“No.”
“Yeah.”
I stare at him, anxiety rushing through me.Oh, God.This is so bad.
“I have never once had a normal conversation with your mom. I have not seen her in years. The last time I saw her, I think I was nineteen, and she asked me what my major was, and I said Sports Management, and she said, oh, like your father, and I said yes, and she patted my hand and said good for you, sweetheart.”
“Linwood—”
“That was the entire conversation, Stanley.”
He’s grinning. I catch it.
“What?”
“You’re calling me by my first name.”
“Do you hear me?” I scoff. “Are you enjoying this?”
He gives me that same grin. “A little. Yeah.”
“You’re enjoying watching me have a breakdown about your mom.”
“Linwood. Relax.”
“Donottell me to relax.”
“My parents love you. They always have. My mom thinks you’re—” he holds up two fingers on each hand “—sharp. That’s the highest compliment my mother has.”
“Stanley, that’s ––”
“Linwood. Listen. The hardest two are your dad and my dad, and your dad and my dad are best friends. Which means the entire table is, structurally, rooting for us. We don’t have to sell it. We just have to not blow it. That’s the whole job. Don’t blow it.”
I breathe. He’s right. He knows exactly what our families are like when they’re together. I don’t think I’m prepared. I breathe again.
“Okay,” I croak out.
“Okay?”
I nod.
“Good.” He claps his hands once. “Now. When should I leave Connecticut?”
“Don’t you have a game?”
He grabs his phone and says, “I can leave Friday morning.”
“Okay.” Then I calculate that means he’s staying the night. “Wait, where are you sleeping?”
He glances at me. “So, I guess my parents are staying with yours.”
My stomach drops. “What?”
He brushes it off smoothly. “Where would your dad be putting them up?”
I swallow. “I guess the guest room.”
“Is there only one?”
