“Me?” An itch starts on my spine and crawls up my back. Of all my family, no one knows better than March how much I can get hurt. I’m fucking excellent at hiding pain.
“Yeah. Because you like her too much to fake this.”
There’s a downside to someone knowing you almost as much as you know yourself. I can lie to myself, but it’s a lot harder to lie to him.
I put the truck in Drive and head out. I hate when the little shit is right. Especially when he digs into my misery. His drawl turns downright lazy, which means he’s enjoying the hell out of himself.
“I mean, from the moment we hit puberty, anytime Pen came near you’d clam up tighter than a defensive line on fourth and goal.” He snickers. “Or flee the room like you had the rips.”
“Funny.” And sadly, true. Damn it. I couldn’t help myself; Pen would get that flat “oh it’shim” stare, and it was such a kick to the gut that I’d... shut down. Pride: You can try to reason with it, but it doesn’t always listen. “I was... working through some things.”
“Took your time about it, bro. Frankly, I’m amazed as fuck you’re even talking to her now.”
“Well, obviously I am—”
“Yeah. Jumped right on into the deep end, didn’t you?”
“Are you through?”
“I’m not going to change your mind, am I?”
“No.”
“Then why the fuck are you calling?” he asks.
“I have no fucking idea.” Maybe part of me wanted him to talk me out of this. But it was never really in the cards; the idea of walking away from Pen now has my back up. I’d rather get the shit knocked out of me by a defensive tackle.
Since the draft, I’ve been in a panic, messing up and acting out. When I’m with Pen, all the expectation and pressure just fade, and I feel like me again. Happy. Excited about life.
“I’m supposed to announce the engagement during my presser,” I say. “Pictures of Pen and me are out, and the question will be asked.”
Fed to the press by PR more like it. They have a way of controlling those things. Like sneaky information elves.
“You giving me a heads-up, is that it?”
“Yeah.”
I can almost see March meditatively nodding.
“What are you going to say to the family?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve got time. None of them watch the pressers. Mom and Dad are on that trip to Mexico.” My parents are enjoying their early retirement by traveling everywhere. I want to do the same one day. Right now, I’m glad they’re away. I know I have to tell them, but I’m choosing avoidance at the moment. “It’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
I don’t trust his tone. He had that same tone when we were six and five, and I announced it would be a great idea if we went trick-or-treating for a second night. I got halfway down the block before Mom came to hunt me down, with March in tow.
“Do not rat me out.”
“Are you kidding? I would rather be kicked in the balls than tell them.”
At this moment, I really don’t know why I called him.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Fine. Go.”
“Going.”
