“He’s doing it for my sake,” Mama tells her.

  “I’m not doing anything,” I argue.

  “You’re allowed to like it, Butler. It won’t hurt my feelings.”

  “I do like it. I don’t really care about trees, though.”

  “What do you like then?”

  “Football.”

  They all laugh like it’s a joke but I’m serious. That’s the thing I like the most about Oregon – playing football. It’s always been my first love. It always will be.

  “The food’s good,” I expand because they want me to. “There’s a bar on the edge of campus that has good egg rolls.”

  Big John laughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen egg rolls on the menu at a bar.”

  “They’ve got a crazy food scene there.”

  “Have you heard of that app where you can order food and people will bring it to you?” Mama asks curiously.

  “Yeah. Everyone uses it.”

  “That and the Uber app, right? That’s legal in Eugene now?”

  “I guess.”

  “Do you use them?”

  “Sometimes.” I frown, curious where she’s going with this. We’re definitely headed somewhere. “Why?”

  “I wanna know you’re not drinkin’ and drivin’.”

  “I don’t have a car,” I laugh.

  “You don’t need a car to drink and drive.”

  “You know that for a fact,” Big John implies heavily.

  He’s talking about the damage I did on my Circle K run with his John Deere. It took me a full year and a side hustle bagging groceries at the Save A Lot to pay for it.

  They’re never going to let me forget it.

  “I’m not drinking and driving, Mama,” I promise her. “I don’t have time.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she chuckles.

  “It’s the truth. I drank more in high school than I do now.”

  She cocks her head at me, her eyebrows drawn together quizzically. “How much did you drink in high school?”

  More than you want to know.

  Big John looks at me with wide, warning eyes. “Tread carefully.”

  Mama glares at him. “Don’t tell him to lie to me.”

  “I’m not tellin’ him to lie, honey. I’m tellin’ him to go easy with how much truth he tells. Let the boy have some secrets.”

  “You can’t punish him for past crimes,” Cousin Jules agrees. “He’s eighteen. Leave him alone.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, y’all. I don’t want him to die. But you’re right. Let him have his secrets.”

  Mama’s upset. Not about the drinking – she knows I drank in high school. It’s something else. Probably the fact that we’re halfway through my visit and I’ll be leaving soon. Most likely she won’t see me again until Thanksgiving. Maybe Christmas.

  Big John knows it too. He’s looking at Mama out of the corner of his eye, checking to see if there are tears on the horizon.

  So far, she looks solid but the skies will only get stormier from here as the week goes on.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I’ve been talking to Dick a lot. Way too much to be normal. We had an in depth conversation about Alabama’s defense yesterday and he actually won the argument. That’s how I know things are bad.

  I’m stressed.

  Vacation should be relaxing, but it’s killing me. It was great for the first week but now that I’m supposed to be back in Oregon in a few days, I just want to go. I want to get into my routine of eating the right foods at the right time and training the right way with the right equipment. Big John has a gym in the basement and it’s good but it’s not everything I need.

  The truth is, I wanna go home.

  But this is home. Only it’s not anymore.

  If I make Mama aware of that, it’ll gut her. And I’m about to make her very, very aware.

  I need to leave tomorrow. Four days earlier than I’m supposed to.

  “Why would you leave early?” Eustis asks.

  He called to see if I knew the password for our cable login and we’ve been talking for the last thirty minutes. I didn’t know I needed to vent to anyone until I had him on the line. Suddenly it was verbal diarrhea, my worries spilling out of my mouth in an unstoppable wave that he’s been patiently absorbing even though I couldn’t help him with the login.

  This last week, he, Meyerson, and Weiss have been moving into a new place. It’s farther from campus than the apartment was, but it has four bedrooms instead of three. There’s room for me, their dependable little Pupper. I was surprised when they offered to do it. They easily could have stayed in their apartment and told me to find somewhere else to live this year since I can go pretty much anywhere now that I’m not a freshman. But they didn’t. They decided to officially adopt me instead.

  “I wanna bring my car home,” I answer Eustis. “I’m sick of making you drive me everywhere.”

  “I don’t mind, man.”

  “I know, but still.”

  “You want your own whip. I get it.”

  He doesn’t say Brooklyn’s name, but we’re both thinking it. If I had a car I could go to Corvallis whenever I want. I could see her more than once a week if I’m lucky.

  What he doesn’t ask is ‘why’? Why would I want to see her more? We’re not dating. She said that disaster at Gianni’s was our first date, but if that’s true, it was also our last. Everything since has felt like hanging out as friends. When I kissed her cheek and she made it painfully clear that was as far as we would go, she drew a line we’re careful not to cross. We don’t spend the night in the same town, let alone the same building. When we see each other, it’s in public places. She never came to the apartment I shared with the guys. I doubt she’ll come to the new house.

  It sucks because I’m into her. I know she’s feeling me too, but there’s that line. She drew it for a reason and I don’t feel like asking what the reason is. Not yet, at least. For now, things are good. This is what she can handle and it’s kind of perfect for me too. I mean, yeah, I’d like to be getting laid. What guy wouldn’t? But with my schedule as tight as it is, I can’t do a full time girlfriend. But a smoking hot friend who makes me laugh and shuts down the noise that builds up in my brain, who understands what I’m working toward and why it takes almost all of my time – that’s almost better than sex.

  Almost.

  “Have you told your mom yet?” Eustis asks.

  “No. I’m scared to. She might cry.”

  “Probably. You’re her baby.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Well, good fuckin’ luck with that. I gotta find the password and get the cable working. Kaitlyn and Jackson are here and if I don’t get Paw Patrol playing soon, Jackson’s gonna go on a rampage and pee in every corner of the house.”

  “Parenting sounds fun.”

  “I wouldn’t really know, you know?”

  “Sorry, Jake.”

  “It’s cool. Text me when you know what you’re doing so we know when you’re coming home.”

  “I will. Thanks for listening.”

  “Yep. Later.”

  “Bye.”

  I stall for another hour by searching recruitment stats online. Washington just got a new three-star quarterback. That’s unfortunate for him. Their D-line is made of papier-mâché. We’re going to sack the shit out of that guy for four straight quarters.

  When I smell lunch cooking downstairs, I know I can’t avoid it anymore. If I’m going to leave in the morning, I have to give Mama some kind of heads up. She thinks she has me for another few days before I fly out, but if I’m gonna drive my car home, I need at least four days to do it. I’ll be driving across the entire country. I should probably be on the road already.

  Mama’s in the mud room doing laundry when I get downstairs. The oven is on, the smell of warm pork thick in the air.

  “Hey, baby,” she calls to me brightly. “I’m making pork chops for lunch. Your favorite.”

  Fuck.

  “Thanks, Mama.”

  “We’ll have something light for dinner. It’s hot out. I don’t think anyone wants anything too heavy today.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  The door to the dryer snaps shut. Mama comes to stand in the doorway to the mud room, her head cocked as she looks me over.

  “What’s wrong? You seem sad,” she observes.

  I sit on a stool at the island, my hands hot on the cold surface. My fingers leave ghostly prints as I shift, searching for the right way to say this.

  “I gotta leave tomorrow morning,” I tell her bluntly. It’s like ripping off a Band Aid. Better to do it quick than let it draw out.

  Mama frowns. “Why? What happened?”

  “Nothin’. I was just thinkin’ that I wanna take my car home and I need time to do it. If I don’t leave tomorrow morning, I’ll never make it back for classes Monday morning.”

  She leans against the doorframe, her arms crossing over her chest. “I thought you didn’t want to take your car to Oregon. We asked when you moved out there. We offered to buy you a new one.”

  “I know and I didn’t want one then, but you’re right. I need one.”

  “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “I said I need one.”

  “No, no, no, no. The other part. The part before that.”

  I grin. “You were right.”

  “Yes. Yes, I was.” She hoists herself off the doorframe, coming to stand across from me. “Do you know what would have been easier?”

  “Taking you up on the offer to buy me a car when I first got to Oregon.”

  “Would have been way easier,” she emphasizes.

  “You know me, Mama. I never see things comin’.”

  “I’m very aware.”

  I search her face, her eyes, looking for bad weather. I’m surprised it’s clear skies. “Are you mad?”

  “Of course I’m mad, Butler. I thought I had you for four more days. Now I don’t even have twenty-four hours.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright. It’s your choice. It’s…” She sighs, looking out the window. “I understand. When I was your age, I couldn’t wait to get out of my parents’ house. Granted, I was pregnant with you and I thought that made me grown, but I do get it. I understand wantin’ your own life.”

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

  She smiles. “I love you too, baby. More than anyone. And when you’re gone, I’ll miss you more than anything.”

  “But…”

  Mama sighs. “Yeah, but. You gotta go. If that hunk of junk you call a car will even start.”

  “I thought John was driving it every couple weeks to keep it alive.”

  “He has been. It doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

  It’s never been safe.

  I push away from the island. “I’ll go check on it.”

  “It definitely needs gas. If you take it into town, go to the store for me. I need sour cream.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I grab my keys off the hook by the backdoor. They’ve hung there since I learned to drive. Same keychain with a long leather strap embossed with my high school’s mascot. Go Bearcats!

  I get halfway to the barn where the truck is stored before I remember I need to the key to the barn door. I have to go back inside to get it off a different hook. I poke my head inside, reaching around the corner to grab it, when I spot Mama in the kitchen. She’s hunched over the island, her hands splayed out, her head tucked between her arms.

  She’s gasping and shaking.

  Crying silently.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I feel like shit. Again. It’s starting to feel like my natural state at this point. Like I can’t stop being a dick, no matter how hard I try. Mama crying in the kitchen wrecked me for the rest of the day. I didn’t know how to talk to her because all I wanted to do was make it better but I couldn’t promise to stay. I’m leaving in the morning because it’s what I want.

  Is that why I suck? Am I selfish?

  I don’t think I am but I doubt selfish people realize they’re selfish. That’s why they’re so fucking selfish.

  There’s something else I want. Something wild, but it shouldn’t hurt anybody. Not that I can see.

  I want Brooklyn to drive to Oregon with me.

  When I call her that night, she answers on the second ring. “What’s up, Shay?”

  “What are you doin’ tomorrow?”

  “Sleeping. Eating. Watching TV on my parents couch as I slowly merge with it in a lump of inactivity. Why? What are you doing?”

  “Driving back to Oregon.”

  She chuckles in surprise. “What happened? You got a car?”

  “I always had one.”

  “You fuck,” she spits hotly.

  “I always had one here,” I laugh. “In Carolina.”

  “Still. Fuck you.”

  “You wanna come?”

  She pauses. “Come with you to Oregon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You remember I’m in Ohio.”

  “I’ll come get you.”

  Brooklyn laughs; light and airy. Unencumbered in a way I can feel in my gut when I hear it. Making her laugh makes me feel less shitty. Like if she likes me, I can’t be all that bad.

  “I’m like nine hours out of your way,” she reminds me.

  “Seven. Less if I hurry.”

  “You’ve done your research.”

  “And you haven’t said ‘no’ yet,” I point out. “Does that mean you want to go with me?”

  “Of course I want to go with you.”

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Hold on,” she chuckles. “How am I getting home? I can’t stay there. I moved out of my place with Dani and Bria. I’m homeless in Oregon.”

  “You can stay at my place until you’re ready to leave. I have a return ticket my parents bought me before I decided to drive my car back. I’ll turn it in for a voucher and you can use it when you’re ready to go home.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a thing airlines do.”

  “They will for our travel coordinator.”

  “At Oregon?”

  “Yeah. She works magic you wouldn’t believe. She has tons of connections. She’ll get it worked out for me.”

  “Because women do what you want them to do, don’t they, Butler Shay?”

  “No, no,” I complain. “Don’t do that. Don’t use my full name.”

  “Mason.”

  “Jesus, come on. Women like me. How is that my fault?”

  “You’re charming. You do it on purpose.”

  “Doesn’t it count for anything that I treat you like shit to balance the scales?”

  “You do not treat me like shit,” she snaps. “You’re incredibly sweet most of the time.”

  Most of the time.

  I get that caveat because of the test at Gianni’s. It’s fair, but it sucks.

  “Are you coming with me or not?” I demand.

  “On a spur of the moment road trip back to Oregon for no good reason with no clear thought to how it ends? Yeah. I’m going. Of course I am. You know I love a poorly devised plan.”

  “Chaos is your crack cocaine.”

  “Slip it in my veins. Let’s go,” she says eagerly. “When do we leave?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  She laughs. “You were serious about that?”

  “Deadly serious.”

  “Fuck, Bundy, fine. I’ll be ready tomorrow, but if you show up in a yellow VW Bug, I’m not going. I’m not insane.”

  “You know way too much about serial killers.”

  “You know way too little. You’re missing all the warning signs.”

  “She said, implying that she was in fact a serial killer,” I reply.

  “I’m texting you my address.”

  “I’m rethinking this whole thing.”

  “No, you’re not,” she says confidently. “You’ve been without me for all of ten days and you’re falling apart. You need this.”

  That’s unnerving the way she does that. The way she reads me out loud like I’m a book open on the table. It’s annoying and I wanna be mad but I’m too excited to see her tomorrow.

  Because she’s right – I’m falling apart without her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Mama’s not happy.

  And you know what they say – if Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

  Big John isn’t happy with me either. He left for work early this morning but not before pulling me aside to tell me how much this last minute decision hurt Mama. I get why he did it but it just pissed me off. I listened to him lay into me, my face wiped clean of emotion. He was talking to stone. Eventually, he realized it was worthless. He kissed Mama goodbye, hugged her hard, and left the house without another look in my direction.

  Mama and I were awkward for almost an hour after that, but then I was loading my bags into the back of the truck and she followed me outside into the driveway. She’s wearing those ugly sweats she loves so much. Her face is clear of makeup and pain.

  “Drive careful,” she warns me warmly. “John says the tires are balder than he’d like.”

  “I’ll replace ‘em when I get to Oregon.”

  “We could do it today. You could leave tomorrow.”

  “Mama.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest, her hair pulling loose from the ponytail she hastily tied while making me breakfast. There’s pancake batter on the cuff of her sweatshirt. Uncertainty in the depths of her brown eyes; the same anxiety she tried to hide when they dropped me off at the University of Oregon last year.

  “Butler, I’m gonna say whatever I wanna say. You don’t have to listen to it, but I can say it.”

  I nod. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t go yet.”

  “I gotta go today.”

  “You wanna see this girl.”

  “Yeah, but it’s not all about her. I’m smarter than that.”

  “Don’t let her derail you.”

  “Mama,” I say heavily, my eyes on hers. “I’m smarter than that.”

  “I hear you. I just… You’re on scholarship. You gotta keep your grades up and you can’t go missin’ practices for her.”