Three-thirty in the morning is a cruel time to wake up, but we had to get on the road to catch our flight. Neither of us spoke much on the drive to Des Moines, except when I checked to see if he was staying awake okay. The gas station coffee he was drinking smelled burned even to me. I didn’t know how he was getting it down. But we made it, safe and sound, to a sparsely populated airport. It was Christmas Eve, pre-dawn, and the sensible people had done their traveling over the weekend.

We were the cheap people.

Still it meant we weren’t fighting the crowds through security, and there were plenty of seats at the gate. Even the plane wasn’t completely full, and we got a row of three to ourselves. With the arm rests up, I snuggled under Beckett's arm and the two of us fell asleep.

In Phoenix, I found a text message waiting for me from my dad. He’d arrived and was waiting for me in the baggage area. I was glad he’d flown in rather than brought his Harley. I knew how to ride on the back of it, but I hated it. I always felt like I was on the verge of death. Plus the helmet smelled weird.

“My dad will be at the baggage area,” I said as Beckett and I walked past the security line. “So say goodbye to me here.”

He pulled me aside and kissed me so thoroughly, I actually went weak in the knees.

I smiled at him when he let me go. “Hey, if your family is making you crazy, you know where to find me.”

“I do.”

We walked hand-in-hand to the escalators that would take us down to baggage, but then I knew it was time to let go. It wasn’t that my dad was one of those get-your-hands-off-my-daughter types. But there was an awful lot I didn’t want to explain to him just now. And as I could have predicted, he was waiting right at the bottom for me.

“There’s my baby girl!” he called as soon as he spotted me.

“Hi dad!” I ran to him and jumped into his open arms. He lifted me right off my feet and squeezed me so hard I saw spots. When I was back on the ground, he held me at arm’s length. “Look at you. God, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too.” Unexpectedly, my eyes stung. This was the longest I’d gone without seeing him, and it was giving me all the feels. Not now, I told myself. Don’t get all blubbery now. I turned to re-introduce my dad to Beckett, but what I saw stopped me cold.

Beckett was looking off to the left, motionless, while other passengers made annoyed detours around him. It wasn’t hard to see why he’d frozen in place, though. About twenty yards away stood a woman I recognized from graduation weekend as Beckett's mom, and beside her was a younger woman whose face I would have known from dozens of photographs even if I hadn’t met her a few times over the years. Honey-colored hair, brown eyes, pretty face.

Emily fucking Wilson.

His mom smiled and crossed the space between them to hug his stiff body. “Welcome home, honey.”

I couldn’t hear what he said, but his expression told me it was something like “What is she doing here?”

I grabbed my dad by the arm and dragged him over to the action. “Dad, you remember my friend Beckett? And this is his mom, Mrs. Anderson.”

“Nice to see you both,” my dad said, offering his hand out for a shake.

Beckett's transfixed gaze loosened and he gave my dad a handshake.

“Hi, Mr. Black. Mom, you remember Emmy.”

“Emmy, yes. One of the roommates,” Mrs. Anderson said, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek. I wanted to push her away and wipe my cheek. “You’re the one who’s also at Middlesex.”

“That’s me.” I gritted my teeth.

“It’s so nice that you both had a friend at your new school.” She smiled. It seemed like a genuine smile. She was probably being nice. But all I could see was a woman who had blindsided her son at the airport with the girl who’d called off their wedding.

Speaking of whom, Emily had slowly approached us and now stood slightly behind Mrs. Anderson. “Hey, Beckett,” she said softly.

“What are you doing here?” His tone was deadly.

“I wanted to see you,” she said.

“Now, Beckett, just give her a chance—“ Mrs. Anderson put her hand on his arm.

“No,” he said.

“Please,” Emily said. “I just want to talk.”

“No,” he said again.

I wanted to tell her to get out. Go away. Leave him alone, for the love of god. She’d done enough. I looked at my dad with undisguised panic. His eyes were darting between the rest of us as he tried to assess the situation.

“I’ve invited the Wilsons over for our Christmas Eve gathering,” Mrs. Anderson said with a smile that didn’t meet her eyes.

“You did what?” Beckett demanded.

“They’ve been coming for years, honey, of course I did.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Beckett rubbed his eyes with a steepled hand. I wanted to put my arms around him, soothe him with promises that he didn’t have to go. That I would make Emily Wilson and her family stay away. But I couldn’t touch him. I wasn’t even supposed to be part of this awful tableau.

“I’ve missed you, Beckett,” Emily added in a small voice.

Fuck you, I thought, glaring at her. She didn’t even notice.

“You’ve got a weird way of showing it,” he muttered.

“Beck…” I couldn’t help it. I had to say something.

He looked at me, his face a swirling storm of a million emotions.

I bit my lip, dying to offer some comfort, but we were now in an upside-down world where we had to pretend to be nothing to each other. These were the people on the other side of our secrets.

“I invited Emmy and her dad for tonight,” Beckett said suddenly, turning his intense blue eyes on his mother. “They’re in Phoenix for the holiday, and I said they should come over.”

“Uhh,” my dad started to speak but I squeezed his wrist. He got me and shut his mouth. I was going to owe him some explanation later, but for now I was grateful to him for playing along.

“Well, certainly,” Mrs. Anderson gave us a brief smile. “The more the merrier. Especially at Christmas!”

“Well, thank you very much,” my dad said. “It would be an honor to join you.” He offered up his hand for a second time. “John Black.”

“Melanie Anderson.”

“And I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.” My dad turned his attention to Emily, extending his hand to her.

“Emily Wilson,” she said. “I’m Beckett's…”

“Fiancée,” Mrs. Anderson said.

“No she’s not,” Beckett cut in sharply.

Emily flinched, but managed a wobbly smile. “We were going to get married, but uh…”

In a falsely jovial tone, Beckett finished her opener, “But she called it off and we haven’t spoken since.” He shrugged and forced a laugh. “Fun, huh?”

“Uhh…” my dad said again.

“Don’t be rude,” Mrs. Anderson chided her son.

“You’re the one who brought her.”

She regrouped with a quick inhale and tried a new tack. “Emily, Emmy—oh I never realized how similar—sorry, I believe you two have met?”

“Yes, hi,” Emily said with a shy smile. “Nice to see you again. H-how’s Iowa?”

“Cold,” I said.

“Oh goodness is that the time?” Mrs. Anderson made a show of looking at the clock. “We really do have to get going. Guests coming! We’ll see you all at the house, soon, all right?” She smiled at my dad and me. “Do you have the address?”

I had a renewed desire to hit her. She was acting like this was a play set in Edwardian England, and we would all just defer to the proper etiquette. Like she hadn’t ambushed her son with the girl who left him.

But my dad jumped right into his role, saying, “If you’re sure it’s no trouble. Is there anything we can bring? Emmy, do you have the address?”

“Beckett can text it to me.”

“That’s settled then. How wonderful. No need to bring anything. You’re our guests.” Mrs. Anderson gave us one final smile, and put her hand on Beckett's shoulder to shepherd him out.

I looked at him. My friend, my temporary husband, and now my—what? my lover? God, what an awful word. But here we were, brand new to this part of our relationship, and he was being pushed into a maelstrom. Pushed toward the girl he’d intended to marry just months ago.

My chin started to quiver as I watched him walk away. No, no, no. I could not cry. Not in this stupid airport, and not in front of my father. I already had enough explaining to do.

Beckett looked back over his shoulder at me and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

I forced a smile and whispered, “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay.

I was terrified.