Maybe my mom was right all along. Whatever this thing is that’s happening between us, I should pull back before I get hurt.
“Well, don’t you clean up nice!” my dad says. He’s in his khaki pants and Hawaiian shirt, and he gives me a twirl as I reach the bottom of our stairs. I’m in a full-length black dress that splits up the leg and wraps a single shoulder.
“Thanks, Dad.”
I kiss him on the cheek, and he tucks his arm back around my mom, who is wearing something tea length and suitable for a Cinco de Mayo party. It has every bright color in it, as if she painted it herself. It’s so her.
“You look amazing too, Mom,” I say, hugging her.
“Thanks, sweetheart. I imagine you don’t want to ride with us old folks anyway, but I think there’s someone waiting for you on the patio.”
She winks at me, and my gaze drifts to the front door where Reed paces behind the glass cut-out window. His slicked-back curls look darker with hair product in them, and I can’t deny that he’s good-looking, no matter if his hair is windswept just after a boat ride or in a perfect part like a restaurant owner’s son would be.
“I’ll meet you guys there,” I say, squeezing their hands before closing the gap between me and the front door. When I pull it back, Reed startles, pivoting to face me. I swear I see a glint shine off his dimple like you would a cartoon character.
“Too dressed up?” I ask, twirling in front of him.
He shakes his head, not a curl falling out of place. “Perfect.”
I smile. “You, too.”
“This old thing?” He pulls on the collar of his pinstripe short-sleeve dress shirt.
I drop my gaze to my feet before I blush any deeper.
“Do your parents want a ride?”
I look back over my shoulder and catch them watching us from the opening to the laundry room. When they see me, my dad spins my mom toward the back door, and they hustle away.
“I think they’re good.”
“Well, okay then.” He offers me his arm, and I take it.
I steal a final glance at the trailer. The truck is still parked outside, and a part of me hopes Miles isn’t watching this all play out from one of the windows. With the start of the ignition, “Why Can’t I?” by Liz Phair drifts through the speakers.
“Is this that CD you played the first night we went boating?” I ask.
I didn’t know it was possible—or for what reason—but Reed’s smile broadens.
“It is.”
“I like this song,” I say, turning up the volume just as she gets to the chorus. With her words, I think of… Miles. And a lump surfaces in my throat.
The parking lot is packed with illegally parked cars. It will be a miracle if anyone can get out of here without rear-ending someone. My parents, in their haste, beat us here, and I catch them entering one of the garage bays and greeting a woman in a satin tea-length bodycon dress. Mr. Morgan wraps his arm around the woman’s shoulder as he reaches out to shake my dad’s hand, and I realize it must be Reed’s mother. I haven’t met her… well, I guess more likeseen herall summer.
Reed takes my hand as we weave through the parking lot and before I know it, I’m being wrapped in the same woman’s arms.
“Teddy, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Mrs. Morgan bellows, making a bit of scene.
“Um, yeah… I mean, thank you,” I fumble.
“Mom, please,” Reed cuts in.
“Sorry, I’m just happy to see you two together. I’m glad you could both make it.”
“Dad.” Reed addresses him by ruffling the collar of his dress shirt.
He hurries to straighten it. “No pranks tonight, understand?” he grunts.
