"Yeah…” I trail off.
"You're probably right."
I drink my lemonade because if I don't drink it my hand is going to start shaking. The bond hum in my chest has gone louder the way it goes louder when I am scared. I don’t know if Atlas and Bane and Zero can feel that from the beach house five hours away.
I hope not.
I hope so.
Margot, gentle, like she has been waiting for the moment to pass: "Whatever it is. It's nice."
"It is," I agree.
“It’s what you—"
She stops. Her throat works once. She lifts her glass and puts it down without drinking.
"It's the happy family you've always deserved, Max."
My throat closes. The lemon slice bobs in the pitcher between us. Richard has gone very interested in a piece of junk mail. Margot's hand is flat on the marble and her eyes are bright in the late-afternoon kitchen.
She has no idea what kind of family I amactually in.
She is also entirely correct about the result.
I open my mouth. Close it. Try again.
"Yeah, Mom. It's—it's good. It's really good."
"Good."
"...thank you."
"Stopthankingme."
I laugh and it comes out wet. She passes me a napkin from the holder. Richard, mercifully, does not look up.
I take a breath. Steer the conversation in a different direction.
Anything but this one.
"Hey—random. Can I bring a friend over for dinner sometime?"
Both of them look up.
Margot's whole face brightens. She has been waiting four months for me to say a sentence with the wordfriendin it.
"Of course," she says. "Absolutely! Yes. Who?"
"Her name is Wren. She's—she's somebody I met through Bane, kind of. She's been having a rough time. Just got back on her feet. She's nineteen."
"Wren."
"Yeah."
"That's a beautiful name."
"She's a good person, Mom. She's funny. She's been through some stuff. I think you'd like her."
