Page 143 of Breakaway Hearts

“How’s Granddad?” I ask instead, and she goes off about how he’s doing more than he should at his age, then insists she’s trying to kill him if she tries to stop him, so she doesn’t know what to do. I listen to her stories while perusing Owen’s shelves, which contain regular college books, but also fantasy novels, a therapy-centered memoir by Rachel Glass, and his own copies of the Time Hunters series.

“Have you tried getting someone else to tell him?” I suggest, making my way to a corkboard of pictures. I’ve never been left alone in here with the lights on, but behind the little Wyn Wolves flags and course syllabi pinned to the wall, there are at least a dozen pictures of Owen’s family in ridiculous, themed costumes. The older ones, where he’s a little kid dressed as Roo to Tab’s piglet, or a tiny ringbearer in an actual wedding, are tame compared to the more recent ones, where at least thirty people are elaborately dressed as Toy Story characters, Lord of the Rings, Disney…it’s adorable. And everyone looks ridiculously happy, like not a single one of them was forced into it.

“Madison?”

“What?” I realize I haven’t been listening to my mom for a bit.

“I asked if you’ve got your eye on anyone? Mrs. Hargraves thinks Jason has a secret girlfriend,” she adds in a way that tells me at least one of them thinks I’m her.

It makes me realize that I’ve been a terrible friend who, while happy Jason’s hanging out with people, has never once asked who. “She thinks the only reason he wouldn’t tell her is if it was you.” Mom laughs like it’s a hilarious idea, but I hear her hopefulness that it’s true. “I would completely understand wanting to keep that between yourselves until you’re sure, but you know I love you and only want what’s best for you.” I think she means she understands Jason not wanting to admit he’s dating the help, but she can keep a secret.

“I’m not dating Jason,” I tell her, sighing at yet another reminder why texting sporadically is easier.

“I just worry about you sometimes, Maddie. Out there on your own with Jason, always so busy…” She’s not reproaching me, but I still wince. “An education and good grades are important, but you need to live a little too. Lord knows why you suddenly decided to become a lawyer, but if you’re not enjoying it⁠—”

“That’s the buzzer, I have to let you go, but I love you and I’ll see you Thursday, okay?”

“I can’t wait,” she tells me with a sigh. “I love you, sweetheart.”

I hang up and let out a deep breath, try to calm myself before⁠—

“Sorry,” Owen says when I jump. He covers his excellent abs, which would be the perfect distraction, with a t-shirt before coming over, looking like he’s about to ask me what’s wrong.

“What’s the story behind these?” I point to his wall with a bright smile before he can.

Owen tries to read me before saying, “Yearly tradition, started by my cousin-person, because so many of my relatives live in different places, or spend half their time filming on location, so we choose a theme and all dress up for our version of a Christmas card, which gets displayed for all to see.”

“I’m assuming the gap years are particularly embarrassing?” My first thought would have been that he removed the ones with Cami, but there are a few with stickers on peoples’ faces.

“One of my nephews was really into WWE,” he gives an exaggerated wince. “How was your mom?”

“Good. Worried about my Granddad, but he’ll probably outlive us all.” I smile, but the one he gives me doesn’t reach his eyes.

“She doesn’t know, does she?”

I would lie, but he heard. And Mom always says trust works both ways.

“I can. If you want me to. I just—she’ll have questions, and she’ll want to meet you and⁠—”

“Moms love me,” he assures me, but the smile is still for my benefit. “I meant about what happened.”

“Oh, I…no.” I pick nervously at my sweater. “She was out of town at the time, and Jason kept looking at me like I was going to break, like he’d failed me, and I knew my mom would be the same, so I just…I let her believe everything was okay.”

Owen nods, contemplative, and I want to ask what he’s thinking, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.

“I’m really grateful you trusted me with it,” he says, which could be him implying I should tell her, but he doesn’t press. “When are you coming back?”

“Probably Saturday morning, in time for practice.” They have a game in the afternoon.

He nods, but looks disappointed.

“Why?”

“I was going to invite you to my sister’s. So you could try football. Not to convert you, hockey still wins, hands down…but you mentioned you’d never played, and it has its merits.”

I don’t know if I’m more touched he remembered, or that he wanted to bring me to his family’s Thanksgiving.

The buzzer on the oven actually goes off before I can respond, so Owen kisses my forehead and says, “Some other time,” before we go downstairs.