Page 88 of Our Year of Maybe

“No plans with Sophie or with Chase?” She glances up, as though suddenly remembering. “Oh! How was your show last night? We must have been asleep when you got home.”

I want to relish that my parents didn’t wait up for me, that they trusted nothing horrible would happen to me. What they didn’t bargain for: me doing something horrible to someone else.

“It was good,” I say flatly. Desperate to change the subject, I slip into a chair across from her and point at her laptop with my spoon. “You must be getting close to ‘the end’ at this point, right?”

My mom barks out an unexpected laugh. “I wish. If only I weren’t such a perfectionist.”

“I’m not even sure I know what it’s about at this point.”

“Really? I must have told you years ago. . . .” She takes a deep breath before launching into an explanation: three generations of women, a family secret, a natural disaster . . . I can tell how much she loves it, despite the frustration it brings her.

This moment with my mom is oddly nice. It distracts me from the reality pounding against the inside of my brain: that I have no idea how to handle the aftermath of last night between Sophie and me. I’m terrified of doing the wrong thing, saying the wrong thing. Sophie’s typically the one I’d ask for advice, and I definitely can’t tell my mom, so I’m forced to deal with it alone.

In the past when our friendship flirted with romance, we were able to bounce back. But this time we went so far beyond friendship. I need more time to process it before I talk to her.

“Anyway,” my mom says, “I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me blather on about it!”

I shrug, and there must be something in the shrug that clues her in to the chaos in my mind.

“Baby,” she says, dark bro

ws furrowing. “You’re okay, right?”

My heart leaps into my throat. There’s something about your mom calling you “baby,” even when you’re seventeen, that’s absolutely gutting.

“Just—a lot going on. The band, homework . . .” I trail off, realizing it’s not “a lot” at all.

“We liked meeting Chase. You should invite him over for dinner.”

I stiffen. “Maybe. Yeah.” I get up, pushing in my chair. Another subject change. The two most important people in my life are off-limits. “You know, you could come to temple with us sometime. Dad and me.”

“That’s very sweet, Peter.” She gives me a tight smile. “I’ll . . . I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” I say as I finish my cereal. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

She returns to her book and I return to my room. Next to my bed, my phone flashes with a message from Chase.

I’m sorry about everything, it says.

CHAPTER 31

SOPHIE

MY EMOTIONS ARE TOO BIG for my body. After Peter leaves, I can’t sleep. I am a live wire, pulsating and electric. Simply being in my bed is too much, the thoughts in my head too loud.

I snap on the small lamp near my bed and spring to my feet. There has to be a perfect song for these emotions. But when I scroll through my playlists, I land on Rufus Wainwright, Peter’s all-time favorite, and so that’s what I select.

I imagine Peter’s hands on the piano keys and then on my skin.

I could make a dance to this song. One that’s both vulnerable and joyful, full of longing and ending with satisfaction.

Just for Peter and me, the way we used to do.

By morning I feel well rested despite having barely slept. I’m a contradiction: desperate to see him, terrified of seeing him. A hundred thoughts race through my mind. For anniversaries, will we celebrate our first kiss, or the first that happened on Saturday? Valentine’s Day is next week. I imagine we’ll have to make plans for that, maybe at one of the nicer restaurants in Capitol Hill. And I definitely want us to start playing as the Terrible Twosome again.

Peter is finally mine, and I’m not sure what that looks like. Will we kiss when we say hello the next time we see each other? When do we tell our parents?

I don’t get a chance to find out—at least not today—because Peter texts that he’s going to be buried under homework all day. And that’s okay. Really, it is. Last night hasn’t sunk in, but maybe by tomorrow I can convince myself it finally happened.

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