Page 51 of Autumn on My Mind

Another silence, even worse than the one before.

“Okay,” Dominic says abruptly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah,” I say with painful relief. “Okay. Later.”

I don’t wait for any response from him; I pull the phone away from my ear and end the call with a forceful jab. Then I exhale and slump back against the prickly hay bale.

Why was that so uncomfortable?

But the answer jumps into my mind without having to think: Because talking to Dominic is beginning to feel more natural.

And for Dom and I, natural always included things like “Love you” at the end of phone calls, or plans for when we would meet next, or terms of endearment.

But we don’t say those things anymore. We don’t automatically make plans. We’re treading in unfamiliar territory.

I sigh and stand up, brushing the straw off my clothes and out of my hair. Then I descend the hay mountain and drag myself to my car, my feet heavy as my exhaustion grows.

The drive home is quick, and when I spot Alvina’s car in the driveway as I pull around back, I begin my preparation.

It’s always good to be prepared when encountering Alvina. This process involves deep breaths and reinforcing any patience that may have slipped throughout the day.

I enter the house through the garage and toe my shoes off in the laundry room, because they’re dirty and dusty. A tantalizing scent is coming from the kitchen, and when I hurry in, I find Nate at the stove, stirring a large saucepan full of red sauce.

It should be noted that Alvina does not cook, which is how I knew Nathan was the one I’d find here.

“Do I get some of that?” I say. I give him my most winsome, most sisterly smile when he looks over his shoulder at me, and he snorts.

“If you go take a shower first,” he says before returning to the pasta. “You smell.”

He is not wrong.

“Where’s Alvina?” I ask him, and he grunts, jerking his head toward the family room.

I trail through and spot her on the couch, her legs crossed as she watches some sort of reality show that appears to involve lots of women and lots of Botox. Her hair is brown again, and she doesn’t look up at me when she speaks.

“Hello, sweetheart,” she says, waving one airy hand in my direction. “You do smell. Go wash, won’t you?”

“I’m going,” I say. “Your hair looks much better.”

“It does,” she agrees. This is what gets her to press pause. The blonde woman on the screen freezes mid-shout, and Alvina turns to me. “They did a good job, I think.” She smooths her hands over her hair. “It was so horrid before. Daryl saw it just briefly before I rushed home”—she titters—“and of course he said it looked lovely, but really, what do men know?”

Oh, sweet Daryl.

“How did it change colors?” I say, and nerves spike in my chest. The last thing I need is my mother getting suspicious.

But to my relief, her wrinkle-free forehead puckers into a wrinkle-free frown. “I’m not certain,” she says. “Daryl thought maybe the shampoo had gone bad, but I don’t think that happens. Maybe I used something of his daughters’? He threw the bottle away, anyhow.” She gives a shrug and turns her eyes back to the screen. “Go wash up, dear.”

I head for the stairs, but before I leave the room, I say, “Are you guys doing anything fun tomorrow?” I hold my breath as I wait for her answer.

“We’re going on a drive up to the Ridge to watch the sunset,” she says—words that send my heart plummeting. “Daryl says it should be lovely up there.”

The Ridge. They’re going to the Ridge—Make-Out Ridge. And at sunset? It will be beautiful and romantic. They will look at each other with dreamy eyes and everything will feel just right, because Autumn Ridge in the fall has that effect.

I hurry upstairs and take a lightning-fast shower; then I text Dominic.

Me

Our parents are going to MAKE-OUT RIDGE tomorrow evening.