“Sorry. What?”
“Oh. Just, it means a lot to me. Things at home are...” His face falls.
“What?”
He chews his lip for a second.
“How old were you when your parents divorced?”
“Seven. Jasmine was eight. Why?”
“Mine are getting divorced.”
He says it so simply, like it doesn’t bother him. But his lip quivers. I wouldn’t notice if he wasn’t right in front of me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s... I guess it had to happen. But I’m just so tired of it all. Of trying to somethingsomething all the time.”
“Sorry. Say again?”
“I’m tired of playing peacemaker all the time. And now Dad’s packing up to move out. It’s...”
“Weird?”
He nods. “And he keeps talking about, like, setting up a room for me at his new place. Asking me what I want. And I just keep saying yes to everything because I don’t know how to tell him I don’t want to live with him.”
Ouch. I don’t even know what to say to that. Before I can even try, Bowie flicks the living room lights on and off. We turn to find them at the switch.
“Are you two coming? Pizza’s getting cold.”
“Coming!” Liam offers me a hand off the couch, and I let himpull me up, and I don’t even hold onto his perfect hand for too long.
But he yanks me a bit too hard, and I nearly bump against his chest. I back away.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I swallow. “You know it’s okay, right? If you don’t want to?”
I didn’t want to move to Colorado with Mom.
He shrugs, like maybe he doesn’t know. Or isn’t sure.
When he saw my lists, he joked about being a people pleaser, but maybe he thinks he really is. Maybe he needs to remember it’s okay to make himself happy too.
Before I can figure out how to say that, he shakes himself off. “Sorry. I’m here to have fun, not mope. Let’s eat.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” He gives me a little smile. “You’re a good friend, Jackson. What would I do without you?”
I blush. A good friend, but nothing more. “Win atSmashmore often?”
He cracks up.
16
November blows in on the backs of two thunderstorms, one tornado warning, and workdays every Saturday—even the one after Thanksgiving.
