“It’s not that complicated,” Maya chimes in. “April was sexiled. She got sick of it.”
My cheeks flush instantly. Maya’s family clearly didn’t operate with the same… discretion as mine when it came to certain topics. In this house, sex may as well not exist. It’s private. It’s sacred. It’sdefinitelynot something you bring up while making chili.
Maya, of course, did not grow up in a household like mine. And she obviously doesn’t have the same filter.
“She was what?” my mom asks, eyebrows lifting as she stirs the onions. “Exiled?”
“No,” Maya says, completely unbothered. “Sexiled.It means you can’t go into your room because your roommates are having sex.Her roommates being me and Grant.We’d just gotten back together, and she was locked out. So she decided to go back to Morgan Kennedy’s hotel and…”
My mom drops the knife in her hand. It lands point-down between her feet, sticking in the linoleum like something out of a horror movie.
“Mom!” I gasp. “Be careful! You wouldn’t know we come from a family of cooks the way you just dropped that.”
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, blinking like she just woke up from a spell. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Maya,” my dad says slowly, keeping his face polite but strained. “I think we get the idea. No need to go into detail. Anyway, I’m glad you’re all here. Truly. Faith tells us how welcome you made her feel at Greene State, and that’s what matters to me. Seems like she’s as special to you as she is to us.”
He glances around at my friends, and smiles tightly. “But in this household, we don’t talk about thedetailsof stories like that. Those are for private conversations.”
Maya’s eyes go wide. “Oh. My bad, Mr. Easton. Totally respect the rules of the house.”
She gives a little salute and goes back to stirring the pot like nothing happened.
There’s a beat of silence—just the chop of knives on cutting boards, and the faint echo of the SportsCenter announcer narrating Morgan’s game in the background.
This is the collision of two worlds.
My college friends are open. Unfiltered. They talk about sex like it’s weather. In my house? The entire “birds and bees” talk I got at fifteen was:It’s a sin to do it, Faith. Wait until you’re married.
Daddy clears his throat, trying to break the tension. “Anyway, Faith is engaged to a great, local young man—Keith Stinson—so she’s not doing any of this…sexilingyou speak of.”
He attempts a laugh, but it comes out sounding like a cough-groan hybrid. My friends smile politely—seventy percent grimace, thirty percentGod bless this man, he’s trying.
“Yeah,” my friend Alex says after a pause, clearly jumping on the grenade. “She’s told us all about Keith. He seems… great.”
“Heis,” Daddy beams. “Terrific young man from an even better family. She’s going to make us proud. Once they get married, we’ll celebrate the joining of two great Vansborough families—the Stinsons and the Eastons.”
I smile. Politely. And keep my mouth shut.
Because, yeah—he doesn’t know about Keith’s “let’s cool our jets” announcement last weekend. I’m not telling him, either. I’d rather jump into a vat of chili than explainthatconversation. This is very much awhat Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt himsituation.
April and I lock eyes across the counter. There’s a flicker of understanding in her expression.
Because she knows. She’s the only one who does.
She’s also the one who asked mepoint blankif I wanted to sow some wild oats of my own.
And I didn’t have an answer. Still don’t. That fact alone bugs me more than I want to admit.
Because honestly? It never occurred to me that Imightwant to. I always pictured my life going one clean, safe direction. I wanted things to besimple.
But apparently, Keith wants something a little more complicated.
And besides—who would I even sleep with?
It’s not like I’ve got anyone on the backburner.
Right?
