Page 101 of All Our Nevers

“I want to talk about something happy,” I pivot. “This is supposed to be my glamorous night out.”

“Hah, alright. Big talk or small talk?”

“You know I like ‘em big,” I say with a wink. “Why don’t you update me on the partner stuff? Have they picked you yet?”

“Okay, well first of all, a touch of superstitious discretion please. I won’t find out for another week or two.”

I knock on my wooden chair.

“I’m up against one other guy, and the senior partners are basically using our most recent work as a decision point.”

“Were the cases you had similar? Can they really compare apples-to-apples like that?”

He shrugs. “Technically they’re matters, not cases, and no, but they’re going to. The other guy’s kind of sloppy, couldn’t spot an unitalicized id if it slapped him in the face—”

“That means nothing to me.”

“—but he’s also got the whole WASP-y New England asshole thing going so he’s kind of a shoe in.”

“You don’t think you have the WASP-y New England asshole thing going?”

“I was raised Catholic, Amelia, not Protestant.”

I laugh. “You know, that actually tracks. Your whole misplaced guilt thing.”

Owen quirks an audacious brow at me. “Did you just make a joke about my relationship to my abused mother?”

“Me? I would never joke.”

“And where’s your Catholic guilt, anyway?” he asks. “Did you skip that week of Sunday school?”

I glance down at my nails, deep blue and sharp. “I was probably out back, hooking up with the preacher’s daughter.”

“Wait, really?” Owen has the starstruck look of a man meeting his idol.

“No, dickwad,” I laugh, giving up decorum as I toss a crust of bread at him. “But I love that you bought it. What an excellent personal brand I’ve cultivated.”

“Hot and annoying,” he says with hearts in his eyes. “Always have been.”

The rest of the meal is… wonderful. Owen’s sarcastic banter paired with duck à l’orange—sweet and hearty and acidic, just the way I like it. It’s enough to distract me from the promise I just made him, the truths I’ll have to tell when it’s only the two of us again.

And sure enough, as soon as we make it to his car, he says, “You don’t have to tell me right now, but I’m here to listen, whenever you’re ready.”

“Wow, you were really waiting to pounce, weren’t you?” I ask, not looking at him as I fasten my seatbelt.

“I mean it, Lia. I want to be someone you can depend on.”

Silence vibrates as I get my bearings. He shifts into drive and the dark streets of Boston begin to slide past the window, all narrow turns and double-parked cars. Eventually, Owen reaches for the car radio, clearly prepared to give up for tonight.

“Can you keep a secret?” I ask.

His hand pauses, floats back to the steering wheel, like any fast motion might spook me off. “Yes.”

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

He sighs. “I kept my mom’s abuse a secret from Andy for seventeen years, didn’t I? Feels like that was a pretty good run.”

“I guess that’s true.” Then something clicks into place. “Wait, you kept it, past tense? Does that mean…?”