Motion(Laws of Physics #1)(42)

But then, once we were on the highway, he said, “You don’t mind if I drive, do you? I’d like to get back before my next birthday.”

Glaring at him from the passenger seat, I asked, “When is your birthday?”

“In a few months.”

I rolled my eyes, pressing my lips together, pretending to be irritated. This made him laugh, a good, deep sound. I liked the sound, and I liked the way a smile looked on his face, which was why I’d pretended to be irritated. He seemed to enjoy teasing me. And, you know what? I liked it too.

Lisa’s teasing hadn’t been actual teasing—but rather passive aggressive barbs—in a very long time. Leo used to tease me, but we’d been speaking so infrequently these days and our calls had grown shorter and shorter.

Other than Allyn, no one teased me. I’d been in very real danger of taking myself too seriously, a personality trait of my parents’ I’d never wanted to share. I firmly believed that good-natured teasing was good for keeping the ego in check, and therefore, it was good for the soul.

We drove in silence for a while and I thought about the day’s events, feeling a small smile on my lips wax and wane at intervals. My brain kept snagging on and returning to one short conversation during dessert where Abram’s dad, a man of few words, had questioned Abram about his music.

“How’s the song writing going?” He sounded genuinely interested and I found this enthralling.

As far as I could piece together, Abram had dropped out of high school to pursue music. Where most parents would still be holding a grudge about potentially being embarrassed by their child’s rash choices (in front of their friends and colleagues), Abram’s parents seemed more interested in having a relationship with their son.

Fascinating.

The attention evident in Mr. Harris’s voice was one of the main reasons I’d kept smiling at the memory. How would that be? To have a parent interested in what brought you joy? To have a parent who valued the actual relationship over the value of having the relationship?

The other reason I kept smiling had to do with Abram’s response.

“Great,” Abram answered immediately. But then, as though needing to clarify, he added, “Now it’s great.”

“Now?”

Abram lifted his chin in my direction, his gaze sliding over me in a way that had my breath catching before his eyes dropped to his cup and he cleared his throat. “Since Lisa, it’s been going great.”

“Really?” I sat up straighter, equally confused and surprised by this news.

“Yes.” He rolled his lips between his teeth, not raising his eyes from the surface of his coffee. “Really.”

I’d felt myself smile in wonder, still confused, but also flattered. An enjoyable, spreading warmth had expanded in my chest, a feeling I couldn’t seem to stop chasing on the quiet drive home.

I appreciated the quiet. Finding other people who also liked quiet, with whom it wasn’t strained or awkward, seemed to be a rare occurrence.

I thought I’d be spending the time grappling with residual guilt instead of trying to relive the best parts of the day, but I didn’t. In retrospect, passively plying Abram’s mom and sister for information about him didn’t feel like such a terrible thing.

Sure, in the moment, I’d worried that all my morals and ethics were crumbling around me, that failing to correct someone else’s misunderstanding today would undoubtedly lead to running for a US senate seat and golfing with big tobacco tomorrow.

The slope wasn’t nearly as steep or as slippery as I’d assumed.

But then randomly, an image of Lisa stripping off her clothes and climbing into bed with a clueless and sleeping Abram flashed in my mind’s eye. I frowned, shifted in my seat, and glared at the unpleasant image.

Or . . .

Or is the gradual steepness of the slope exactly the problem? Was this how Lisa’s lies had started? By her own admission, she was now a serial liar. One trivial omission had become a white lie, which had become a gray lie, which had become a Tyler-trash-island whopper?

“What’s going on over there?”

Abram’s question didn’t quite pull me from my musings and I said distractedly, “Incremental temperature increases.”

“What?”

“If you boil a frog slowly, it doesn’t notice.”

I felt his eyes move over my profile, which finally stirred me from the morbid reflections. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“About boiling frogs?” His voice did a cute little catch thing at the end of his sentence, like he was worried that boiling frogs might lead to boiling bunnies.

I slid my eyes to the side, clandestinely peering at him and wondering what he thought—what he really thought—of Lisa’s behavior last year. He’d been pissed at me (her) a few days ago, but when we’d discussed it last night, he’d forgiven me (her) easily.

“Do you mind telling me about the night I, uh, the night we met?”

Abram’s eyebrows climbed a half inch on his forehead. “You really don’t remember anything?”

“Humor me.”

He glanced at me once, twice, three times before saying, “I guess-I mean, you were pretty drunk. Do you remember the party?”

“The party,” I said vaguely, using a tone I typically employed when my professors or classmates would suggest something foolish and I didn’t want to sound judgmental, but rather wanted to give them the time and space to correct or withdraw their faulty suggestion.