Page 36 of Autumn on My Mind

Maybe I should have sat somewhere else.

“Let’s get started,” I say instead of letting the past rise between us. I don’t speak loudly; I don’t need to. Bugelbach’s is now closed; I know for a fact that Farmer Joe is on his way to the Maple Bar for a celebratory drink. The only sounds to be heard here are the wind and the gentle creak of the swing. The sky is turning an orangey pink as the sun begins to set, and it’s unfortunately beautiful.

In general I prefer ugly skies when sitting next to the man I once loved, just to keep things from getting unintentionally romantic.

Of course, that’s the problem, isn’t it? When you’re in love, every sky is beautiful.

“Okay. Rules,” I say, clearing my throat. “Like I mentioned earlier, if we’re going to be working together⁠—”

“We don’t have to work together,” Dominic reminds me, and I’m glad he’s going along with the conversation rather than attempting awkward greetings. His voice is calm rather than accusatory as he continues, “I said I’d do it.”

I ignore this, because if we’re going to destroy our parents’ happiness, I think I should be involved. “If we’re going to spend time together, we should have some rules in place.”

When he doesn’t say anything, I launch in.

“The first and most vital rule,” I say, holding one finger up, “is that we operate in absolute secrecy. No one will know that we’re doing this, especially our parents.”

Dom knows perfectly well that what I really mean is my mother, but he’s merciful enough not to call me out. He just waves one hand—a hand that crosses into my airspace, by the way, and far too close.

“Fine,” he says as he commits this nonexistent but very serious infraction. “Next.”

“Next,” I say, holding up a second finger. “We will maintain firm boundaries. Regardless of our past, we’ve both moved on.” I feel overly bold saying this, my voice confident to the point of defiance. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dominic’s nod of agreement, so I force myself to go on. “Now we’re coworkers. We will behave as such. This includes manners and cordiality as well, I would like to add.”

“Good,” he says. He folds his arms, and when I glance at him, he raises his brows. “Is that all?”

“I—yes,” I say lamely.

“Great. My turn.”

“What—”

“I reserve the right to act without consulting you,” he says briskly. “I reserve the right to sabotage our parents’ relationship in ways that might hurt your mother’s feelings, because frankly, I care more about my dad and myself than I do about her.”

Harsh, but fair.

“You may not show up at my house unannounced⁠—”

“Why would I do that?”

He doesn’t answer; he just goes on with his list. “And lastly,” he says, hesitating a second too long to be casual. “We will not discuss the past unless we mutually decide to do so.”

The past is a beast I’m incapable of wrangling, much less defeating, and flirting with memories won’t end well. So I give him one firm nod.

“Absolutely,” I say. “No discussion of the past.” And definitely not before I’ve invested in some waterproof mascara.

“Good,” Dom says. “Let’s figure out a plan, then. I cannot watch my father’s midlife crisis spiral into an impromptu marriage and the resultant heartbreak.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” I say distractedly, now looking through my bag, “I think all of the Post-Dad Husbands were past the heartbreak stage when they finally got out of their marriages.”

When Dominic doesn’t answer, I look up to see an incredulous expression on his face.

“Why would that make me feel better?”

I shrug and return to my bag, pulling out a pad of paper and a pen that can write in six different colors. It doesn’t work very well, but I click the orange ink into place—orange for pumpkin patches!—and then start to take notes.

1. Boundaries

2. No talking about past