Page 27 of A Million To Fall

Archer gives me a boyish smirk, momentarily distracting me from the thoughts tapping against the inside of my head: still no word from Boston.

I keep thinking I can feel my phone vibrate, but anytime I glance at the screen, it’s blank.

Mr. Longfellow chuckles, refilling his wife’s wine glass. “We’re very pleased with our youngest’s choice. I know many parents who can’t consider themselves as lucky as us when it comes to their offspring’s choice in mates.”

My mom nods, a small frown on her face. “I see that all too often in my line of work. Young people—especially young women—getting trapped in unhealthy relationships. I’m very happy with Skye’s path.”

Look at me following that yellow brick road.

“Are you two originally from Stillwater?” Mrs. Longfellow asks her.

“Dan grew up here. We met in college. And after grad school, we came back here to start a family,” my mom says. Archer notices her empty water glass and refills it before she even asks.

Mrs. Longfellow smiles at her son, then my mom. “And Skye’s your only child?”

My dad chuckles. “Yes. But not for lack of trying.”

My mom lets out a soft sigh. “Skye’s our miracle. Years of trying, then finally IVF.”

“Best money we ever spent,” my dad says.

That earns him an appreciative nod from Mrs. Longfellow. “We had the opposite ‘problem,’” she says, making air quotes. “Once I got pregnant with our oldest, Wilder, it was like Orson just had to look at me funny and boom, I was pregnant again.”

Mr. Longfellow lets out a booming laugh. “Four boys in six years. I was buying diapers in my sleep.”

“But when Archer came along, he put an end to that,” Mrs. Longfellow says with a wink.

“Yes, but mostly because he refused to sleep in his own bed until he was almost ten,” Mr. Longfellow adds. “Not much privacy when you got a kid wedged between you every night.”

A muffled groan slips out from behind the hands covering Archer’s crimson face. “Was that necessary, guys?”

That’s… unexpectedly adorable. Archer definitely doesn’t carry himself like someone who was afraid to sleep alone. Doesn’t look like it, either.

“Archer is your youngest, then?” my mom asks.

“Youngest and best,” Archer says with a smile, the flush ebbing from his cheeks.

“Youngest and most spoiled, more like it,” his dad says, chuckling. “But we’ve always said that raising a family in a small place like Stillwater comes with certain expectations. Reputation matters here. We always tell our sons to be the kind of people who make us proud to share our last name.”

Jeez, it’s like my parents and the Longfellows attended the same parenting summit.

My dad nods. “We couldn’t agree more. We want Skye to be accomplished. Hardworking, educated, poised. To be the kind of young person who opens doors for herself.”

“I can tell we’ll get along very well,” Mr. Longfellow announces, turning to my mom. “What is it that you do for work?”

“I own a non-profit helping individuals leave abusive relationships. We offer all sorts of assistance in navigating that perilous time.”

“Did you know, statistically, the most dangerous time for a victim is when they’re trying to leave an abusive partner?” I offer. I’ve heard my mom repeat this line a million times.

Mrs. Longfellow’s eyebrows rise. “I was not aware of that. Why is that?”

“Abusers are driven by control. A victim leaving is loss of that control. It’s an exceptionally dangerous time for victims and their children. It often requires a coordinated effort. My organization helps with things like restraining orders and government programs.”

“Here in Stillwater?” Mrs. Longfellow asks, sipping her wine.

My mom nods.

Mr. Longfellow’s fork clanks against his dinner plate. “Wait, NorthStar?” he asks. “Is that you?”