Page 91 of Puck Block

In an attempt to control the situation, I relax my leg and shift beneath the table. His hand loosens, and I scoot to the edge of my seat. My shoe brushes the zipper of his jeans, and I have to force myself to keep a straight face. “You guys don’t want to take care of me,” I say. “You want to control me. God forbid I give some guy my number.”

Ford’s fingers dig into my ankle.

“You shouldn’t be focusing on a boyfriend, sweetheart. You need to get your health under control first. Level out those glucose readings so we can slap a pump on you,” my dad adds.

My stomach falls. I want to reiterate that I don’t need a pump, but with doing so, I’m afraid I’ll spill their secret and everything will blow up in my face.

The room grows tense. Ford’s aunt takes a step forward, and I wait with bated breath to see what she’s going to say.Does she know about their money issue?

“You know,” she says. “Sex is good for your health.”

Emory chokes on his leftover lasagna, and Ford immediately drops my foot. To no surprise, I’m the only one who laughs.

My parents scold her jokingly, but I smile at her.

Aunt Jo has always been on my side, even when Ford is involved.

After my mom tells us all to go into the living room so she can make us a homemade meal from her new cookbook,Cooking for Diabetics, I move to sit beside Ford on the couch but think twice and sit on the opposite end. Emory and my dad are in the middle of a conversation about the guys’ latest game, which prompts my brother into poking holes in their excuse of going to Lennie’s birthday party instead of their next game.

Panic starts to make itself known in my lower stomach and forces me to leave the room. I can’t bear to hear the excuse that’s going to fall from my father’s mouth next because I’m privy to the real reason they’re not coming, and it weighs me down with guilt.

I feel Ford’s eyes trail my every step, but when I do a quick glance back, he’s turned all the way toward the TV where he, my dad, and Emory watch old footage of hockey.

He hoped that being back home around my family and brother would help keep his eyes off me, and I guess he was right.

[ 42 ]

FORD

Mary-Ann pats Emoryon the shoulder as she sits down on the arm of the couch. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“Alright, Mom,” he says without taking his eyes off the hockey footage he’s been watching for an hour. I started off watching it but quickly shifted gears and started to make note of the subtle changes around the house.

I’m an observant person–which is how I know that Taytum has gone upstairs to check her sugar and inject her insulin if needed since we’re about to eat–and it’s how I know that something isn’t right around the house. Things are misplaced or missing. Things like their family portrait that has been hanging on the wall for the last four years and Taytum’s senior ballet photo where she stands alone on the stage in nothing but a leotard and flimsy tutu that shows off her long, toned legs.

I push off from the couch and walk into the kitchen to see what else is missing when I find my stand-in mom setting the table.

“Move it,” I say. She hands over the plates and sits on the chair to watch me take over setting the table.

“You’re such a gentleman,” she teases.

I grin. “You raised me right.”

She laughs through a raspy cough that I’m not happy to hear. “You raised yourself.”

“Not true,” I correct her. “And you need to stop smoking.”

With the same green eyes as my mother, she levels me with a withering stare. “Fine. I’ll stop smoking as soon as you admit that you and Taytum are sleeping together.”

The fork in my hand slips and falls to the floor with a loud clang. I drop down like a shot was fired, and my aunt laughs under her breath when I stand back up. I point with the fork, prongs facing in her direction, and deny it until I’m blue in the face.

It’s no use, though. She doesn’t believe a word I say.

I continue setting the table with her knowing little grin following me around.

“Alright, Miss Know-It-All…” I place the last utensil down and look her square in the eye. “I’ll admit it if you tell me what’s going on with this whole ordeal.” I twirl my finger around the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?”

---