Downstairs I find my mom and Lucy in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, Miranda and the dads on the couch scrolling on their phones and Will skating on the pond in the back in full hockey gear minus the helmet. I was hoping to be able to give Will his christmas present this morning, but I guess it’ll have to wait until later.
“Whoever’s dressed the warmest, go let Will know breakfast is ready,” my mom shouts from the kitchen.
Miranda’s finger is on her nose in a second, “Not it.”
My dad and Paul flash me a gotcha grin when I’m the last one to touch my finger to my nose. I shove my feet into the closest pair of snow boots and throw on my dad’s winter coat before opening the sliding glass door to the arctic tundra that is northern Michigan.
Will sees me trudging his way, hockey stopping with a spray of ice and a huge grin. I stand on the edge of the little pond, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Breakfast is ready!”
He skates right to the edge of the pond, looking down at me, hair clumped together and curling over his ears from sweat. Steam is literally wafting off the tops of his shoulders and the crown of hi–
“Oh my god!”
“What!”
Hot embarrassment drips down my body from the top of my head, down my chest, inside my belly, and over my toes. This can not be happening.
“Your neck,” I say, glancing behind us to the house, hoping no one can see our exchange. I couldn’t see what I was doing or where I was sucking last night. I’m always so careful to never leave marks on him in a visible location. This can not be happening. With my parents here.
“It is bad?” he asks, pulling his collar down and tilting his head back. It's bad. It's so bad. Adarkred-purple spot the size of quarter is right there on the base of his throat, maybe a 1/16 of an inch too high up to be covered with a shirt.
My fingers are pressing into my temples, I’m freaking out. “Did you not look in the mirror this morning? How did you not notice?! Oh my God, everyone’s gonna know we had sex last night!” I exclaim through gritted teeth.
“It’s fine, It’s fine. It’s not a big deal,” he says, but the way his face looks, pink dusted over his cheeks makes me think it's very muchnotfine. “Stop looking at me like that, I honestlydidn’t notice it. It's probably not as bad as you think, no one will notice.”
“Be serious! I’m freaking out!”
He looks toward the house behind me, then back at me. “Here’s what we’ll do: You run upstairs, then put some of your make up on the bathroom counter. No one’ll question me coming inside to take a shower before I eat. I’ll shower and then just put a bunch of stuff over it. I’ll wear a turtleneck or something, it's not a big deal.”
“Okay,” I let out a breath, “okay, that could work. Do we still tell them at breakfast?”
“Yes.” He says it in a way that offers no arguments. “I have plans for us today and those plans involve you being my girlfriend and going on a date with me. Telling them is non-negotiable. I don’t like having to hide you.”
Okay, I can do this. We’re going to tell them and Miranda won’t hate me, everything’ll be fine.I turn around, stomping my way back through the snowy yard up to the house. Be chill, Kennedy, be chill. I walk like a completely normal person passed the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs to the bedrooms. I force myself not to run down the hall to my room, throwing open my door and frantically digging through all my cosmetics. I leave a green color corrector (hopefully he reads the tube), foundation, concealer, setting powder and a foundation brush. Thankfully I’m a very big believer in always looking your best and never leave the house without a fully packed make-up bag.
I venture down the stairs and head into the kitchen, grabbing a plate and loading up pancakes, taking a seat at the bar with my back to the living room. I don’t react when I hear the sliding glass door open and roll shut behind me. He only has to make it to the stairs without being stopped and then we’ll be golden.
I feel like every step he takes is the slowest step I’ve ever heard. I know he has gear on, but he’s lumbering. It's taking all my willpower not to turn around to see how noticeable the hickey on his neck is from across the room.
“Drills were looking good,” Paul says over a mouthful of pancake.
“Eh, felt slow this morning.”
I feel light headed, please just keep walking! “When’s the last time you worked on your jam turns?”
I can’t help it, I twist in my seat, trying to gauge how many more feet he needs to walk until he gets to the stairs. This man might actually be the reason I die. Doesn’t he know I'm about to throw up?!
“Been a little bit actually.”
I see it happen in slow motion. My dad’s eyebrows furrow together as he watches Will take another step toward the stairs. Will’s oblivious, hand resting on the banister, starting his ascent. My dad’s gaze locks with mine as Will says over his shoulder, “Kennedy, save me some pancakes.”
“Kennedy Elizabeth,” my dad says in an even icy tone. Will freezes on the stairs.
My face is on fire. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Yes, dad?” My voice comes out higher than I want. Will turns, eyes big, watching the whole thing unfold before him. My dad is one of those guys that doesn’t yell when he’s mad. He goes calm and restrained, voice smooth with no emotion and it's scary.
“Can you please explain to me why William–”
Will’s quick and heavy feet thud down the stairs, cutting my dad off with, “Kennedy and I are dating! She’s my girlfriend!” Then all hell breaks loose.
