“They could be digging an escape tunnel at night. Taking turns with the shovel.”
“To where?”
He thought about it. “Denison. They still haven’t gone shopping.”
“Or making a penis cake. I expect to see one any day now that the taco casserole has made an appearance.”
Harrison drew back. “Peniscake?”
“Oh, right—I forgot you didn’t know. I got a penis cake for my fiftieth. Complete with buttercream icing suggestively placed.”
“That is…wild,” he said, laughing, shaking his head.
His laugh was so warm, and Amy felt a terrible urge to confess she wasn’t hip enough to have a fling, but she would love to keep seeing him, if that was at all possible. But that was all too much to say or ask. Not here, not after a few days. He was being a very good sport about her family, and she was enjoying his company, and she decided then and there to eject the question of how to define this relationship. It didn’t need to be defined. It needed to be lived. That was it. She was beginning to annoy herself.
Because why would she screw this up? This was wonderful.Enjoy it while you can.
If she had any lingering ideas about an actual relationship, they were pummeled into submission when her mother arrived in a Tahoe SUV with a wreath attached to the grille. She waved at them through the front windshield.
“After you,” Harrison said, and opened the door for Amy. The moment she climbed into the front seat, she heard her oldest son’s voice. She snapped her gaze to her mother, wide-eyed. Jonah was talking over the car speaker.
“Jonah? Jonah,” her mother said, interrupting his talk of something to do with the fourteenth century, “your mom is here.”
“Oh. Hi, Mom.” His deep, raspy voice boomed over the car radio as Harrison climbed into the back seat.
“Umm…hi, Jonah. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. Nana called me.”
Amy looked at her mother again.
“Nothing is going on, honey. I’m just checking in with the boys. Their mother is out of town right now.”
“Mom,” Jonah said. “Get some ice cream at the store. The intense chocolate kind. No nuts. Dad had some and it’s really good.”
“Well, I don’t know when I’ll—”
“Also, I need some lotion.”
Amy winced. No mother wanted to know that her seventeen-year-old son wanted lotion.
“Mom!” Ethan’s much higher voice was suddenly crackling in the Tahoe. “Mom, Mom, Dad won’t let me go to Connor’s house!”
“Because we have plans, freak,” Jonah said. “And Connor is lame.”
And now they were on speakerphone.
“Shutup,” Ethan shouted, and then there was the sound of a slap.
“Ouch!” Jonah shouted.
“Jonah, I am sure Ethan’s friend is not lame,” Amy’s mother said.
Amy wanted to open the car door and toss herself out. She couldn’t see Harrison’s face, but she could imagine the horror written all over it.
“Mom, please let me go,” Ethan said. He was crying now. “Dad is so mean!”
“Ethan, you have to do what your father says.”
