Page 826 of End Game

There is enough emotion packed into that one syllable that my throat tightens.

Dad is quieter. “You said yes?”

“Yeah.”

Griffin catches my free hand and threads our fingers together.

“I did.”

I can hear Mom trying not to cry.

Which, naturally, makes my own eyes start burning.

Apparently there is no dignity left anywhere in this family.

“We're keeping it small,” I continue. “We really haven't planned much yet.”

“We'd like to be there,” Dad says.

The speed of the answer catches me off guard.

“I know.”

“No.” His voice firms. “I mean it, Cam. We were hurt that we didn't know you were married the first time.”

“I know.”

“And I understand why it happened the way it did.”

I stop breathing for a second.

It is not an apology.

It is also considerably more acknowledgment than I've gotten from him before.

“Okay.”

Mom clears her throat. “Do you want help?”

There are probably a hundred versions of this conversation I imagined where she asks about Griffin first, or whether the other men are still involved, or whether this means my life is finally becoming more normal.

Instead, she asks if I want help.

“Maybe.”

“With a dress?”

I laugh quietly. “I don't even know if I'm wearing a traditional wedding dress.”

There's a tiny pause that sounds suspiciously like disappointment.

Then she says, “Okay.”

Another breath.

“Whatever you want.”

That lands harder than it should.