Page 51 of Movers and Shakers

“Okay, I can see why that would be a problem. But I’m not going to tell anyone. Your life is your life.”

“I agree, but I remember a time when everyone told me what Ishouldbe. Including you.”

I didn’t want it to affect me. I thought it wouldn’t once I wrote off Mom and Dad. Yet I was so angry.

“I won’t do that again,” he said. “I was genuinely curious.”

“Why? You’re busier than ever now that you run the company.”

His lips pressed together. “I work all day and come home to a quiet apartment. I just thought . . . music would fill the void.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.” I took in his newly tense shoulders. “Are you trying to hide something from me?”

Was it what Ruth knew?

“Someone I care about likes her,” he said slowly.

“Like a girlfriend? I didn’t think you did commitment.”

“It’s not a girlfriend . . . It’s complicated.”

“Does it have anything to do with why Ruth’s been acting weird?”

“How do you know Ruth is acting weird?”

“We talk. Sometimes.” I pretended to be nonchalant about it with a shrug.

“Really?”

“I’m trying, okay? So whatever this is . . . just tell me. You give a little, I’ll give a little. About Lila, I mean.”

“I seriously doubt that,” he muttered, looking away again. “In fact, you’ll probably find it funny for two seconds and then hate me.”

“The only thing I’d find funny is if you were wearing heels to be taller than me.”

“I—why would I do that?”

“Ruth does.Daddoes.”

“He what?”

“I snuck into his closet one day and found them. All of his boots have heels so he’s as tall as Mom.” It was one of the few good memories I had of home. I knew Dad was insecure about his height and I wanted something to knock him down a peg.

“How did I never know this?”

“You and Ruth zoned out when I got yelled at for hinting I knew about them. It was worth it, though.”

“Huh. That must be why he never took them off at home.”

“We got off topic again.” I shook my head. “I believe you were about to give me information?”

He looked pained. “I need to know for a . . . child.”

“A child?”

“My. . . child.”

I froze. Tom had achild?A real, living, breathingchild?

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