Well Met(70)

“I don’t know, I think that’s good. Boring is better than scary.”

“True.” She huffed out a laugh. “I think I can use some boring for a while. At least as far as I’m concerned. So let’s talk about you instead.”

I blinked innocently. “Me?”

“You. Did you get laid last night or what?”

I nearly spit my iced tea across the table. “April!” I jerked my head toward Caitlin, who looked at the both of us with wide eyes.

“Is that where you were?” Caitlin asked. “I thought you went somewhere after you took Mom to work.”

“I am not talking about this now.” I crossed my arms.

“Oh, yes, you are,” April said. “Caitlin’s not a child. Well, she is. You are,” she told her. “Don’t go thinking you can pull this kind of shit for a long, long time. Like maybe when you’re in your thirties.”

“No fair! Em isn’t that old, and she gets to—”

“Have some more salad.” I shoved the serving bowl at my niece.

But April wouldn’t let it go, and turned back to me with bright eyes. “Did you pick up someone at Jackson’s last night? That’s where you went, right?”

“Yes. But no . . .” I sighed. “I went to Jackson’s, but I didn’t pick up someone. I . . .”

“Wait.” April snapped her fingers and looked at Caitlin. “You said some guys were fighting over her at Faire? It’s the hot coach, isn’t it? The one that wears a kilt?”

I put down my fork. “Okay, these are Caitlin’s teachers we’re talking about here.” April was pretty permissive in her parenting, but this was bordering on weird. Should Caitlin be here for this conversation?

“He’s not my teacher.” Caitlin shook her head and reached for her glass of milk. “I had Ms. Simmons for gym.”

“See?” April said. “Not her teacher. So spill.”

I sighed. I wasn’t getting out of it. “No. It’s not Mitch. It’s . . . it’s Simon.” My skin buzzed just speaking his name. Damn, I had it bad.

April blinked, her expression blank. “Who?” But Caitlin gasped and dropped her fork.

“Seriously? You’re going out with Mr. G?”

Technically I hadn’t gone out with Simon; a hookup didn’t count as a date. But I didn’t correct Caitlin, because it was close enough.

April peered at me. “Then why don’t you look happier about it? Do you like the guy?”

“I do.” I had a flash of memory of straddling his lap at the kitchen table, sinking into his kiss, and I had to blow out a breath. “I really do.”

“So what’s the problem? When are you seeing him again?” She frowned when she took in my expression. “Oh. Okay. Caitlin, you’re excused.”

“But you said I could hear . . .”

“I lied. I need to talk to your aunt. If you go watch TV with the volume up, I’ll do the dishes, but you better go now before I change my mind.”

That did it. Caitlin was out of her seat faster than I’d ever seen her move. She paused by my chair on her way out. “If you’re still going out with Mr. G when he’s my English teacher, I’ll get a better grade, right? Don’t break up with him and screw up my GPA, okay?”

“Out!” April bellowed, and Cait was gone. She turned to me, her expression serious again. “Was this a onetime thing?”

I groaned. “I don’t know. I’m not . . .” I stabbed at my salad, taking my frustration out on the lettuce. “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

“What do you mean? It’s not like you’ve never been in a relationship before.”

“Yeah, but look how well that went.” I tossed down my fork. “I met Jake at a frat party when I was nineteen. We were drunk, we . . . you know.” I shrugged. “We were just together after that. He never asked me out; I never accepted.”

“So what’s different now?”

“Nothing. Well, we weren’t drunk, but . . .” I shook my head. “A month ago I hated the guy, and I thought he hated me. This is like a summer romance on steroids. What if he’s done with me once Faire is over?” It was too soon for me to ask him for any promises, and it was certainly too soon for him to offer any. The uncertainty of it all gnawed at the pit of my stomach.

April chewed on her bottom lip. “Love is always a risk, isn’t it? But here’s a question for you: how does he make you feel?”

I thought about that. I thought about Simon and the word “love” and my heart felt buoyant. It must have shown on my face because April nodded.

“There you go,” she said. “Okay, look at it this way. What if someone else came to you with this? What if I came to you with this? What would you tell me to do?”

I didn’t even need to think. “I’d tell you to give it a chance. That this could be the real thing.” I groaned and hid my face in my hands. Why was it so easy when it was someone else’s problem? Why couldn’t I give the same advice to myself?

“Exactly. Dummy. Give the guy a chance. Don’t write him off, don’t decide he’s going to fuck it up before even letting him try. That’s all I ask.”