“We’re not, really. I mean, my parents do okay, but we’re not millionaires or anything.”
It’s true, but I don’t know why I feel the need to say it out loud. No, that’s not entirely correct. All of a sudden, I’m feeling more than a little bit defensive—and guilty—about being born with, if not a silver, at least a bronze spoon in my mouth. Kolby hasn’t said much about his financial situation, but I know he’s on scholarship. And his position as an RA takes care of his room and board. Plus, he works at V and V. And the registrar’s office when it’s busy. Either he loves being busy 24/7 and hates sleep, or he’s not getting a lot of monetary support from his family.
He coughs into his elbow, but it sounds suspiciously like “bullfeathers.” I take one hand off the wheel to smack him lightly on the arm.
“Seriously. The house has been in my mom’s family for generations. When she inherited it, it needed a ton of work. She and my dad have been slowly improving it for years.”
“It looks like they’ve done a great job.”
“Yeah, it’s their pride and joy. After me, of course. My mom insists on doing all the gardening herself, and my dad won’t let anyone else touch the lawnmower. Not even me.”
As we get closer to the house, the trees lining the driveway thin out, giving us a clear view across the wide, meticulously manicured lawn to the bay. The day is crisp but clear, and the sun bounces off the water, making it look like it’s sprinkled with glitter.
“Is that the ocean?” Kolby asks. He’s returned to a toddler, bursting with questions and practically vibrating in his seat with excitement.
“Technically, it’s Narragansett Bay, but yeah, close enough.”
He cranes his neck to get a better look. “I’ve never seen salt water before.”
Now it’s my jaw that’s dropping. “Are you shitting me?”
“I’m from Utah, remember?” He draws the distinctive shape of his home state in the air with his finger. “Landlocked. Before today, the biggest body of water I’d seen was Lake Champlain.”
“What about the Great Salt Lake? Isn’t that in Utah?”
“Yeah, but it was like two hours away. Somehow I never managed to make the trip.”
I get the sense there’s something more lurking beneath his flimsy, half-assed excuse, but I’m not going to press him. It’s Thanksgiving. We’re minutes if not seconds away from being bombarded by my parents. Definitely not the time to start what’s bound to be a deep, possibly painful discussion.
“We can take a walk on the beach after dinner,” I suggest. “If the tryptophan in the turkey doesn’t knock you out.”
“Can we wade in the surf?”
“The water’s way too cold for me, but if you’re feeling brave, go for it.” I pull the car to a stop in front of one of the garage doors. “We can always come back in the summer and swim. Or boogie board.”
“That would be awesome.”
He reaches across the center console and slips his hand in mine easily and comfortably, as though we’ve slid into a relationship where we aren’t afraid to make plans together two, three, or even six months down the road. I thread my fingers with his, give him a quick kiss, and pop the trunk so we can get our overnight bags.
Sure enough, my mom is in the main doorway calling my name before we’re even out of the car.
“Adam, you’re early,” she says, wiping her hands on her favorite apron. It’s bright blue and saysThere’s No Such Thing As Too Much Garlicacross her chest. Dad got it for her at one of those cute, touristy shops on Thames Street in Newport.
“Are you complaining?” I tease, because I know damn well she’s not.
“Of course not.” She comes down the steps, her sensible flats crunching on the crushed shell driveway as she approaches me, arms wide open for a hug. Stylish but sensible, that’s my mom. She was a buyer for a big department store chain before my father swept her off her feet and they moved to Rhode Island so they could rehab this house together while he practiced law.
She squeezes me so tight I can feel the air whoosh out of my lungs. “If I had my way, you would have gotten here last night.”
“I told you, I had hockey practice,” I say when I can breathe again. “And Kolby had to work at the bookstore.”
“I understand. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She releases me and turns to Kolby, who’s grabbing our bags out of the trunk. “You must be Adam’s friend, Kolby. I’ve heard so much about you.”
I take my bag from Kolby and sling my free arm around his neck in a gesture that leaves no doubt we’re more than friends. “You can call him my boyfriend, Mom. It’s okay.”
“Right. Of course.” She gives Kolby a warm, motherly smile and lowers her voice to a stage whisper, like what she’s about to say is a state secret. “This is the first time he’s brought a boy home from college. Or a girl, for that matter.”
I groan. “Seriously, Mom. Is it your mission in life to humiliate me?”
