The Speed of Light: A Novel(53)

“Okay, hon.” Then Mom’s voice brightens. “Hey, you kids have a great time. Big day, huh? First time meeting Connor’s family?”

She’s trying so hard to gush, to share this moment with me, that I can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, pretty exciting.”

“You two are getting serious, aren’t you?” Her voice is still cheerful, but it’s a little forced now. Something else is coming in this line of questioning.

“I guess so,” I say slowly.

“Have you talked about . . . you know, your MS? I mean, does he know about it?”

I scoff. “Of course he knows about it.” Connor glances over again, and I roll my eyes at him.

“Good. But have you talked about the future?” There’s a pause, and she quickly adds, “I just want to make sure you’re thinking about it, honey.”

Only every second of every day. “I am, Mom.” My voice is quieter—there’s an edge to it—and when Connor glances over, I don’t meet his eyes. The truth is, we haven’t had much of a conversation about my illness since he picked me up from the support group meeting that night months ago.

But I still have plenty of summer left, still within the timeline of the plan, so I leave that conversation to future Simone. For now, I’d much rather talk about Star Wars and mint chocolate chip ice cream and Chris Stapleton’s music and everything else we have in common—I want to talk about all the things that normal couples do. I want to pretend that I am normal, that there’s nothing wrong with me—why burst this perfect new bubble of love?

Mom sighs. “We just want the best for you, honey. You know we’re always here for you.”

“I know.” She means well—she didn’t intend to plant the shaky seed of doubt in my gut, but it’s there now, and I take a deep breath, try not to let it sprout. “Thanks, Mom. You guys have a great Fourth, okay?” I force a laugh. “And tell Dad and Emmett to be careful with those fireworks, for crying out loud.”

Connor taps my arm. “I want to talk to Emmett,” he whispers when I look over.

I narrow my eyes in confusion. “Uh, Mom? Is Emmett around? Connor wants to talk to him.”

“Sure, Monie—he’s standing right here. Take care now and have fun. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

I hand the phone to Connor, who takes it with a grin. “Hey, Emmett, what’s up? How’d everything go?”

I lean in, unable to hear my brother but trying to decipher this one-sided conversation. But it involves a lot of “uh-huhs” and “okays” from Connor, so I’m not getting anywhere. “Just remember what I told you,” he says at last. “It’ll all work out.”

I lean back, arms crossed, as Connor ends the call. “So . . . what was that about?”

“Oh, you know. Guy stuff.”

He smirks out the windshield, but when he turns toward me, he sees the look I’m giving him and his smirk vanishes. “Okay, well, I gave him some advice.”

I raise my eyebrows. “About the snowmobile?”

“About Kaley.”

“You did? When?”

“In the garage that night when we were up for Memorial Day.” He gives me a sly smile. “Before you came barging in during guy time.”

I glare at him; then my eyes widen. “Wait. Do you know what happened between them? Why they broke up, I mean?”

He shoots me a puzzled look. “You don’t?”

“No, he hasn’t told any of us.”

I ignore the puff of pride in Connor’s chest and wait for him to speak. “Well, apparently they’d been arguing a lot, and then at a party, she kissed another guy to make him mad.”

“Oh God. Poor guy.”

“Yeah.” Connor looks down, his eyes more pained than I expect them to be. “They broke up that night, but he said he’s been thinking a lot and realizing he’s partly to blame, too—he was spending so much time with gaming and stuff that he didn’t realize she was unhappy.”

“Wow.” I’m sad for my little brother but proud of his maturity, too. “So . . . what was your advice?”

He sighs. “I told him if he still cares about her, he should tell her. No sense holding it in. Sometimes you have to stand up and say how you feel—fight for what you want, even if you end up looking like a fool. But then, you know, back off. All you can do is be honest and hope for the best. If she doesn’t feel the same, then you need to respect that and let her go.”

I blink. “Wow. That’s . . . some pretty extensive advice.”

He shrugs. “I have some experience in that whole area.”

A twinge of jealousy, but mostly pain as I think about someone hurting him. I keep my voice light. “Standing up and fighting for what you want?”

He smiles. “Mostly the ‘looking like a fool’ part.” I reach for his hand, and he squeezes mine. “Ancient history, though. Things turned out the way they were meant to.”

Suddenly nothing else matters.

He’s right. Things have indeed turned out the way they were meant to.

And maybe things will keep turning out.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The lake is gorgeous, its rippling waves sparkling in the glow of the sun. The breeze carries the scent of summer—of sunscreen and sweat, charcoal and citronella—and also the laughter and chatter of family as we approach. It reminds me of my childhood, of visiting family in Minnesota, chasing Emmett around the beach, laughing as Dad tried to water-ski like he did in his “glory days.”