the biggest know-it-all I’ve ever met, I slump back onto my bed.
I barely have time to relax before someone bangs on my door. Amber breezes in wearing boots with fuzzy socks sticking out the top and a hoodie three sizes too big.
“Well?” she demands, plopping onto the bed. “Tell me everything. And don’t lie because you blink weird when you do and I’ll know.”
I tell her. Not everything. Definitely not the part where I thought my knees were going to give out, but enough for her eyes to widen.
She listens. She giggles in the right places. She smiles throughout.
“Okay,” she says finally, leaning back against the pillows. Her tone shifts from excited best friend to pragmatic realist. “Now we need to talk.”
My stomach dips.
“About what?”
“Jodi.” She fixes me with the look. The one she used when she warned me not to date that guy in sophomore year who turned out to be the creep who installed cameras in the women’s locker room. “Let’s be clear. You’re leaving soon.”
“I know.”
I swallow nervously. She’s a good friend and she wouldn’t discourage me if she didn’t have a good reason. I know that, but it feels like I’m waiting for her to slice my heart in half with a rusty blade.
“You’ve known this man for what? A few hours?”
“That’s—” I try to defend it, but she barrels on.
“You kissed him. Great. Wonderful. I love that for you.” She hesitates, softens a little. “You’re moving home. He’s drifting around the country. That’s not a foundation, babe. That’s a holiday fling.”
The wordflinglodges in my chest and won’t move. That’s what people call relationships that burn hot and fade fast. Holidaymistakes. Snowbound romances. Stories you laugh about later because they didn’t mean enough to hurt. But this already hurts. The idea of walking away from Reid feels like tearing something out of myself, and that terrifies me.
