9. Indy
NINE
INDY
Mom steps out of the bedroom the moment Nick and I walk into the house. She stops and raises her brows.
“Morning?” she says with a puzzled frown.
I stop in my tracks.
“You’re back.” I sound startled, which is probably suspicious.
“I faked a headache, skipped the dinner, and changed my flight. I got in a few minutes ago.”
I go and hug her, and she sends me a tired smile.
“Why are you two out so early?” she asks, eyes moving between me and Nick.
I can’t tell her what we’ve really been doing because that’d render everything pointless.
Which leaves lying.
I clear my throat. “We went out to the bay?” I say slowly. “Umm, I’m… I’m teaching Nick to row.” I nod like I’m giving the story extra credibility. “Yeah. So. We’ve been planning that for a while now, but, you know, busy schedules and all.”
I don’t know why I say all of that. Partly because we’ve been out all night and I’m trying not to get Dia in trouble, which means lying, and I’m not good at lying, so now I overexplain. But mostly it’s because Mom looks startled and then cautiously hopeful.
There’s careful curiosity in her eyes. Some kind of faint spark of anticipation that this might be a new, interesting development, and maybe, maybe, maybe it means something.
That maybe, finally, Nick is settling in and coming to terms with living here.
I don’t have the heart to dash those hopes, so instead I smile as brightly as I can.
I have no idea what Nick thinks about my lie because I refuse to face him.
There’s relief in Mom’s eyes. Relief and hope.
“That’s nice.” She glances at her watch and then she’s all business because that’s where Mom feels comfortable.
She has to have something to do, something to organize.
Sitting still is her nightmare. “School. You boys better go get ready. I’ll make breakfast.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I start to go upstairs, but then I turn back around. “Um, Dia has the car. Can I take yours to go to school?”
Mom winces. “Oh. Sweetie, it’s still in the airport. I was so tired, I took an Uber home.”
“Then count me out of breakfast. I have to run to the bus.”
Mom jumps into action. “I’ll come with you. I still have to pick up my own car anyway, so might as well do it now. Let’s see.” She’s already looking for her phone.
“I’ll give you a ride.”
I snap my head around and stare at Nick dumbly. He’s offering to drive me? Voluntarily?
Mom recovers first. “That’s settled, then.” She claps her hands like she’s ordering around a class of kindergartners. “What are you two waiting for? Go get ready.”
“Thanks,” I say after I pull the car door shut behind me and throw my backpack onto the back seat.
He grunts in reply, which I’m going to interpret as a “no problem, Indy. Any time.” The grunt itself sounds less annoyed than usual. Guess he must be tired.
We both settle in. I pull out my phone to check on Dia, and when she doesn’t reply to any of my texts, I move on to Bridge, which results in her calling me names ranging from clever to graphic and everything in between.
My lips twitch as I drop the phone into my lap, where it keeps vibrating every now and then.
“Playing hard to get?” Nick asks when my phone vibrates yet again.
I glance at him. “What?”
He looks pointedly at my phone, still lighting up with a slew of messages.
“Sure.” I roll my eyes. “Hard to get. It’s one of my signature moves.”
He throws me another look.
“What?” I sigh before I hold up a hand to stop him. “No, don’t tell me. You have thoughts.”
“As a rule, I tend to think most people should have thoughts. An empty head isn’t really something to brag about, Blue.”
“Dick,” I say. Not so much as an insult. More like an observation. “Let’s hear these great thoughts that fill your head on a regular basis, then.”
I wait.
“Nothing? Man, that’s got to sting after delivering that sweeping statement.”
He sends me a look. “What do you figure is going on up there?”
I make a thoughtful face. “A lone tumbleweed rolling through a vast, empty space if I had to take a stab at it with the information I have now.”
His lips twitch, and he snorts out a laugh. I stare. That’s a first.
“What was your guess before you were enlightened by the truth?” he asks.
“I assumed most of the time you’re busy thinking dark thoughts about the bleakness of existence.”
“Is that the impression I give?”
“More or less. I bet your social media is full of moody photos with quotes about deep pain and the dark depths of the human soul.”
He glances at me. “I don’t do social media.”
“How old are you, exactly? Even my grandfather is on Instagram. He doesn’t get too many likes, though, because he mostly posts these long-ass reels about the English peasants’ revolts, and the audience for minute details on those is apparently limited.”
“You’ve convinced me,” he says tonelessly. “I clearly need some of that in my life.”
I laugh, which seems to startle him just as much as his earlier snort of laughter startled me.
He parks the car five minutes later.
By the time I’m walking down the hallway toward my first class of the day, I’m still in some strange daze.
Because he laughed.
And maybe there’s something there. Maybe we’ve finally turned a corner. Or a new leaf.
Maybe.