Page 152 of Becoming Us
My mother’s face—flushed, wide-eyed—swiveled slowly in his direction. She blinked. “In the mashed potatoes?”
His knee bumped mine under the table, lingering just long enough. “Yeah? Zucchini?” he added, golden-retriever charm deployed full force.
The word looped strangely in my head.
Zucchini.
It moved through the fog thick in my brain, slow and syrupy.
What?
His pale-blue eyes flicked to mine just as the meaning landed.
“Zucchini? No, honey. It’s just potatoes,” she said with a laugh so fake it made my skin crawl.
Atty kept looking at me, his calm, focused gaze locked on mine.
And just like that, the rage that had been building inside me began to deflate. But underneath it, something worse stirred. Shame. Embarrassment. That sticky, familiar twist deep in my gut that made me want to disappear.
I held his eyes, praying he could read mine. Still, I mouthed,Get me out,before he looked away. His hand dropped to my thigh and gave a comforting squeeze.
“That explains the flavor,” he said smoothly.
I loved him.
“You know what? I’m not feeling so great. Maybe they didn’t actually agree with me,” he added quickly. “We might have to leave early.”
I really fucking loved him.
He laced our fingers together, calmly folded his napkin, and set it on the table.
“Now? We were going to have a toast and cake,” my mom said, blinking, clearly confused—but not angry. Not yet. Just off-balance enough to miss the moment she usually would’ve sunk her teeth in.
“You bought cake?” Ilana asked, baffled.
“We’re celebrating,” my mom said, like we hadn’t all been roped into this dinner because my dad was about to have been dead for four fucking years.
I shoved my chair back, the legs screeching against the floor. “Atty’s not feeling well, Mom. We’ll see you all tomorrow at the Mass.”
I circled the table fast, muttering a goodbye as my mom pulled me into a quick half-hug I kept as short as possible. I didn’t look at anyone else. I’d text Ilana later and apologize. Right now, I just needed to get the fuck out of there.
In the car, the air got thicker instead of clearing, a pressure building that I recognized too well. This night had been a mistake. All of it. Too much, too fast. I didn’t know how to handle it.
Like you’ve ever known how to handle shit.
I pressed my knuckles to my mouth and braced.
“You know I didn’t say it because of you, right?” Atty’s voice was low.
I didn’t turn to look at him. The pressure against my mouth only grew.
“That wasn’t your fault, Noah. You did nothing wrong.”
Of course it’s your fault. It’s always your fault.
My eyes prickled. I nodded hard, still refusing words. Atty stayed quiet, holding my other hand, his thumb brushing steady circles over mine.
Even with his gentle words of reassurance, my emotions sloshed around, spilling over the rim every time a wave hit harder than the last. My hands trembled. The guilt had risen high in my throat, thick and choking. I couldn’t breathe right. Couldn’t catch my footing.
