We talked about it two nights ago, when Alice left, and I forgave her then. We talked about it last night when I couldn’t sleep because I was too anxious about my meeting this morning. It looks like we’re talking about it again.

  “I swear I wasn’t spying on you guys. I just wanted to know where you went, so—”

  “You followed me a couple weeks ago, and you didn’t see anything. Okay, maybe you saw us make out a little, but that’s it. You swear.” I drop my chin and glare at her, reciting what she’s told me a dozen times word-for-word.

  “You hate me,” she says.

  “Oh my God!”

  I pretend to choke her then crawl up on the bed next to her and rest my head on her lap. Her body gets stiff, and I know she has a bit of a thing about personal space. I don’t care; she needs to open up for me right now.

  “Go on, stroke my hair,” I say, picking up her hand and resting it on the side of my head. She leaves it there, not moving it for several seconds until we both start to laugh.

  “This affection thing is weird,” she says.

  “You’re being weird, so I didn’t know what else to do,” I say.

  She scratches at my scalp a little then gives in and pulls one of my curls out to the side, rolling it in her fingers.

  “You’re so blonde.”

  I wrinkle my forehead and smile crookedly; I let her make a disgusted face at my natural hair color for almost a full minute in complete silence.

  “I get to stay, by the way. It was a misunderstanding.”

  Nicki’s reaction is slight, but I notice her nuances. Her lips twitch and her eyes brighten.

  “I really am sorry,” she says, finally, her gaze still on the same lock of hair.

  I reach up and grab her hand, and my touch brings her eyes to mine.

  “I know you are, and I’m telling you it’s fine. We are fine.” I squeeze her hand and she slips into an innocent smile.

  “Are you two ever going to make out?” Henry’s voice ruins our moment, and Nicki’s expression returns to the disgusted one she likes to put on for him. She lifts my head up from her lap and shoves me from her bed.

  “Why you like this pretty boy so much, I have no idea.” Nicki grabs her makeup bag and shoves her feet into a pair of slippers, pointing at us as a reminder that she can spy on us anytime she wants as she leaves us alone and goes to the bathroom down the hall.

  Henry cracks one eye open at me and his mouth forms a pouty grin.

  “You were supposed to be sleeping. I can’t believe you heard that,” I say, moving to his side and pushing him until he’s forced to move. He pulls me toward him, and as he rolls, my body fits with his until my back is against the wall and he’s lying on his other side, just inches away while I’m caught in his arms.

  “It all worked out,” he says softly, his nose close enough to nudge mine.

  “I’m staying.”

  “You’re staying,” he echoes. His grin is undeniable, and I think maybe he was actually a little worried too.

  “Was Alice mad about…ya know—how she found us?” he asks.

  I punch out a short laugh.

  “She was mad about having to pay an enormous bill. I honestly don’t think she gives two shits about walking in on our make-out session,” I say.

  He’s wearing deep blue jeans and a dark-gray sweater with a white collar from a fairly wrinkled shirt poking through the neck. I reach up to straighten it and breathe him in. His hair is still damp from a shower.

  “You’re going somewhere,” I say, focusing on my hands and his collar.

  He reaches in and stops my fidgeting, bringing my hand to his mouth. He presses his lips on it.

  “Just for a little while. Elena made plans.” His eyes dim, and I can tell he’s ashamed that he’s doing something for her. Ever since he opened up to me about his frustrations with her rule on his life, he’s seemed guilty whenever he follows her orders.

  “Henry,” I say, waiting until he meets my gaze. “It’s fine. I’ll see you when you get back. Maybe you’ll learn something.”

  He laughs a little, lips twisted with doubt.

  “Yeah, maybe,” he says, moving his hand back to my waist. He flirts with the bottom of my shirt, tickling me lightly along my midriff and pulling my shirt up enough to see my bra. I push it back down and blush.

  “Nicki’s makeup doesn’t take that long,” I say.

  He groans, jokingly, then brings my head close to his chest, tucking me under his chin. I’m not sure why I’m so comforted there, but I am. Maybe too much so.

  “Ms. Manning is pregnant.”

  I still. Henry’s hold becomes stiff, and his breath stops. I focus on finding the thump of his heart. I can’t.

  Shit. What did I do?

  “That’s…news.” He doesn’t use an adjective to describe it. I know the details of his life and his relationship to the woman I met with all morning. Henry and I haven’t talked about what I know, yet still my mouth opened and this one, vital secret fell out.

  I close my eyes tightly and practice it in my head first.

  I know she’s your aunt. She’s your aunt. She, and Elena…they’re…

  “I won’t tell Elena,” he says. My mouth falls open against the knit of his sweater and my eyes blink.

  “I’m sorry. She told me about how you’re related a while ago, but I never knew how to talk to you about it.”

  “It’s fine,” he says, his hand finally moving against my arm. His touch feels robotic, though.

  “Henry,” I begin to lift my head but he cups it against him and strokes my hair.

  “I mean it. It’s fine. Kinda hard to call her my aunt when I can’t call Elena my mom.”

  His words singe at my chest, and everything inside of me tightens. He’s right, but hearing him say it—acknowledge it—is terribly harsh.

  “I actually should go. I’m getting picked up soon, but I’ll be back Sunday,” he says, kissing the top of my head and rolling out of my arms until his feet find the floor. My bed is so empty where he was, nothing but wrinkles in my comforter. I sit up and bend my knees, hugging them and wishing I had a manual on how to fix the dumb things I say.

  “Lily, I promise…it’s fine.” He kneels with one knee on the bed, moving close enough to kiss me. I lift my chin and meet his lips, grabbing his bottom lip with my teeth and not wanting him to go. He hums at the sensation and smiles as he pulls away.

  “I almost forgot…”

  He reaches into his back pocket and pulls a small, folded piece of yellow paper out and hands it to me, but doesn’t let go right away, pinching one end while I pinch the other.

  Our eyes dance.

  “I will be home late for your birthday, but I promise I’ll be back in time to kiss you goodnight. And I’ll have a real present,” he says, letting go of his hold on the paper. “But for now, I got you this.”

  I look at him sideways and start to open the paper, but he reaches forward and stops my hand.

  “No. Oh God, no, not until I’m gone,” he says in a nervous laugh. For once, Henry Alderman is the one who’s blushing.

  “Okay,” I say softly.

  He looks down and shoves his hands in his pockets as he backs away, a crooked and guilty smile practically ruling his face. My feet start to wiggle with anticipation and it makes us both laugh.

  “All right, all right. I’m going. Just…wait until you count to five or something, okay? Five.”

  He holds up an open palm, fingers wide. I reluctantly nod, and he reaches for my door, lowering his eyes as he opens it, then practically sprinting down my hallway like a fool.

  I unfold the paper the instant he’s gone. I was expecting a stupid drawing or a heart or something dirty maybe, based on how he was acting. Instead, to my dismay, I’m faced with a tiny sentence written in French.

  “Dammit!” I blurt out, giggling at his cruel joke.

  I fly to my desk and fling books out of my way until I get to my French dictionary. I recognize a few things immediately, but some of the translations give me trouble. After almost five minutes, I’m nowhere near certain of what this says, but I know it’s sweet. The words he used are all sweet. I just don’t know how to put them together.

  The idea smacks me in the face when my eyes land on my phone. I pull up an online translation and nervously type, getting it wrong several times until my hands settle in and start to work the right way.

  Je me suis épris de toi.

  I fell for you.

  I backpedal to my bed and collapse on my back the moment my legs hit the mattress. With my phone held out in front of my grin-stained face, I say the words out loud as good as a first-year French student can.

  “Je me suis épris de toi.”

  “De toi to you too!” Nicki grunts as she pushes through the door, letting out an obnoxious “ahh” when she realizes Henry’s gone.

  I ignore her. I barely even hear her. In fact, I may not hear anybody for the rest of the day, because Henry Alderman fell for me, and he said so—in French!

  CHAPTER 16

  Collin and Alice are getting a divorce. Most teens my age, home for the holidays their sophomore year and relieved to be spending time with their families, would be devastated by this news. If I sit still enough and listen to the hush of the snow falling outside, I barely remember that it’s a fact.

  “I want to live with Collin.”

  That was the only thing I said, and it was agreed upon instantly. He’s staying in the house, and Alice is moving to the city, to an apartment near her work. She’s going to be closer to Elena—quite the protégé she’s become.

  She’s her slave, though she doesn’t see it that way.

  Alice and Collin never really seemed to like each other. They got married young, and then went to work barely making ends meet. I think my parents liked their spirit, or maybe it was the fact that they were the only family we had. Even when they used to babysit me they wouldn’t act like real couples acted. They played, sure, which for a kid was freaking spectacular! Outdoor tent parties, s’mores for dinner, and loud music—so much loud music!

  I don’t think it was the addition of me that made them miserable together. They were miserable anytime they weren’t partying like teens, and one can’t party forever. I just happened to show up when the other pressures of real life were starting to set in. A mortgage, zero health insurance, unsteady work and taxes. Collin and Alice just didn’t like each other enough to stick through the thin. I’m actually kind of proud of them for realizing they don’t have to stay together just because. I think Collin could make someone really happy.

  I’ve always liked him better anyhow.

  I’m waiting for Henry to show up. He’s offered to teach me to drive, not that I’ll ever get my license—or get a car of my own. I’d still like to know what I’m doing behind the wheel. The snow is starting to pick up, though, so our lesson might have to be put on hold.

  I’m shivering by the time I spot the front end of his Maserati. It’s a ridiculous-looking vehicle to be pulling down my street, and when he lets it idle at the curb in front of my porch, the sound draws the neighbor from his house just to get a closer look.

  “You gettin’ in that thing, Lily?” George is on a fixed income and lives alone. He always threatens to set me up with his grandson, but I’ve done the math and I’m pretty sure his grandson is forty-five.

  “I’m drivin’ that thing today, George!” I wink at him and give him a thumbs up. He can only seem to stare at me, puzzled. He’s also terribly old-fashioned and doesn’t quite understand why a woman needs to know how to drive. Alice can’t stand him. I feel like I can teach him.

  Henry gets out of the car before I make it halfway down the walkway, a medium-sized silver giftbag dangling from his finger now outstretched toward me.

  “You already gave me my Christmas present,” I say, pinching the golden heart hanging from a chain against my chest.

  “I got you another one. Just open it,” he says, thrusting it forward and forcing me to catch it at my chest.

  I give him a suspicious look and reach my hand in the bag. The stiff bulkiness throws me off, so I spread the bag open wide enough for my eyes to peer inside. Whatever it is, it’s bright orange and wound up with an ugly brown belt. It looks like those vests hunters wear.

  “I don’t get it,” I say in a flat voice. Henry laughs and takes the bag from me, pulling the gift out and unraveling the cord around it.

  “Life vest. We’re going rowing. Well…I’m rowing. You’re sitting. And you are not drowning because it’s fucking cold out!”

  Tongue stuffed in my cheek, I tentatively take the vest and mutter, “Okay.” Henry guides me to the passenger side and I climb in, not bothering to tell either of my soon-to-be-divorced, fake parents that I’m leaving. They knew Henry was coming, and at least one of them paid attention. They’ll sort it out.

  I buckle up and hold the vest in my lap while Henry slides into the driver’s side, closing the door with a satisfying clunk. Even the way the door slams shut sounds expensive. The jet-black hood looks like an arrow stretched out before us against the snow-covered road.

  “They don’t plow much here, so careful when you…”

  Henry grins and revs his engine, spinning his wheels into a fishtail as we pull away from my temporary life and race off toward my preferred one. I grip at the ceiling and door handle, my nerves shot up to the same level as his RPM.

  “You just got your license. You wanna lose it already?”

  He chuckles but slows down at the end of my street.

  “I’ve been dying to do that. Some of the older guys I used to hang out with on the crew team used to let me drive out in the country. I’ve been spinning my tires and sliding on ice since we met.”

  “Comforting,” I say.

  Henry’s head tilts with amusement, but he slows way down just the same. He wanted to impress me, not scare the shit out of me. He did both.

  It takes Henry about thirty minutes to get us out to a suburban channel deep in the southern suburbs. It’s the kind of neighborhood where quaint restaurants line cobblestoned walkways along a forest preserve stream. Since it’s freezing, though, the restaurants are all either empty or closed, and nobody is out for a walk.

  The sky is a thick gray, the clouds so dense they look as if one could reach up and cut into them. The flakes are falling like dust, not leaving much behind yet but threatening to do more damage as the night comes.

  Henry stops along a set of concrete stairs that lead down toward the water, across from a row of historic homes. People live here, in this place that looks like a holiday card. There’s literally a warm candle glowing in one of the windows. I laugh at it and Henry catches me, lifting a brow.

  “It’s pretty here,” I say.

  “Yeah. Me and the Richmod Prep kids used to take the train all the way down here and do dumb shit in the water in the summer. My first kiss was Katy O’Neil, and it was somewhere behind that big green dumpster in the alleyway between the Italian place and the bakery.”

  He points down the street but I don’t bother to look. I stare at him until it sinks in.

  “She was a terrible kisser,” he says, trying to make it better.

  I shake my head, and he gives up, taking my hand and my life jacket and leading me down the stairs to the river.

  “My first kiss was Tyler Olmstead, and it was outside of my English class right before lunch, so his breath was amazing. His lips were soft like butter and I called him my boyfriend for the entire month of March.”

  Henry doesn’t even flinch, and when we get to the shoreline, he turns to me and gestures for me to lift my arms so he can wrap me in my safety jacket. When he clips it snug, I hold out my open palms, and offer a “what the hell?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry…was I supposed to be jealous of butter lips? Or good breath? I couldn’t tell.” He maintains a serious expression for exactly five seconds before sweeping his arm around my back and pulling me flush against his chest and pressing his lips to mine possessively.

  “I’ve never met a Tyler who wasn’t a dick,” he says against my lips. I can feel his mouth bend into a smile, and I give one back.

  There. He was a little jealous. Also, I made Tyler up. My real first kisses weren’t even close to butter-lips good, and their names were highly unhip.

  Henry kisses me for several minutes, and I almost forgot the whole reason I was wearing a ridiculous vest and standing by a small river. When he steps away, I cling onto his deep red sweater and suck in the taste of him left behind on my bottom lip.

  We’re both in jeans and sweaters, and I’ve managed to stuff my coat over the thick fabric on my arms. The safety vest is holding everything on, I swear. Henry should be freezing, but he pulls his sweater from over his head, the long-sleeved black tee underneath lifting up a little to show his waist and the plaid band of his boxers that peek out of the top of his deep-blue jeans. Nicki is always calling Henry “Preppy” like it’s a bad thing, but I don’t know—if she saw the little things I did, I think she may form a different opinion.

  “Here. You climb in first,” he says, taking my hand and holding my elbow, too, steadying me while I step from the wooden sideboard along the bank of the water and into the thin rowboat. It wobbles under my weight, and I crouch down on instinct, desperate to steady it.

  “You’re okay. I got you,” he says. I flash my eyes up to him, comforted by the complete lack of worry.

  Once the boat stops rocking, he lets go of my hand and climbs in on the opposite side, tossing his sweater to the space between his knees and pushing us out into the middle of the water.

  “How far are we going?” I ask, already mesmerized by the movement of his arms. He’s barely even gripped the oars, and already he looks like a god.

  “I don’t know. ’Til you get sick of it, I guess,” he shrugs, then pushes back and pulls the oars to his chest, gliding us across the snow-frosted water.

  I manage to tear my eyes away from him for a few minutes as we drift away from the area with homes and businesses, and far off from the noise of the highway or nearby roads. I’m so bundled, I can’t feel the cold anywhere but the place where my face isn’t wrapped in my hood. My nose feels like it must be a bright shade of red. Henry, in the meantime, is beginning to sweat.