THE NEXT MORNING, I PEER NERVOUSLY AT the Holdens’ house from our front window. Their driveway looks like a parking lot. Marcy’s and Ivy’s cars are there, alongside Max’s truck, and Brett and Zoe’s minivan. I groan; it’s going to be a full house.
Dad’s out—shocking—so I let Meredith know where I’m headed. She smiles sort of knowingly and waves me off. Pulling my hood up over my head, I dash across the street, dodging raindrops. Max meets me at the front door in a chartreuse T-shirt and faded jeans. He’s hatless, which doesn’t happen enough, in my opinion. Before I have a chance to comment, he tugs my hood back and pulls me into a hug.
“Morning,” he whispers.
I duck away, worried Ivy will walk into the foyer. It’s bad enough that she’ll most certainly report my presence at breakfast to Becky. I’m not about to give her the added ammunition of witnessed physical contact.
Max gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t stress, okay?”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Seriously. We’ll keep it low-key.” He grins, a sun-cresting-the-horizon sort of grin, and I want to lock it up and keep it forever.
His family is gathered in the kitchen. Marcy’s at the stove while Brett and Zoe sit at the table with Bill. His mouth is turned up in a slight smile as he listens to the conversations floating around him. He’s a fan of the big weekend breakfast. He used to swear he needed a full gut for game day, but we all know the truth: Bill’s happiest when he’s with his brood, and nothing brings them together like a home-cooked meal. I give him a wave, inhaling the scents of bacon and maple syrup. My stomach rumbles, but my appetite diminishes when I make eye contact with Ivy, who’s leaning against the counter.
“Look who’s here,” she says, snarky.
Max flips her the bird, steering me to the kitchen table. He sits beside me and Ivy claims the spot directly across from us, like she’s our chaperone or something. She takes her phone from her pocket and, eyeing me over its top, taps out what appears to be a lengthy message. To Becky, I’m sure.
When she finishes, she says, “Nobody mentioned you were coming over, Jillian.”
“Uh, I did,” Max says.
“Not to me.”
“Didn’t know I needed your approval.”
“Would’ve been nice,” she says, tossing her hair.
He lowers his voice. “You know, you’re not Becky’s informant. It’s not her business what I do, so how ’bout a little loyalty?”
Ivy’s opening her mouth to respond when from the stove, Marcy calls, “We’re always happy to have you, Jill.”
“In fact, you should come more often,” Brett says, defusing the tension. “It’s nice to have another outsider at the table.”
Zoe prods his shoulder. “You’re not an outsider.”
“But I’m not a Holden, and Jill’s not, either.” He winks at me. “Solidarity.”
“You’re all welcome for breakfast anytime,” Marcy says, dusting her hands off on her apron. “I think we’re ready.”
Oliver bounds into the room, a sippy cup of what I hope is diluted juice grasped tight in his hand, and sandwiches himself between his parents. Zoe cuts a pancake and a banana into tiny bites for him. Marcy tops off mugs with coffee from a carafe, and Brett uses a remote to turn the small kitchen TV to ESPN. He and Max debate defensive strategies while Bill follows along, contributing a bouncy nod here and there. Ivy picks up her phone to respond to a newly received text, simultaneously rolling her eyes at the way Zoe hovers over Oliver like a helicopter. We devour plates of buttermilk pancakes and crispy bacon, and all in all, things couldn’t be more normal.
My attention remains divided between my breakfast, which is delectable, and the attentive way Ivy feeds her father. Bill’s kind of a mess when it comes to eating now, but his fancy-pants daughter seems unfazed. She uses a napkin to dab gently at his chin; selfless acts on her part are so few and far between, I’m mesmerized.
That is, until Oliver tosses a piece of banana onto the floor, grinning expectantly at his audience. Max laughs, breaking the food-induced hush. Zoe frowns at her child, then shoots her brother a reprimanding look.
Max, still laughing, shrugs and says, “What?”
“Grow up,” she scolds, though she looks more amused than upset.
“Never.” He tosses a piece of bacon and nails her right in the nose.
The meal continues, and aside from Max sliding his hand along my leg—low-key, my ass—this morning’s breakfast turns out not so different from the hundreds of other meals I’ve shared with the Holdens. By the time I get up to help Marcy clear the table, I can’t remember what I was so worried about.
We can do this, Max and me.
When the food’s gone and the kitchen’s clean, he and I sneak up to his room. Clothes and sports equipment are strewn about, his bed is unmade, and there are school papers littering his desk. The space smells clean, though, like him. He closes the door, locking it, I notice, then peers at me like a lion stalking a tasty zebra. “Come here,” he says, holding out a hand.
I step forward, slipping my hand into his. I laugh when a mental picture flashes in my mind: a zebra, eager and naive, trotting into the trap of a hungry lion.
“What’s funny?” he asks.
“Nothing. This is just … weird.”
He loops my arms around his neck, then clasps his hands at the small of my back. “It’s good, though, right?”
I lift up on my toes to kiss him. “Very good.”
He walks me backward until we reach the futon under his window. We sit, intertwined.
“How long can you stay?” he asks.
“Not long. I have to work, remember?”
“I don’t want you to go. How’s that for weird?”
What’s really weird is that I get what he’s saying. I’ve lived within fifty yards of him for more than half my life, yet suddenly it seems like we never have enough time together. “Trust me. I’d rather stay here.”
“Ask Kyle to cover your shift.”
“The two of us are supposed to close together.”
“So I won’t see you till tomorrow?”
I tense. I haven’t given much thought to tomorrow. To school.
It’s clear he knows me well when he says, “Jill, who gives a shit? People are gonna find out.”
“An hour ago you were fine with keeping things low-key.”
“Yeah, then I sat through breakfast feeling like I couldn’t touch you. It sucked.”
“That’s just it. Your sister saw us consume a meal together, and she couldn’t have been snottier about it.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“What about Becky?” Becky, who belittles me as often as possible. Becky, who didn’t give a second thought to smacking into me on the quad. Becky, who hates me because she believes I stole her boyfriend. “If you think she’s not going to assume it’s my fault you guys broke up, you’re deluded.”
“Like I’ll stand by and let her give you shit.”
But what if you’re not standing by? I want to ask, suffering the phantom ache of her shoulder check. “You have no idea how terrible girls can be when they feel like they’ve been wronged,” I say. “Let’s just play it cool, okay? I can’t have another thing to worry about. Not right now.”
He rests his cheek on top of my head. “What else are you worried about?”
I stall, then stammer, “Things at home are … not great.” I’m uncomfortable talking about this, even with Max, and besides, the friction that is life under the Eldridge roof isn’t exactly new-relationship fodder. “I’m trying to get back to a good place with my dad, but he doesn’t understand you. He can’t let go of Halloween, or Bunco, or the night Officer Tate found beer in your truck.”
Max pulls away, sitting upright. “Oh, hell. That’s all in the past.”
“I know, but it’ll be a while before he comes around. If he finds out about us now, he’ll be pissed and I just … can’t. For now, can you and me just be you and me?”
His expression softens. He slides his hand under my hair, along the back of my neck, pulling me toward him until my forehead rests against his. “Jilly,” he breathes, “I don’t like secrets, but more than anything … I just wanna be with you.”
“Ditto,” I whisper.
* * *
When I swing the door to True Brew open, the shop is empty but for an elderly couple sipping coffee at a corner table. When I make my way behind the counter, Kyle looks up from the espresso machine, where he’s vigilantly wiping down the grates. He stops whistling—“Whistle While You Work,” naturally—and his expression morphs from friendly to suspicious. “Jelly Bean, what are you looking so cute for?”
I glance down at my clothing: my True Brew T-shirt and my work-only, coffee-stained jeans. “Are you kidding?”
He rolls his eyes. “Not your clothes.” He studies me as I tie on my apron. “Is that eyeliner you’re wearing?”
I stick my tongue out. “So what if it is?”
“I’d just like to know why, is all.”
“Maybe because I had breakfast at the Holdens’.”
His eyes light up. “And?”
“And … Max and I are good.”
“I sense you’re watering things down.”
I can’t help a little smile. “We talked yesterday. A lot. And this morning.”
“I bet you talked.” He tugs on my ponytail, messing it up.
“Kyle, stop!” I dart away, catching a glimpse of the ancient couple at their corner table. They’re craning their necks to see over the counter—oh, the mischief their baristas are making!
I pull the elastic from my hair, comb my fingers through, and gather it back up. “You better chill, buddy. You’re going to get us fired.”
“Nah. I know the owners. And don’t try to distract me. Max and you…?”
I busy myself topping off milk pitchers. “Are friends again.”
Kyle cocks his head, his skepticism flagrant. “You’re not telling me everything.”
Max and me … We’re so new, so fragile. I’m hesitant to share with anyone—even Kyle—for fear of popping our iridescent bubble. “I’m telling you what you need to know.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then turns away to fill a cup with drip coffee. Handing it to me, he says, “You like him. It’s written all over your face—thirsty eyes and kissy lips, puppy love in all its glory. I mean, keep your secrets if you must, but know that I know exactly what you’re feeling.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. We spent the better part of the morning making out. Is that what you want to hear?”
He laughs, gleeful. “That’s exactly what I want to hear!”
“But listen—not everyone will be as delighted as you, so keep quiet, okay?”
“Please. You and Max? It’ll be old news before you know it.”
“Not as far as my dad’s concerned. He’ll see red if he finds out. Becky will, too.”
“So, what…? You guys are gonna be all covert? Max is cool with that?”
I shrug, refilling the grinder with espresso beans. “I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘cool.’”
“Jill,” Kyle says, sidling up to me. “Please tell me you’re not complicating things. If you think your dad’ll be pissed now, just imagine how furious he’ll be if he finds out you’ve been hiding this guy he didn’t want you to go out with in the first place.”
“I’ll tell him. I just need time, is all.”
He shakes his head. “Jelly Bean knows best, I guess.”