Page 183 of One Big Little Secret

Delly’s face splits in a grin.

“We already knew that, honey,” she says, that hint of Southern drawl she has making its way into her words. But all that does is make me feel guilty.

Soon, soon.

The whole truth and nothing but.

After I’ve told Arlo first.

But it feels like that moment is coming too soon, bearing down on me like a bison stampede, wild and inescapable.

Part of me wishes she’d take a good long look at Arlo and figure it out right now. I can’t wait for all the lies and deception and half-truths to end.

Once everything is finally out in the open, we can move forward, whatever that looks like.

Is this how Patton’s been feeling ever since he found out? It’s pretty rotten, like insects crawling under your skin.

Enough.

Today’s the day, I decide, standing abruptly. I need to tell Arlo and show Patton I’ll do what it takes to make this work.

“Come to think of it, I should see Patton,” I say. “I just remembered there’s something important I need to tell him.”

Delly trades an indulgent smile with Evelyn. “We understand. Say no more, dear.”

“Absolutely,” Evelyn says eagerly, clasping her hands. “Young love makes me jealous.”

I’m grateful they’re so kind.

One step at a time. Let’s not get too carried away.

“Come on, Arlo. You can watch more later,” I say. Delly picks up his empty glass, and he reluctantly pauses his video. “Say goodbye for now.”

He submits to a happy hug from Delly and a pat on the cheek from Evelyn, and finally I make my escape. I’m hoping it doesn’t look rude to run away so fast, but the sooner I do this, the better everything will be.

“Mommy…” I’m a little distracted as I throw on my coat.

Where are you? Are you free this evening?I text Patton on our way out the door.

“Mommy,” Arlo says, tugging on my arm. “My lips feel funny.”

“Funny how?” I ask absently.

“Itchy.”

I look at him and smile.

“It’s all that orange juice, I bet, on top of the cake. Do you know it had pieces of real candied oranges in it?” A little reaction around his lips to a citrus overload wouldn’t be new.

“Why are we rushing?”

“I’d like to see Patton this evening,” I explain.

Arlo doesn’t protest as I strap him into his car seat and we set off, only to be stuck in late morning traffic five minutes later. I lean on the steering wheel, tapping against it impatiently.

“Mommy,” Arlo says from the back. “Mommy, I don’t feel good.”

I barely have time to turn around to see before orange spray bursts from his mouth, covering him in a complete mess. He lurches, more cake coming out, almost undigested.

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