I imagine grabbing the edge of a Band-Aid and tearing it clean off. It’ll be painful for a half second, but that’ll subside, and even though the cut underneath might not be entirely healed, it’ll be on its way.
“Now we’re together,” I say, and suddenly I’m on roller skates, barreling downhill, unable to stop or even slow down. “I like him. He likes me, too. And it’s good between us—I really think so. We were worried about telling you—no,Iwas worried about telling you—but I’m not even sure why, now, except we just want you to be happy for us. Because my dad, well, he hasn’t been himself lately, and he hasn’t been very supportive. He has his reasons, but they’re stupid, and I just really wish I could be honest with him.” I pause, catch a breath, and tack on a question. “Kind of like I can be honest with you?”
Marcy’s got a hand pressed to her heart. “Ofcourseyou can be honest with us.”
I glance at Bill and find him beaming. I remember his years-ago prediction about his son and me, our probable future together. I smile, too.
“So, it’s okay? Max and me?”
Bill’s bobbing his head and Marcy’s wrapping me in a hug and I’m getting a little teary myself. “He’s been better, you know,” she murmurs, pressing her cheek to mine. “Happier. I hoped it was your presence. Your influence.”
“It’s not, though,” I tell her. “He needed time, is all.”
She nods, pulling back as heavy footsteps thud down the stairs. Max plows into the kitchen, pulling up short when he sees me at the table with his parents. “What’s up?” he asks.
“I brought you breakfast,” I say, pointing at the sliced loaf. “Come sit?”
He does, straddling the bench adjacent to me. He helps himself to a piece of bread, taking an unthinkable boy-sized bite. After he’s chewed and swallowed and complimented my baking, I lean in to kiss his cheek. “Good morning, by the way.”
His eyes go wide as he looks from his parents, who are grinning conspiratorially, to me. It’s fun to watch as realization dawns on him. “Wait—you told them?”
I shrug. “That’s okay, right?”
He hooks his arm around my neck and pulls me into his chest. I’m laughing when he says, “You did good, Jilly.”
We spend a little longer with his parents, eating banana bread and filling them in on the highlights of our day in Seattle. Marcy’s practically oozing happiness, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Bill so enlivened. He’s not observing our conversation; he’s participating in all the ways he can. Max keeps glancing at him, smiling slightly, almost bashfully, then looking away.I’m trying—I swear I am, he said the night we went for ice cream. I can see that he is. I can see that hewantsto.
The bond he and Bill shared was interrupted—never broken.
Slowly, carefully, it’s being restored.
***
When we arrive at school, Max and I make our way through the rain-drenched quad and into the locker bay. Our shoes squeal against the linoleum as we maneuver through the crowd. We stop at his locker first, where he collects books for chem and civics, then head down the corridor to my locker. After I’ve gathered my own books, I face him, thinking about how good, hownormal, it is to slog through the mundaneness of preparing for classes with this boy who makes me feel like a colony of butterflies have taken up residence in my stomach.
When he reaches for me, though, I recall the swift, searing pain of Becky’s shoulder clashing with mine, demeaning as the day it happened. It’s instinctual, the way I sidestep his touch. It hurts him, I know it does, because his hand sinks to his side and his face crumples, and all the good I did with his parents this morning is demolished by one impetuous slip.
“We should be careful,” I say. “That’s all.”
As if on cue, Becky emerges from the crowd, copper curls bobbing as she struts in our direction. She stops in front of me,besideMax. Her green eyes roam his face as she glides a possessive hand along his arm. He quickly shrugs her off, but the red-hot bitterness I feel seeing her touch my boyfriend is visceral; I want to knock her down.
“I miss you,” she says to Max, softly, like no one’s around but the two of them.
He moves to my side, slinging an arm over my shoulder, and despite my misgivings, I lean into him. “You haven’t said good morning to Jill,” he tells her.
She looks at me like I’m curbside trash. “There’s a reason for that.”
“Get over it, Beck. She had nothing to do with what happened between you and me.”
“Please. We’d still be together if she would’ve stayed on her side of the street.”
“Bullshit,” he says without malice, like he’s just stating a fact.
“Who does that anyway?” Becky barrels on. “Breaks a couple up because she can’t get over her childhood crush?”
Max shakes his head. “You and me were done long before Jill and I started hanging out.”
“We were together when she kissed you.”
