Page 527 of End Game

“Can we sit down?”

Apparently my tone is serious enough that nobody argues.

We end up in the living room.

Mom and Dad on the couch.

Clay in the armchair.

Griffin beside me on the loveseat, close but not touching until I hook one finger through his.

Mom looks at the action.

“So,” she says slowly. “What is going on?”

I inhale.

There is no perfect opening.

No collection of words that makes the next ten minutes easier.

So I use the truth. “Griffin and I are married.”

Silence.

Absolute.

Beautiful.

Terrible.

Mom stares.

Dad's eyes go directly to Griffin's left hand.

There is no ring there.

“You're what?” Mom asks.

“Married.”

“How long?”

“Almost a year.”

Her face changes so quickly I can't track every emotion.

Shock.

Hurt.

Anger.

More shock.

“You have been married for almost a year and didn't tell us?”

“Yes.”