Page 196 of That Rush

“That is an alarmingly specific reassurance.”

“They’re happy for us.”

“About a decision I haven’t made.”

“Can we talk about this without an audience?”

“I would prefer it.”

Mom returns carrying chocolate cream pie, Josie beside her with a stack of paper plates. Dad immediately objects to dessert before burgers. “The cookout has survived enough of your management, Hudson,” Mom says.

She does not ask Paige whether she is okay or try to explain what anyone meant. She serves her a small slice, demands that Dad justifies purchasing three pies, and gives the table somewhere else to look.

The conversation starts again. Paige responds when someone speaks to her, smiles at Josie, and thanks Mom for the pie. To anyone else, she looks fine, but sitting inches from my side, I feel her go completely distant.

I wait until Josie runs back across the yard with Poppy, then lean closer. “Do you want to walk down to the barn?”

Paige shakes her head. “I don’t want everyone watching us leave the table together.”

“They aren’t judging you.”

“I don’t think they are.”

“Then what is this?”

Her eyes hold mine. “Not here.”

She sets her untouched pie on the table, carefully wipes her fingers on a napkin, and bends close enough that only I can hear her.

“Can we leave?”

The truck stays silent until the lights of my parents’ house disappear behind us. Smoke from the grill and late-August heat hang in the cab.

“Say it.”

Paige faces the passenger window, both hands locked around her bag strap. “I don’t want to fight while you’re driving.”

“I can pull over.”

“Of course you can.”

My knuckles burn against the wheel. “What does that mean?”

She turns. “You always have a solution, and it’s always another decision you’ve made for me.”

“You asked to leave. We left.”

“I know.” Her fingers loosen. “Thank you.”

“That’s just my family. They come on strong. No one was trying to pressure you.”

“I know. Intent doesn’t change what happened.”

“Josie’s a kid. She saw a key and some hangers and got the wrong idea.”

“Did she?”

“You think I actually told her that? That you were moving in?”