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Chuckling, she cracks her back, climbing out of the bed. “How much time do we have before we get breakfast with Jordan?”

“As much as you need. He had to leave early; work stuff.”

She crinkles her forehead at me. “Huh. He came by and told you that?”

“Yeah,” I lie, “you were passed out. You didn't even hear him comment on how cute you are when you drool in your sleep.”

That makes her eyes widen and sets me giggling. “You're kidding. He didn't see me.”

“I'll let you wonder. Go shower, we'll get some coffee in you for the hangover I know you're about to nurse.”

Mom looks offended, but she winces as she stands. I don't say anything, just keep it to myself while she avoids my eyes on her way to the bathroom.

After checking out of the hotel, we get in her car. The drive back is smooth with a single brief stop for coffee at a Dunkin' drive-through. Mom blasts the radio, singing at the top of her lungs. I roll my eyes at her attempts to cajole me into joining her. Finally, when she puts on a classic, “Bad to the Bone”, I stop fighting and belt out the lyrics until we're crying tears of laughter.

“We should do this more often,” I say over the wind rushing through the windows.

“Do what?”

“Just get away from Crestwind.”

She gives me a brief look from the corner of her eye, then stares at the road. “Yes. I'd really like that.”

We've discussed it before. It never felt possible. Not just because of running the florist shop, but because of a fear deeply rooted in both of us that warns not to stray from home for too long. The idea that if one of us isn't there to watch over things, shit will hit the fan. We live together, eat together, work together, but we never talk about what happened. Mentioning it makes it real.

“It was generous of Dezmond's father to take us out like this,” she says.

I keep staring out at the scenery. “He's pretty great.”

“Who? Dez, or Jordan?”

Grabbing my mostly-water iced coffee from the cup holder, I suck the straw, buying time.Tell her what's going on.Anxiety makes my armpits sticky. I drink more cold coffee; it doesn't cool me down. “Hey, Mom? What would you say if I … didn't think Dez was great? Like, maybe not even good.”

I glance over, find her staring. She darts her eyes back at the road. “He did that to your face, didn't he?”

My mouth flaps open. “Yes,”I admit.

“I wish I was more shocked. His rap sheet has to be a mile long.” Another glance, and I catch the concern, the love, welling in her sand-colored irises. “I didn't want to bring it up, but since you have, I've been quietly panicking over this wedding. Dezmond is the exact type of abusive jerk I thought you'd be smarter than to mess with.”

“I am,” I whisper. “Smart enough, I mean. He's wrong for me.”For anyone.Drawing myself up in my seat, I clutch my plastic cup. My hands are wet.Condensation or sweat?“If I want to call the wedding off, you'll support me?”

“Of course I will!” she shouts, and she has to brake abruptly so she doesn't rear-end the car in front of us. I'm breathing heavily; so is she. “Lori, all that matters to me is how happy you are. That's it. Full stop, okay?”

“Okay,” I repeat. I'm sweltering now. The issue isn't that my heart doesn't belong to Dezmond. It's admitting who it does belong to. “Jordan …"

Her eyebrows make perfect arches. “What about him? Are you nervoushe'llget mad that the marriage won't happen? He seems like a reasonable guy, he'll understand.”

She starts the car forward again.

I say, “It's not that.” Hanging my arm out the window, I let my fingers pierce through the air. Then I tilt them up, bending at my wrist, the pressure smashing the wide surface. I point down again, then up, until my hand is swimming through the bursts of wind like a fish in the sea.

“I think I like him. I know he's older, but—”

“What's going on?” Mom asks, ending my hard-won chance at spilling my guts.

Lights flash ahead on our street. I sit up, choke the seatbelt, and dig it into my neck without feeling the pain. We've reached our little home in Crestwind.

The police are waiting for us.