Page 26 of Stealing Sunshine

With her hair curled tightly and pinned at the base of her skull in an intricate bun and makeup giving her the appearance of a younger version of herself, I wonder how long she spent getting ready this morning.

“Jean! It’s such a treat to see you again,” she welcomes, voice high and bubbly.

Jean takes my hand and tightens his grip when I try to tug itfree, smiling sweetly at her. “Thank you, Mrs. Lemieux. Your home ismagnifique.”

My mother looks at him with a sense of pride I’ve never witnessed in the same way. I’ve grown tired of being jealous of such stupid things. It’s easy to brush off.

She pins me with a stern look, one that saysLook! Someone with manners.“Oh, you’re a delight, Jean. Come in, come in. There’s tea and biscuits on the back patio.”

“I hate tea,” I say.

“Coffee, then,” she pushes through flat lips.

Jean stares down at me. “Shall we?”

I carefully pat my pocket, checking for my phone without drawing attention, and then hum in agreement. “I have to use the bathroom first.”

“I’ll lead Jean to the backyard. You remember the way there, Bryce?” Mom asks.

I fight off an eye roll. “Yeah, I remember.”

Without needing further confirmation, Mom takes Jean’s other hand and starts guiding him through the door and into the house. He’s forced to release me, and I stretch out my fingers before turning down the first hall.

I’m not fifteen steps from the entry when I pull my phone free and send a text.

Me: SOS. You know what to do.

I duck into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. The typing bubbles appear on the screen before a reply pops up.

Darren: Again?

Huffing, I lift the toilet lid with the tip of my toe and let it bang closed. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to have followed me.

Me: He’s wearing loafers.

Darren: Yikes. Alright. Ten minutes?

Me: I’ll make it work. Thank you

Pocketing my phone, I take a breath before flushing the toiletand washing my hands. There’s no one on the other side of the door when I leave, and my relief is instant.

There’s no sound in the house besides the clack of my boots on the floor. Probably should have taken them off at the door, but the prospect of getting mud on my mom’s shining floors fills me with too much excitement.

“Bryce?”

I stop at the sound of my father’s voice and inhale a long breath. “I didn’t know you were home.”

“I’m happy I was.”

He comes around to face me and inspects me with deep blue eyes before pulling me in for a hug. It’s mostly comfortable. I even return the gesture.

“Not that I’m not pleased to see you here, but why are you home? I didn’t know you were going to be here,” he says.

“Mom didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

I leave his arms and arch a brow. “I’m on a date.”

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