Page 26

Eight Years Before

The first time met Amber’s parents, he brought flowers for her mother. His own mama had told him to. “Gotta win over the mother,” she said.

“What about the father?”

had asked, and she had tsked away the question, like fathers were irrelevant. ’s own father was. Irrelevant or absent. Same thing.

But it had been Mr. Crane who made ’s hands so sweaty with nerves that first night that he’d worried the silverware might slip right through his grasp. He must not have completely blown it because he was invited back, and the next dinner had been easier. After Mr. Crane made a passing reference to how his only regret about not having a son was having no one to toss a football with, Amber’s sister had said, “I can catch a football,”

and so before the third dinner, had brought a ball with him. Mr. Crane and Missy had enjoyed playing catch so much that on his fourth dinner, bought a nerf football—easier for Missy to catch, he thought—as a gift. By the fifth dinner, there’d been talk of a fly-fishing trip that summer while Amber was away at summer camp. Mr. Crane had even offered to loan a pair of his waders.

But then, that spring, abruptly, it all stopped. When came for the long-planned dinner the night before Amber left for camp, Mr. Crane declined to throw the football around. There was no mention of the fishing trip at that dinner, or during the following weeks. When emailed Mr. Crane to ask about dates so he could get his shifts covered, there was no response. All summer, as mowed lawns and whacked weeds and blew leaves and laid bricks, a sense of unease gnawed at his stomach, right next to the deep chasm of missing Amber.

“You’re more whipped now than you were before you were getting some,”

Dean teased, reinstituting the meowing. This bothered . Not the pussy reference, which he was used to, but how right Dean was. How cleaved in half felt when Amber was away from him. How much he needed her to feel like himself. This kind of dependence was okay if they stayed together—and Amber insisted they would, first college, then marriage, and then happily ever after, just like her parents—but what if they didn’t?

He had his first taste of what such a separation would feel like that summer. And he went full-on batshit, calculating days, then hours, then minutes until she came back. He requested extra shifts at work, to keep him busy and exhaust his body so his mind might click off at night and not obsess about Amber.

When Amber returned from camp, was not invited to pick her up from the bus, or to join the family for her welcome-home barbecue. He had to wait until the next day to see her.

She came over and they had reunion sex in his empty house. Afterward, when he was calmer, Amber’s head cradled into the crook of his arm, he’d asked if her dad was okay.

“He’s fine. Why?”

explained he’d been expecting them to go on that fishing trip together. “I guess he didn’t go this year.”

“Oh, he went,”

Amber said.

’s heart had been lazy in his chest, anesthetized by the sex and having Amber in his arms, but now the engine of worry fired up again. “Did I do something to upset him?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

’s heart pounded a hard two-punch, so powerful he was surprised Amber didn’t feel it. “Don’t worry about what?”

“Missy said he found my stash of rubbers.”

Amber seemed to think this was amusing but felt sick to his stomach.

“Relax,”

she said. “I didn’t get into trouble. He’s just a little pissed that you stole my virginity. He’ll get over it. I don’t think he told my mom because I would’ve heard about that, and for the record, she wanted to invite you to the barbecue but Dad wanted it to be ‘just family.’”

hated everything about this statement. Stole? Like he was a criminal. He’d been a virgin, too. It had been Amber’s idea to have sex. And “just family”? Amber was his family. But what he hated most was her laughing tone. How amused she seemed at the prospect of her father disliking . Maybe this was a luxury Amber could afford because she never had to worry about a father loving her. Not everyone was so lucky.

That was the moment understood how deeply intertwined he’d become with Amber. Dean would cite this as proof that he was whipped, but it was worse than that. It was like they were conjoined and now separation really could kill him. And in spite of Amber’s happily-ever-after fantasies, separation now seemed possible. What if her dad forbade them from seeing each other? What if her mom gave her an ultimatum: or the family?

It was so fragile, what they had. It was a terrible feeling—this fear of losing something precious. Amber had backup: a big family, lots of friends. She’d be fine. But knew that he’d be useless without her. He hated that feeling, and for the tiniest flash, he hated Amber for causing it.

“Don’t obsess over it,”

Amber said, kissing him in bed. “One day we’ll be married and he’ll have to love you, like my gammy had to love him, and then you can go on all the fishing trips you want.”

They’d been talking casually about a future together like this for months now, but for the first time, didn’t trust it. He could still see it happening, but now he didn’t know if he wanted it to. Not if it could leave him this defenseless.

Amber looked at his bedside clock. “I have to go. I promised Casey and Alexa I’d go ice-skating at the mall with them.”

She slipped out of bed, looking behind her. “Wanna come?”

The word no was on his lips. He wasn’t a good skater and he tried not to invade Amber’s time with her girlfriends. He didn’t want to breed resentments, and anyway, while Alexa was cool, Casey had a sharpness that put him on edge.

But for whatever reason, that time, said, “Sure, I’ll come.”