Page 93 of Robbin’ the Rich

“This is my middle son, Micah. Micah, this is Dave and Susan and their daughter Robin.”

I nodded and muttered a greeting, still unsure of how to respond in this situation. Robin’s eyes were still glued to me. I needed her to know it was still me. No matter what was going through her mind right now I was still the man she’d spent the past six weeks talking to and spending time with.

I did the only thing I could think of to reassure her.

I winked.

20

ROBIN

“Ahh yes. Here is our middle son. Micah.”

No. It was not possible. There were lots of people named Micah.

"Robin."

My mother's voice pulled my attention back and my gaze lifted.

And landed on… Micah.

At first my brain refused to cooperate. The face was familiar, blue eyes behind glasses, messy blond hair.

There had to be a mistake, but I knew that face.

No.

No, no, no.

I think the conversation moved on around us, but I couldn’t be sure. The entirety of my brain was hung up on the fact that this could not be my Micah.

Then he winked.

Anyone else at the table would have missed it entirely. The small gesture made me want to throw up. There was no denying it now. But I knew exactly what it meant. It was our thing. Or it was before whatever this was.

Was this all a trick? Some elaborate ruse? How could I have been so dumb? How could I have fallen for this? How could I have trusted him so blindly?

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stay in that room another second.

My chair scraped sharply against the floor as I stood.

The conversation stopped. Every face turned toward me. I barely noticed. My mother said something. I think she called my name. Someone else asked if I was okay.

The words blurred together into meaningless noise. The only thing I could focus on was getting out.

The dining room doors swung open as I pushed through them. My pulse hammered wildly beneath my skin as I crossed the restaurant at a pace just shy of running.

Behind me, I vaguely heard my mother calling my name again. I didn't stop.

For weeks I'd been telling myself that maybe people could surprise you. Maybe they weren't always what you expected. Maybe relationships were worth the risk.

Because somehow, despite everything I knew about the world, I'd let myself believe I was safe.

The cold hit me the second I pushed through the restaurant doors.

November air hit me like a slap, stealing my breath and snapping me out of the strange, underwater haze that had settled over everything inside. I stopped on the sidewalk and sucked in a lungful of freezing air, trying to make my brain catch up with reality. Unfortunately, reality was the problem.

I stared out across the parking lot as families came and went carrying leftovers and children and pie boxes. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. A car door slammed. The world continued moving with complete indifference to the fact that mine had just tipped sideways.