Page 53 of Stick Move

“No reason?”

“No.” With that I take her hand in mine, and we walk to the back of the car. I pop the trunk and pull out the pasta casserole we made together, and carry it to the house. Inside, Camryn is talking a million miles an hour, and Brighton slows as we walk down the hall. I turn to her, expecting to see that apprehension again, and that’s when I realize it’s her first time at my parents’ place.

She grins as she stops to study all the pictures on the wall. “Noah, you were so cute. Look at this one, with no front teeth.”

I run my tongue over my front teeth. “I’m surprised I still have them, considering the amount of hits I’ve taken.”

She stops to study a picture of me with baby Camryn on my lap, in front of a Christmas tree. “I love this one.”

“Her first Christmas.”

She puts her hand on my back. “So special.”

“Come on. We need to get this casserole in the fridge. You have plenty of time to look later, and there are lots of goofy pictures during my gangly years that will make you laugh.”

“I thought you were cute in your gangly years.”

I laugh at that. “Oh, you did, did you?”

“Yes, I did.” She waves her hand up and down the length of me. “I also thought you were hot when you grew into this body.”

I groan and put my mouth near her ear. “Now is not the time to be telling me things like this.”

“Okay, I’ll save it for later.”

“You better.” I give her a nudge and she walks into the kitchen. “Ms. Brighton, Grandma bought me a new backpack for school. Isn’t it peachy?”

“It’s very peachy,” she agrees as Mom gives her a big smile and stands, her arms outstretched. She hugs Brighton, and, from the way Brighton is tensing up, it’s pretty clear that she’s not used to or quite comfortable with openness from others.

“I’m going to go play on the swings,” Camryn informs us and darts into the backyard.

Her hair bounces as she runs, and I say, “We’ll be right out.”

“Brighton, it’s so good to see you.” Mom takes Brighton’s hand and frowns as she glances at her empty ring finger. “Oh, dear. Where is your ring?” Mom’s eyes go wide. “Did you lose it?”

Brighton is quick to explain, “Oh we haven’t picked it out yet. Just taking our time.”

Mom goes deathly pale, and quiet, like she’s struggling with something. Then she shakes her head, frustration all over her face. Her gaze lifts to me. “I…I forgot to give it to you, didn’t I?” Her hands go to her reddening cheeks. “Oh dear, oh dear. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Sandra,” Dad whispers gently, and I step up to Mom and Brighton.

“Mom,” I begin gently, as guilt wraps around my gut. Jesus, I’m sure I’m going to have a big old ulcer by the time dinner is over. “It’s okay. You didn’t forget anything.”

“I’ll be right back.” Before I can stop her, and I honestly don’t know what to say or do, Mom darts upstairs. Dad, Brighton and I all exchange concerned looks, before Dad speaks. “I’m sorry about this. I assume she’s getting your grandmother’s ring, Noah. You don’t have to indulge in this.”

I set the casserole on the table. “What should we do, Dad?” I ask, as I take in the pain in his eyes. Brighton slides her fingers through mine, a sign that she’s standing with me, willing to do whatever it is that needs to be done.

“I…I guess it would be best for her if?—”

“We’ll do what’s best for her,” Brighton tells him. I glance at her and give her a grateful smile, knowing she is going above and beyond for me and later tonight I’m going to show her just how much I appreciate that.

Mom comes back into the kitchen with a little velvet box in her hand and I can’t even catch my breath. I always figured the ring would be handed to me when I got engaged, but I never expected an engagement going down like this.

“Here you go.” She holds the ring toward me, and I wipe my damp hands on my pants before opening it. The sight of the diamond fills me with so many mixed emotions because I always figured when I put this on the finger of a woman, it would be for real. But this isn’t real, even if I want it to be.

You want this to be real, Noah?

I lift my head to find three sets of eyes watching me carefully, but I only want to look into Brighton’s eyes. I can’t do this if it’s going to make her uncomfortable and what if she meets the man meant to be her husband and never gets to pursue it because we’re pretending to be something we’re not.

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