After about thirty minutes of ruining all the myths Carson had ever heard about the suburbs, we walked back to the house. Before we opened the door, I squeezed his hand and said, “Someday you’ll have to tell me what’s on my list of reasons to get rid of you.”

“And remind you of all the reasons I’m not good enough for you? Not a chance. That’d be cheating. I have my fingers crossed you won’t figure it out for another fifty or sixty years.”

My parents stood in the entryway, right next to each other, the same way they had the countless times I stayed out later than my curfew. But this time they didn’t look angry. They looked tired. Older. Sadder.

I brushed by them and plopped myself down on the couch. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

No one said anything. No truth. No lies. Nothing.

“Okay, then. I’ll start,” I snapped. “Since we’re all coming clean and everything. Carson and I also have something to tell you that you won’t like.”

“You told me you didn’t knock her up,” my dad growled at Carson.

“I didn’t, sir! At least…” He looked at me, the question in his eyes. “I didn’t, did I?”

“No, I’m not pregnant. But we’re living together.” I left out in sin even though I knew that’s what they were thinking.

“And…?” my mom asked.

“And we’ve been living together for a while now. In one house. Without being married.”

“We know, Laney.”

“How?”

“You and Hillary aren’t living together anymore,” she said, “and you never mentioned getting another roommate.”

“I could’ve been living alone.”

“When we call you in the morning, he’s there. When we call you at night, he’s there.”

“You’re not mad? Or… disappointed?”

My mom glanced at my dad, handing it over to him. Great. Here it came.

“Of course I was unhappy about it. But we understand the world a bit better than you give us credit for, Laney.”

I nodded curtly. I mean, I was very pleasantly surprised they weren’t freaking out about it. I’d been dreading this moment forever. But I was still mad at them for not telling me they were splitting up, so I couldn’t let them see my relief.

And since that went so much better than expected, I figured I should come clean about the other thing I’d been holding back. “Carson’s rich. Like, really rich.” I opted not to use the word filthy because Carson had already shown them that side of himself. “Really, really rich.”

In their eyes, rich had always been the equivalent of privileged, self-indulgent, non-charitable asshole. Exactly the kind of person they hated, if hate was something they did. But they couldn’t fool me—judging people was something they only pretended not to do. I’d seen their side glances to each other and their polite brushoffs whenever they saw someone flaunt their wealth.

All this time I’d been afraid of their reaction to this news the most. Because of how wrong they’d be about Carson. That, even though he was filthy—rich and otherwise—he always seemed disconnected from it and never knew why anyone would flaunt it.

But they didn’t react. They both just sat there, looking at me, as if they were still waiting for the ball to drop. But I’d already dropped the biggest balls there were—Carson’s.

Shit. Thank goodness I didn’t say that out loud.

“Well…?” I prompted, preparing for the head shaking and the disappointed sighs to start. Then the condemnation and prayers for him to become a better human being.

“Well, what?” my mom asked.

“Well, he’s rolling in money.”

“Not literally,” he said calmly. “The bed I use for rolling around in money is back in San Francisco.”

Instead of being horrified by the joke, my dad laughed. He actually laughed. Out loud. “Good for you, Carson.”

“Good for him?” I echoed. “Seriously? If we’re all being honest now, be honest. Tell him how you feel about rich people.”

“Hon, take a breath.”

“I’m breathing just fine. Thanks, Dad.”

“I don’t think they’re going to take the bait,” Carson whispered to me.

“What does that mean?” I snapped.

“It means,” he said, more loudly since they could hear him anyway, “you’re trying to pick a fight with people who aren’t interested in fighting you. Must be frustrating.”

I ground my teeth together. “Why are you taking their side?”

“There are no sides, babe. Everyone in this room loves you and wants you to be happy.” He tilted his head. “Except you, evidently.”

I took a deep breath, not because my dad had suggested it, but to prepare myself for a biting response. To who? To Carson? No, of course not. To my parents? Whose only request was that I breathe?

Crap! He was right. It was so maddening to be ready for a fight only to not have anyone to engage with. All that adrenaline wasted. Plus, the anxiety, fear, uncertainty, and shame leading up to it.

I felt the heat that had begun as anger turn into embarrassment, blushing cheeks and everything. When Carson took my hand, I couldn’t figure out how he knew that was the moment I needed him to.

“You’re okay with him being rich?”

“Carson,” my dad said, shifting in his seat, “did you make the money selling drugs, scamming people, or anything unsavory?”

“Not that anyone can prove, sir.”

Both of them were smiling at him as if this was all a big joke.

“I hate telling people this because it gives them the wrong idea about me,” Carson said calmly. “But I inherited a lot of money when my father died. After I got rid of it, I got even more of the stuff when his sister, my aunt, passed away.”

I pulled my hand out of his so I could air quote something he’d said. “He ‘got rid of that’ by starting a foundation. What I left out was the name of the foundation. It’s the Bennett Foundation, and he started it with lots of his money.” I extended the word money to remind them how much they disliked talking about it.

“We know that, too.”

“You do?”

“Laney, what kind of father wouldn’t check out the man his little girl is shacking up with? Of course I looked him up.”

“And because you’re probably desperate to know,” my mom said to Carson, “we also found a few articles about your… more youthful pursuits.”

“I was actually desperately trying not to think about that, Jane. But I understand. Still hoping you didn’t watch any of the videos that might be out there, but…?”

“We didn’t.” I’d never seen my mom’s eyebrows so high, but my dad was still smiling. “We’re more concerned about the man you’ve become, how you treat our daughter, and that you don’t plan on acting like an idiot again in the future.”

“I can honestly promise that I’m not planning on it.” Carson squinted, hopefully not wondering if there were any videos out there of the way he treated me. We’d only videotaped ourselves once, and there was only one copy, tucked deep in my computer in a recipe folder, labeled Spicy Sausage Fillher. It was Carson’s idea to add the h and leave out the space.

“Early on in our relationship,” he said seriously, “I did something really stupid. I hurt her. I thought I could live without her, so I told her it was over. Thankfully, she’s a lot smarter than I am and had figured out how wrong I was. I’ll never make that mistake again.”

Speaking of mistakes… “Did you cheat on Mom?”

“No,” my dad said angrily, “of course not.”

“Neither did I,” my mom said after a pause. It hadn’t even occurred to me she might. I’m not sure why. I guess I’m a sexist, after all. After being with as many cheaters as I had, it was the easiest answer—whether or not is was the correct answer.

I looked at Carson, maybe with guilt in my eyes, or with fear.

“We’re not all pricks, Lane.”

I took a deep breath. “I know.” And I did. I knew Carson would never cheat. He might flirt or jokingly beg me to make out with another woman so he could watch, but he’d never hurt me like that.

I faced my mom because there was a chance—a small one—I’d understand it better coming from her than from my dad. “Why are you spitting up?”

Her mouth opened but no words came out. So, like always, my dad butted in.

“We’re not.”