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She lays her hand in mine. I want to go back and carry that box, let her be furious before she had to be brave. I can’t. But I can listen now.
“I’m better when I have a plan.”
“They’re overrated.” I look toward the flames. “ I spent two thousand dollars tonight without one.”
She laughs, then swipes at her eye. I offer a clean handkerchief, relieved to have something useful in my pocket.
“Prepared for everything.” She presses it underneath her eye.
“Everything except you.” I meet her gaze.
She shifts closer and leans against me. I put my arm around her and feel her relax, inch by inch. When she lifts her face, I want to kiss her so badly that I stop breathing. Her eyes move to my mouth before she hesitates.
“I don’t know whether I’m ready.” She lowers her eyes.
“Then we wait.” I brush her cheek. “Wanting to kiss you doesn’t mean I have to make tonight harder.”
She leans against me again. Even with her hesitation, her trust feels more intimate than I imagined.
At her mother’s porch, she keeps my jacket and handkerchief. “Nine tomorrow.” She pulls my coat tighter around her shoulders. “Bring a plan for enjoying yourself.”
“I’m enjoying myself.” I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear.
“Me too.” She grins and steps inside before I can respond, and I feel the weight of the last three years lift off my shoulders.
seven
Anissa
Mom has two mugs waiting when I come downstairs the next morning. I consider retreating, but avoiding a difficult conversation suddenly seems less appealing.
“I spoke to Silas about three years ago.” I sit opposite her and sip my coffee.
“I wondered.” She puts down her butter knife. “Tell me what he said.”
I explain the scholarship conversation. She listens with her hands folded, looking older by the time I finish. I want her to understand, but I don’t want to punish her.
“I was afraid.” She rubs her napkin’s edge. “When you said you might stay, I panicked. Your father wanted you to have that chance.”
“I said I might defer a term.” I hold her gaze. “I was thinking aloud. You could have talked to me.”
“I should have.” She reaches across the table. “I’m sorry.”
Without excuses, the apology lands quietly. I take her hand, and some of my anger eases.
“I’m proud of you.” She squeezes my hand. “Not just the daughter with the Chicago job—the one sitting here in my kitchen too.”
“I didn’t steal anything.”
“I know.” She leans forward. “I have always known.”
By the time Silas knocks, I have changed twice and quit pretending the cream sweater is an accidental choice. I want him to notice my waist. The pause he takes when I open the door makes me glad I left my hair down too.
“Good morning.” He raises a paper bag and a folded map. “The plan is mostly legible.”
“Should I be nervous?” I tease, loving how easy our conversation is.
“Only about my handwriting.”
