Page 135 of These Secret Years

I laugh. “Of course.”

But maybe I shouldn’t have been so hasty because the moment his arms are around me, I can’t fucking breathe. I feel suffocated and almost unbearably hot. I stiffen within a split second, and he quickly drops his arms. “I’m sorry. Did that hurt?”

The gasp I make is embarrassing on every level. “No. No. I just…” What was that? I should try again, tell him I’m ready this time, but instead I’m taking a step away, putting some space between us and breathing air that doesn’t a hundred percent smell like him. “You should get home. Your parents are probably wondering where the fuck you are.”

“I told them I was driving.”

“Oh, well…still. They’ll want to see you.” I should invite him in. I should introduce him to my mom. He’s my friend. He lives in town. That wouldn’t be weird.

Why am I being so weird? Is this me? Am I weird?

“Text me, okay?” he says while I haul my duffel bag onto my shoulder and continue backing away.

I nod. “You can text me, too. I’ll just be here. Or around. Oh shit.” I stop in my tracks. “How are you getting home?”

He frowns down at my car like this is the first time he’s considering this.

Immediately I say, “Take the car. We’ll figure it out later.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It guarantees you’ll have to talk to me again. It’s like—what do they call it? Collateral?”

“I don’t think that’s right,” he says, but he looks just as lost with words as I feel. “I’ll get it back to you tonight.”

I’m on the porch steps now. “I don’t need it tonight. Take your time. We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

I nod. “I’ll talk to you soon.” On that note, I turn around and go inside. The living room is empty, and moments later as I stand there, looking around the space, at the Christmas tree and the old decorations dating back to when I was a little kid, my car starts and slowly pulls out of the drive.

“Sully, is that you?” My mother comes from the direction of the kitchen, her dark bottle brown hair in a messy bun. She’s wearing an actual apron.

“Sully! Sully! Sully!” My sister is around my mom quickly, but both of them freeze at the actual sight of me.

I fake a smile, wave my casted hand at them. “I’m fine. Turns out I’m not a hiker.”

Since I slept most of the day, and my mom is celebrating having a few days off with a box of wine, she and I wind up at the kitchen table, the piles of cookies she and Emma made sit on platters between us, covered in several layers of Saran Wrap. They’ll be taking them to the care center where my sister goes during the summer and days when school is out. It’s for people with special needs, and much of the staff is there around the clock, even on holidays.

My mother is very annoyed that I didn’t call her when I had to go to the hospital. I don’t know why I’m surprised by this, but it didn’t even occur to me to call her. Why heap one more worry onto her plate? But she doesn’t seem all that overburdened tonight, and I don’t know if it’s the wine or the three days off work, or something else she hasn’t told me about.

“Do you even have an emergency contact?”

I did, and it was Adrian. “Yeah, I say, but it wasn’t an emergency. Just a few cuts and bruises.”

“You broke your wrist.” She’s said this multiple times, and that is the wine. It must be, because I certainly don’t need the reminder. I’ve had my share of the box vintage, too, and it’s turned the throb in my wrist to a low thrum.

“Technically not an emergency.”

“Look.” She sounds serious as she puts her elbows on the table and leans toward me. “I know I haven’t been much of a mom to you these last few years, but that was never because I don’t care.”

“I know that, Mom.”

“No, no. I want you to hear this. I don’t like the way you never call me. I don’t like that you don’t spend your breaks here. I hate that I’m losing you to the world when I never really feel like I had the chance to have you in the first place.” She’s teary-eyed now.

I wasn’t expecting this, so I have to take a minute to process it. “You’re not losing me,” I tell her.

“I know you hate coming home⁠—”