Chapter Eighteen
Kristen drops me off at home first. Thankfully, with the boys in the car, she doesn’t have another chance to try to get me to gush about how great the date was.
“My bag’s in the trunk,” I remind her as I get out.
“I’ll pop it for you.”
Maurice slides out after me and opens the trunk all the way. Before I can tell him I’m fine, a voice calls out from the house.
My dad materializes from behind a hedge, dragging our trash cans behind him toward the curb, toward us.
“Hey, Mr. Jones,” Kristen calls out.
“That your dad?” Maurice asks, closing the trunk.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Um, you don’t have to meet him or anything like that,” I say, in place of admitting that I don’t really want them to meet.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind saying hi.”
Dad walks up and chats with Kristen for a moment. She introduces Vincent and Maurice, and since Maurice is still standing outside the car, he and my dad shake hands.
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Maurice says.
“Same to you. You guys have fun?” Dad asks, glancing at me.
“We just went to Rockne’s,” I say, starting down the driveway in hopes Dad will catch the hint.
“Oh, so you won’t be needing any of the honey-glazed salmon I have in the oven?” he teases, gesturing toward the house.
“That sounds delicious, Mr. J.,” Kristen says, talking through the open window.
“I’ll definitely have room for that,” I tell him. “I’ll see you guys, okay?”
We wrap up our goodbye and I walk to the house with Dad. He’s still wearing his clothes from work, so he probably just got home.
“Your mom said you and Kristen were… uh… looking for… boys,” he says, though “boys” comes out more like a question.
“Ew, Dad.” I can’t help but laugh. “She’s just trying to help me find a date to the festival, that’s all.”
Dad adjusts his glasses as we head inside. “And this boy, is he a contender?”
I remember what Mom said, about how she always thought Jameson and I would get together. I know that my parents don’t have any reason to think I’d be interested in girls instead of boys, but talking about it with them isn’t the same now that any conversation about me dating a guy is a lie.
“Maurice is… nice,” I tell him. “But that’s all.”
Dad nods, glancing around the living room as I drop my bag by the doorway to the kitchen. I can tell he has more to say, so I hover. I can smell the salmon from here, the honey glaze tinged with sesame.
“You know, it’s okay if you want more.”
I was expecting some reminder of the rules, like no boys in the house when they aren’t home, or me texting if I’m going out with one alone, not that.
“I’m not really interested in dating right now,” I tell him. I cross my ankles and lean against the doorframe.
“You can, though. You’re allowed to date—”
“I know I’m allowed to date,” I remind him.
“You just never… have,” he says slowly, considering me a little too intensely.
“What are you getting at?” I ask, forcing a smile in hopes I can keep the conversation light and vague.
“I just mean that you’re allowed to date. And I hope that if you do meet a boy you like, you know that you can talk to us about it.”
I swallow the bitterness simmering in my throat. If I meet a boy, I can talk to them about it.
I sigh, ready to retreat to my room. “If I meet a boy that I like, you’ll be the first to know—after Kristen, of course.”
He cracks a smile. “Of course.”
After dinner and a shower, I close myself in my room and open FaceTime to call Hannah. She answers after a couple rings, her face lighting up the screen.
“Hey, you,” she says softly, her eyes warm.
“Hey,” I say, though it comes out on a deep breath as relief washes over me. I’ve been waiting all evening—all afternoon—for this. “I’m sorry about earlier.”
Her smile is faint. “I get it, Clarity.”
“There’s something else,” I say, taking another deep breath. She waits, her brows pinching with concern. “Kristen surprised me with a double date with Maurice today.”
Hannah’s eyes widen slightly, but she stays quiet.
“I thought she just wanted to hang out, but we got there and then Maurice just showed up. Nothing happened; we just talked and ate at Rockne’s. But I didn’t want to keep it from you.”
Hannah doesn’t look away. Her face softens a little, which eases some of my nerves.
“I get why you went with Kristen. And I get that this kind of stuff is going to happen. It has to if using Maurice as a cover is going to be believable. I don’t love it—I especially don’t love that you got to have a first date with your fake boyfriend before your real girlfriend. But I’m not mad.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s not my fake boyfriend.
He’s supposed to be a guy I’m getting to know,” I say, because I don’t find her joke funny.
Even though she’s not serious, she’s the only person I can acknowledge the truth with, and I need to do that to keep my wires uncrossed and to keep myself sane.
“I wish you didn’t have to hide who you are.”
“I wish that too. I promise I’m going to find a way to make this better.”
Hannah nods slowly. “I know you will—we will. In the meantime, just be honest. I appreciate that you told me, and I think as long as we communicate, our plan will work.”
“Always,” I promise. “I’ll always be honest with you.”
She looks away, hesitation etched across her face. “What is it?” I ask, my voice soft and quiet.
“I understand that we have to keep up appearances, but I don’t want to be your secret all the time.”
No matter how understanding Hannah can be, I can see that I hurt her. Again.
“You’re not just a secret to me. You mean everything to me, Hannah.” I want to be reassuring, but right this second, I feel a bit helpless. “I’ll make it up to you. After your scrimmage on Friday, let’s hang out.”
“What would you want to do?” Her voice lifts enough for me to know I’ve said the right thing. I want to show up for her, make her feel how important she is to me.
“I’ll pick a café for us to go to, somewhere away from Stow, where we don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us.” The prospect of finally following through, of being the way we used to be at camp here—well, close to here—makes me giddy. I do mini flutter kicks under my covers.
“Friday, then,” Hannah says.
“Friday,” I promise.