Page 96

“Are you going to sleep in…our room?” The idea of him in there alone adds to my building unease.

“No.” He looks disgusted at the idea.

I lower my gaze, hating what I’m about to ask. “Can we just pretend tonight that everything is okay between us? I really don’t want to deal with my mom’s judgment.”

Tate’s sneakers come into view. “I’m not pretending right now.” A curled finger raises my chin. “But if you need me to play nice with your mom like I’ve always done, I’ll do that. I don’t want to make this worse for you. As for the sleeping situation, we’ll sort something out. If I have to sleep at the foot of your bed like a good boy, I won’t complain.”

I smack his shoulder, my smile breaking through the anxiety. “You will not sleep on the floor.”

“A nice bedtime scratch behind the ear before bed.” He thumps his leg into the floor, tongue lolling to the side.

“You’re an idiot.” In seconds, I’m wheezing with laughter, bent over in near hysterics.

Tate straightens, a little exerted by his performance. A lazy grin plays on his lips, his eyes on my mouth. “I’ve missed that laugh.”

I frown. “I laugh. I laugh all the time.”

“Yeah, but I’ve still missed it.” He steps toward the bed and starts stripping the sheets. “Give me ten minutes up here and I’ll start dinner. We’ve got this. And hey, maybe this time, it’ll be different.”

It isn’t different.

If anything, it’s worse.

I barely survive the twenty minutes spent entertaining my parents in the living room while Tate prepares dinner. And when I say entertaining, I mean listening to my mother complain about everything. The neighbors. The kids on their street. The weather. The stores closing down. My dad zones out, eyes glued to the TV, a show on catfishing significantly more interesting than my mom’s constant carping.

“Did you hear me, Talia?”

I look up at my mom. “Sorry, what?”

She sighs. “I asked if Tate’s mother visits you?”

“Oh, yeah. Annie comes out a couple of times a year. She hasn’t seen the new house, though.” For obvious reasons.

Her lips thin. “It must be nice to have the means to visit whenever she wants.”

This again. “Mom, we offer to pay for her travel just as we do for you and Dad. It isn’t my fault you’ve never taken up our offer.”

She flicks her hand in the air. “We are now. Your father has the receipt for the flights and cab fare. You still have our bank details from last time?”

I glance at the doorway, checking Tate isn’t within earshot. “Yeah, I have them. I’ll send it over tomorrow.”

“Make sure you do. Airport food is expensive.”

I endure another five minutes before Tate pops his head in. “Dinner’s ready.”

We move into the dining room. Tate gives my father the seat at the head of the table, my mom on his left, while Tate and I sit opposite her. Chicken-fried steak, creamy gravy, mashed potatoes, and green beans are portioned out, the mouthwatering food steaming hot and delicious.

“Ah, I’ve missed this.” I reload my fork with a little of everything.

“That’s a lot of carbs, Talia.”

My hand drops, wrist limp.

Tate stiffens beside me, but he maintains his cool demeanor. “How are things in Canyon Pass?”

“The convenience store closed down,” my dad mumbles.

“The post office is next. We have to drive forty minutes for groceries now. The town is declining more and more by the day.”