“How big a mistake is this?”
“Is this for your podcast?”
I nod.
He doesn’t blink. “Saturday night you walked into a kitchen thinking you were doing a panicked girl a favor. Now, it’s Thursday. You’re flying to her parents’ house with a pie Rowan baked at midnight and a goalie named Percy is worried about how much wine you’re going to drink. You’re not in the mistake anymore.”
“I’m not?”
He shakes his head. “You’re past the mistake. You’re in whatever’s on the other side of it.”
“And what’s on the other side?”
He looks at me for a long second. “You know what’s on the other side, Stan. Deep shit.” He laughs and adds, “Don’t be a coward about it.”
I know what’s on the other side of it?
I don’t.
“Tell Coach Linwood I say hi,” he says.
I nod, grabbing his shoulder. “Thankful for you, brother.”
“You, too.”
Aspen’s black SUV is idling in the open garage. I walk up just as she steps into the garage with her carry-on at her feet, coat over her arm, and she looks ready, the way she is always ready, ten minutes early for everything in her life.
I come up her front walk in the dark with a duffel, a garment bag, and a large pie container.
She watches me the whole way.
“What’s in the container?” she asks.
“Pie.”
“The one you baked?”
“Exactly.” I wink.
She almost smiles as she opens the back door to put her stuff in.
“Do you want me to drive?” I ask.
She looks at me. “Why? Are you a control freak?”
I shrug. “Just offering.”
“No, Ermington. This is my car. I’ll drive.”
And she thinks I’m the control freak?
I put my things in the backseat with hers and hold the pie on my lap in the passenger seat.
It’s twenty-five minutes to the airport. I pull out my phone, text my dad that I’m on the way to the airport and pocket it.
Beside me, Aspen holds her coffee in one hand, focuses on the road, and says nothing.
I let it ride for four minutes. Then I can’t.
