Page 67 of About That Night

He is. He’s run off with some other kids, and they’re having some kind of dance-off to the Trolls soundtrack. I can see him, so I really shouldn’t worry. It’s time for both of us to plant some roots here, and being a part of the community is the best way to do that.

Jenny Young shoves some plastic bowls in my direction. “Dish up that gumbo, and we’ll pass them around to folks on a couple of trays.”

The party has at least fifty attendees, if not more. I always loved being here at the Youngs, and if I wasn't wound so tight right now, I’d still feel that same way. Their vibe as a whole is always boisterous and cheerful.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Call me Jenny.”

“Oh, no, no, I can’t,” I protest. I really can’t. My manners are too ingrained.

“I know you and Faith had some kind of falling out back when y’all graduated, but I’m sure all of that was just teenage-girl nonsense. I don’t want it to bother you. Faith has her own thing going on now, and she’s always supportive of her brothers.”

I’m ladling gumbo and utterly confused on what she’s getting at. “Um, well, the friendship ending was my fault. But I’m glad to hear that Faith is doing well. I heard she has a job at a whiskey distillery. That sounds exciting.”

“I suppose. I don’t drink whiskey. Look, what I’m trying to say is that Hank is a good man, if a little slow to mature. You could do worse than him.”

“I could do a lot worse than him,” I say, and I mean that most emphatically. “I don’t think there is a single thing about Hank that is immature. He’s so hardworking,” I gush. “I just know this new restaurant is going to be a hit. He has such great plans for it, and his cooking is amazing. He manages to do all that, be responsible, and he still knows how to have a good time. You should be very proud of him.”

I have three bowls filled, and I pause to wipe up a drip on the plastic tablecloth.

Mrs. Young doesn’t say anything, and when I glance up, I realize she’s smiling at me. “I agree.”

Maybe I’ve just revealed too much about my feelings because she looks smug.

“Are y’all dating?” she asks.

“We’re…friends.” We are. Nothing less. Nothing more, which is my fault. We could at least be friends with benefits if I wasn’t such a chickenshit.

But I’m terrified we’ll have sex and then I’ll be struck by lightning. It happened to Conway, why can’t it happen to me? If not lightning, then something equally horrible.

My house will flood.

The washing machine will flood.

Or explode.

My car will explode.

My ovaries will explode.

Anything and everything will explode.

Or worse, it will be just sex to Hank, when I’m in love, so sex will destroy our friendship, and then I’ll have nothing. No Hank.

“Mm-hm,” Hank’s mother says. “Well, I just want to put your mind at ease. I know you know that I saw you coming out of his room a few years back, and I just want to let you rest assured I don’t care. It’s normal to have those kinds of urges and to get carried away exploring each other’s bodies.”

I’m frozen with my head down, a napkin in my hand. Exploring each other’s bodies. Dear Lord. I have no idea what to say. Fortunately, Mrs. Young doesn’t need me to say anything.

She just keeps talking. “Hank is good-looking, he’s charming. Lord knows his father charmed me into having seven kids.”

I let out a startled laugh before I can prevent it. Then I start ladling again at high speed, just to be done with it so I can make my escape.

“Do you want more kids?” Jenny asks, sticking spoons in each bowl I’ve filled.

Her tone is friendly and casual.

There’s no point in lying, and I’m thrilled to be off the subject of me crawling out of Hank’s bedroom and our “urges” five years earlier. “Yes, I definitely do.”

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