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On the drive back, I see a text message flash across the screen of Jonathan’s phone. I can see it’s from Milo, but not what it says.
As soon as I see it, it’s all I can concentrate on. I want to ask if he’s talked to him or this is the first time he’s reaching out. I want to know what he said, if he seems okay.
My stomach hurts so bad I think about asking him to pull over, but I don’t want to be a pest.
Seeming to notice my discomfort and want to get rid of it, Jonathan asks, “You want to listen to some music?”
I nod, thankful for the distraction.
He nods too, hitting the brake as we stop at a red light. “What do you want to listen to?” he asks, grabbing his phone.
“I could really go for some Taylor Swift right now.”
“I got you.” He taps the screen a few times, then suddenly “Shake it Off” starts playing. He drops the phone back in the cupholder, then starts tapping the steering wheel in time with the beat and I can’t stop a grin from transforming my face.
“Jonathan Granville, are you a secret Swifty?”
“Secret? Fuck that, this is my jam,” he says playfully, causing me to burst into laughter.
He starts dancing and I double over, and then we’re singing along and dancing in the car as we drive down the road.
I never thought I’d have fun with Jonathan, and definitely nottoday, but that two minutes of him goofing off and teasing me as we listen to Taylor Swift makes me feel so much better, my aching stomach dissipates for the first time since I woke up in his bed this morning.
Like the other breaks today, unfortunately, it doesn’t last.
Because when we pull in the driveway, Milo has just gotten home, too.
My heart stops beating, then races as he looks back at the car. I shrink down in the seat, wishing I could slide into the floor so he can’t see me.
In Jonathan’s car, with Jonathan.
It feels like rubbing salt in the wound and I’m so uncomfortable, I want to crawl out of my skin.
Jonathan puts the car in park, his gaze trained on his father.
“Get your things and go inside.”
I swallow. He sounds unsure how this is going to go, too.
My stomachache comes back, full force.
I don’t want to move from this spot. I want to hide here until Milo can’t see me anymore. I want to turn invisible.
“I can’t just… walk past him.”
“Sure, you can,” he says levelly. “He’s a big boy, he’ll be fine.”
“This ishishouse. It feels so rude.”
“You can talk to him later, but I need to talk to him first.”
I suppose that’s fair. It’shisfather, after all.
Jonathan gets out first and walks up to his dad. I wring my hands and try to steal glimpses to see what’s happening without looking up and making eye contact.
Jonathan walks around him and stops in front of the garage so Milo’s back is to me.
I breathe a sigh of relief, grab my bags and my new purse, and make a beeline to the front door, the buzzing in my ears too loud for me to hear anything they’re saying, thankfully.
