I realize how very deep I have closed myself off from the world, hiding my awkwardness, and my shyness (even at this age, for the love of all that is holy), the way I always need to put up a front, to portray a successful woman even if sometimes it feels like I have no idea what I’m doing.

  There’s a name for that.

  I slowly let myself lean against Brody, let him take my weight as I sigh against him, tilting my head against his chest and shoulder. Brody lets out a little surprised laugh, the hand around my shoulder squeezing along my upper arm, an affectionate squish, a little cuddle.

  “Getting warm?” he asks, rubbing my upper arm up and down, up and down.

  “Just tell me when the food gets here. I have to concentrate on stealing your body heat to survive.”

  Another laugh, and I find my mouth tilting up in a smile before I mash my lips together to keep it from happening. “You can only use your powers for good, though.”

  I snort. “World domination’s within my grasp regardless.” I snuggle closer and Brody leans us back against the booth, his hand now on the back of my head, scratching at my bun.

  “Food’s here. Shit, Amber, go easy or you’re gonna pull something,” Brody says as I whip up and sit upright, doing a happy wiggle in the booth, ready for food and more food. “You nearly knocked out one of my teeth.”

  I wiggle some more, fighting a shiver. “Can’t help it. As if that’s gonna ruin your good looks.” I snort, rubbing my hands together in preparation for the meal ahead, getting heartbroken when the waiter passes the plate to Emily first.

  Why? I’m dying over here!

  “Oh, shit, are you gonna cry?” Brody asks, leaning in close so I have to rear back when I look at him, freaking out a little at how close he’s gotten without me clocking it.

  Well, your attention’s on the food. Am I right?

  “Shut up, shut up. If your plate comes first, I’m scarfing down your fries.” I jab a finger in the air between us.

  Brody shrugs, his long lashes (why do guys always have longer lashes than me? What for?) throwing shadows across his cheeks. I shiver again, but I don’t think it’s from the cold.

  Jesus, brain, we went over this. We know he’s hot. It’s fine. It’s all fiiiiiiiiinnnneeeeeeee. Stop harping on it!

  “Sure.”

  I glance over at him, ignoring the conversation around us (pretty sure Mom and Emily discovered Once Upon a Time and are discussing Charming and Snow from what I’m able to get the gist of).

  Brody’s got an eyebrow raised. His icy blue eyes have darkened now, his arms are crossed over his chest, watching me watch him.

  It feels like he’s trying to tell me something, but my antennae aren’t working, ’cause I’m not catching the signal he’s putting out.

  System error, reboot required. Reboot now?

  “Sure? Really? You don’t like sharing food with strangers. I learned that the hard way in the beginning.”

  Brody shrugs. “It’s you, Amber. I’ve always known you.”

  It shouldn’t feel important the way he says my name like that, like I’m the exception to the rule, the special standard.

  I don’t want to get used to that, ever again.

  I just blink at him then glance away, looking hopefully at our waiter. The kid’s toting three plates on both arms, and there’s another kid hurrying behind him with another three plates, and they’re coming to our table. All is right in the world.

  Plates are passed around, and I should’ve known that we were being scrutinized, should have known that we were being lulled into a false sense of security.

  But really? In front of my food? Who asked for this?

  “So? How long has this been going on? Did you decide last weekend that you wanted to get back together?” Mom asks, glancing down at her plate like she’s not sure how to attack her own burger.

  Look at that—betrayed by my own mother. Should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.

  I have no such trouble, and two-hand my burger and take the biggest bite I have ever taken out of my sandwich, letting the flavor bombard my tastebuds and send fireworks to my brain, the dopamine hit, and the dopamine boost re-energizing me.

  It also gives me a second to think of how I want to answer. They’ve seen us together now, there’s going to be less ‘sneaking around’. I won’t have to see Brody again after this, just say that I did.

  Heh.

  I have no problem lying to my parents, especially when it’s none of their business.

  Jesus, it’s not like Brody and I are going to get married and get our own happily ever after. That’s not how the real world works, and I know that any relationship I have isn’t going to be as great as the one my parents have, so what’s the point?

  I nod along, doing another happy wiggle while stuffing three fries into my mouth at the same time, making happy noises like a seal might make before it gets thrown a fish.

  Arf arf arf, that’s me.

  Mom’s eyes are flaring wide now, and I know she wants an actual verbal answer.

  “Yeah,” Brody says, wiping at his mouth with his napkin, nodding along, getting his whole body in on the motion. “We talked about it and decided to see each other again. See where it goes, this time around.”

  I swallow my food down. “I don’t have a play-by-play, sorry,” I say, and my dad shoots me a pissed-off look. I hunch my shoulders and concentrate on my meal.

  What? My parents scare me—they’ve lived for such a long time, they know shit.

  Emily’s eyes are narrowed and she’s chewing her food absentmindedly. Something in my belly clenches, and I hold my breath, glancing down at my food, debating whether I want to be eating for whatever comes next.

  “But you’re leaving in January,” she says, eyebrows pulled low over her eyes. “How is that going to work out?”

  Does Emily not know that people can hang out and be all casual?

  I don’t want to talk about a potential sex life with Brody while sitting next to him and with our parents combined, in a restaurant. Nope.

  That’s gotta be a special circle in hell, right? Right?!

  “We’ll figure it out,” I say, but Emily isn’t buying it. I quickly stuff more hamburger in my mouth, letting Brody take this one. When I glance over at him, he looks gutted, betrayed.

  I shrug and keep eating my food, happier now that my toes and fingers are getting warmer.

  Emily moves to say something, but Mr. Kane (Roger) gently pats at her wrist, murmuring something about trying something off his own plate. Placated for now, Emily doesn’t say anything else to me, and I’m just happy to be eating.

  But also, I know this is going to cause some kind of strain between the two families.

  I can see it on Emily’s face—why is my son not good enough to be in a real relationship for the long-term? What’s so special about your daughter? Why won’t she commit to something long-term despite him leaving in January?

  This is like watching a modern case of the Capulets and the Montagues, except with a lot less bloodshed and random soliloquies.

  Mom glares at me like this is all my fault, which it might be, but can’t she see that this is all for their benefit? I don’t care about Brody in that way…anymore.

  I’m fine on my own, why isn’t that enough, why is it never enough?

  After the meal, I’m re-energized, ready to do battle and then head to bed. My stomach’s getting full, despite the special compartment that’s always empty for milkshakes (and cakes, and pie, until I’m bursting, but that’s gonna be a regret for Future Amber, and Present Amber is living her best life).

  We all order a round of opulent milkshakes, even Mom. She’s lactose intolerant but refuses to believe it, hence the ordering of a mega strawberry shortcake milkshake topped with a mountain of whipped cream and strawberry sauce, which makes me want to yak. My dad’s gonna have to boot it home, break every speed limit there is after she downs all that.

  “I don’t think we’re selling it well,” I say out of the corner of my mouth, sighing after taking that first delicious sip of Death by Chocolate, knowing I’m going to crave this whenever the crimson wave comes into town once a month. I suck down some more milkshake—delicious, delicious, delicious—and glance over to Brody to find him watching me.

  “I think we’re fine.”

  “What’s fine, kids?” Dad interjects. I shake my head, focusing on getting my milkshake down, slowly starting to feel like a beached whale.

  “Well, we’re a little awkward with each other, Mr. Prewitt. It’s been a long time, and we’re trying to get to know each other again.” I nearly choke on my milkshake, nearly shoot it out of my nose which would be bad, but also disappointing ’cause I was really enjoying it.

  I wave a hand at Dad, but he’s just smiling at the two of us, like he’s a fangirl and we’re his OTP.

  Really? I think this impending breakup is going to ruin my parents more than me.

  You say that now…

  “Dad, relax. Stop making this awkward.”

  “Me? Making it awkward?” Dad points at me, getting the bull’s eye. “Easy does it, kid, don’t rush anything.”

  I roll my eyes and Dad laughs, even if he pats my hand a little hard, a silent warning. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

  “Are you coming to Thanksgiving in a few weeks, Brody?”

  I already knew this was coming. I could’ve made excuses, could have put together an elaborate ruse where Max and Vick keep Brody preoccupied, or tie him up in Max’s little coupe. It’s holiday season for the Prewitts, but not everyone’s invited.

  God, I’m exhausted just ‘acting’ in front of our parents, so what the hell am I going to do when it’s in front of everyone else for the holiday?

  Another complication I should have seen coming.

  Vick can barely lie to save her life—her face always gives it away, so I always pawned off whenever I messed up, and Max will let something slip because she can’t keep a secret to save her life.

  The truth always comes spilling out in bits and pieces until only an idiot couldn’t put the whole picture together.

  Brody signs the deal, and I want to die a little. “Of course, Mr. Prewitt. I would love to be there. Aunt Lisa’s pumpkin pie.” Brody says, as if that’s all he has to say.

  I slurp up more and more of my milkshake. I take down the chocolate like a shot, like it’s going to prepare me for what’s to come—the holiday season from hell.

  “Great, Brody. That’s really great.” Dad sounds excited, and it makes me want to gag. He’s so over the top in love with Brody that his heart’s going to shatter into a million pieces when all of this over.

  I know that I just have to somehow survive all the canoodling Brody and I are going to be doing, trying to convince everyone that we’re back together, that we picked up things where we left them off, until this is over.

  Shit.

  We literally just started the countdown until January, in front of witnesses.

  What? Do my parents and the Kanes think I’m going be head over heels with Brody again?

  How stupid do they think I am?

  EIGHT

  “I know you’re screening my calls, but I’m trying here. I’m sorry I’m so busy working and studying, but just tell me you’re showing up to Hocus Pocus and V for Vendetta night. I’m buying the pizza you like, and that marshmallow-popcorn concoction that Max would murder for. Please just call me, text me, tell me in any way, shape or form that you’re gonna show up?” I let the question hang, rolling my eyes at myself.

  I don’t even know if Vick’s gonna answer her voice mail, if she even checks it, or if she’s on another gaming binge and has stopped all communication with the outside world. As usual, I’m out of the loop.

  How am I supposed to fix a problem if I don’t even get the chance to try and fix it?

  I jump when there’s a knock at my office door, and I whirl to look at the analog clock hanging on the wall, ticking away the seconds, fearing the worst—that I’m going to be unprepared for an appointment and sound like an idiot.

  I still have another hour until my next patient, and there’s still so much to do in the meantime, so what gives?

  I grunt when I get out of my chair, the muscles in my legs protesting every single movement. I open it so there’s only a slice of space to peek through, to see who it is, and then firmly close it.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask through the door, like the coward I am, as if the flimsy thing can keep him at bay. Every single time I look at Brody, I go through a series of flashbacks and find myself tumbling down a path to a future that never was.

  “Jesus, Amber, it’s just me. I brought you food.”

  I open the door again, crushing the doorknob with my palm, using the coolness of the metal to calm down my racing heart. Why is it racing? Am I going to have a heart attack before my thirtieth birthday?

  “Why did you bring me food? Who put you up to this?” I narrow my eyes at Brody, leaning back and opening the door wider so he can step into my office. I leave the door open, for escape route purposes if I need to go running off into the night, or day.

  “Just come over here and eat. Can I move these, or do you want to?” Brody is a hulking, massive force in my tiny office space. He takes the other rolling chair my patients usually use when we want to discuss matters in a more intimate setting, behind a closed door, being close, face-to-face, where they’re likely to be more at ease.

  Brody’s pointing down at my clipboard and the stack of dossiers I have yet to file away in my utilitarian grey storage unit. I end up tidying up as best as I can, organizing the dossiers alphabetically before plopping them on top of my filing cabinet, to be dealt with later when I have time.

  “What’s in there?” I ask, taking my seat again on my own rolling chair, noticing that Brody has come bearing gifts.

  “You mean this?” Brody smiles, bringing up the brown paper bag littered with grease spots, so you know it’s gonna be good, and the smell is…

  “Ah, you didn’t. Aw, man, I can’t resist Del Vecchio’s. You got the garlic bread and the penne arrabiata? Ah, this is awesome, awesome.”

  Brody hands the bag over to me when I make grabby hands at it, and I pull the bag open and place it on my desk, using scrap printer paper as place settings in case any one of us makes a mess.

  “Hang on, there’s only one meal in here…” I say.

  I glance up to look at him, his big body hunched in the rolling chair, feet flat on the ground. He starts to swivel the chair, left and right, working off his nervous energy. Brody is nervous…because of me?

  Preposterous.

  Brody shrugs, but his cheeks are getting flushed, and he keeps clenching his jaw.

  “I just…I know you don’t get a lot of time to eat, and when you do eat, it’s not a lot at a time because you’re in between patients, right? So I thought I’d bring you a full meal and you can go at it as many times as you want during the rest of your day. I don’t know, if you don’t like it, I can go and get you something else.” He swivels left and right with almost every word.

  I clutch onto the bag for dear life, holding it close to my chest. “Absolutely not. I want this. I’ll eat it all right now in front of you if that’s what it takes.” He grins, but it slips off his face too quickly for it to be genuine.

  “What’s up?” I ask, splitting the bag open and getting at the delicious prize inside. I open the Styrofoam packaging, getting hit with an arrabiata-scented steam bath and pull in a deep, deep breath.

  This is going to be so good, so good.

  “The new PT I’m seeing,” Brody says, starts and stops, and I just keep doing what I’m doing, knowing he needs his time until it all finally comes out. It always boggled my mind a little that Brody could be so many things, all at once, while I always felt stuck in my job description, defining who I am as a person.

  Brody’s a professional lacrosse player, he’s the face of one of those energy drink companies that’s gaining and gaining in market share, he’s a big reader of all genres, sometimes spouting random facts that make me question his sanity, inserting them at the precise moment like magic.

  While Brody bloomed, it feels like I became stuck in stagnant water.

  Yeah, I really gotta talk to Vick, too. Really gotta get on that, stat. Need to figure everything out. I need to fix it.

  November fifth is on a Sunday this year, so I’m going to be doing a joint Hocus Pocus/V for Vendetta movie night at my house on Saturday, so I don’t feel like death come Monday morning. There’ll be Moscato and California Riesling, there’ll be leftover Halloween candy that I’ll buy at a discount, and we’ll actually all be in the same vicinity, and we’ll talk, and it’ll all be fine.

  “His prognosis is exactly what you said, and…” Brody stammers, looking down at his clasped hands, knuckles going bloodless by the tight hold.

  I glance up, dawning horror burning along my throat. Brody keeps looking down at his feet, clearly mourning the life he could have had until a drunk driver ruined it all.

  “Brody, I’m sorry...”

  Shit. Those words are never enough, never ever.

  He shakes his head, still not looking at me. The swivelling stops, and he tenses abruptly, like he’s waiting for yet another impact to derail him off his chosen path again.

  “It’s not that I didn’t believe you, I just didn’t want to believe you.”

  “I know,” I say quietly, food abandoned on my desk, unsure of how to proceed, how to act.

  On the one hand, he’s my fake boyfriend, and the other he’s an old, old love that I carry in my heart wherever I go. He’s a scar thick and still barely healed, even after all this time.

  When Brody hurts, I hurt—it’s just that simple, and it’s just that complicated.

  “I know.” My throat flares with pain and my chest starts to ache just by looking at him.

  Brody mashes his lips together, nodding to himself a few times, doing some convincing in a conversation I’m not privy to.

  “Yeah, he recommended that I go see a psychologist, referred me to a Nikki Steele?”