Page 57 of Where It Begins

I point to my son. “Put some clothes on.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

He keeps the pillow in front of his junk and rushes over to his dresser. He grabs whatever is in the top drawer and hustles his bare ass into the bathroom. I wait until that door closes before I open the one behind me.

Skye is standing on the other side, looking beautiful and stressed. She glances to the right, toward the stairs. “I sent Violet to wait in the car. I’m going to take her home and get her side of this story. I feel like she’s trying not to throw Miller under the bus. She’s a horrible liar, though, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get to the bottom of things.”

“Miller’s changing. I’ll talk to him and we can compare notes in a couple of hours?”

“That sounds reasonable.” She wrings her hands.

“I’m so sorry, Skye.” My stomach feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I should have sent Violet to her grandparents for the weekend.” She taps her lips with her fingers. I notice her engagement ring is no longer decorating the important one. “Let’s put telling the kids about the other thing on hold until we get to the bottom of this.”

I’m trying not to panic. Or read into that any more than necessary. It makes sense to deal with this situation before we tell them we’re engaged. My big worry is that Miller has a thing for nerdy types. He’s proven that by getting fresh with his tutors this year. I can overlook him making out with whoever is helping him with his English essays. But if my son and Skye’s daughter hooked up this weekend, it will make moving forward with this relationship difficult. Maybe impossible.

She pats me on the chest, her smile reflecting the same unease churning in my gut. “We’ll get this figured out. I’ll call you later.”

I notice she doesn’t placate me with bullshit like everything is going to be okay. Because it might not be. I feel sick. I nod instead of answering with words.

I should make an appointment with my therapist after this, regardless of the outcome. Because as Skye and I have a silent conversation in which all our fears play out on our faces, I realize that I’m beyond in love with her. I’ve already planned out my future and she’s in every single fictional fantasy. I want to get old with her, get wrinkly and soft, spoil grandkids, and enjoy retirement with her. But all that seems to hang in the balance of whatever did or didn’t happen while we were away this weekend.

She breaks eye contact first and disappears down the stairs.

The bathroom door opens. Miller looks like he’s just as at risk of vomiting as I am.

I cross my arms. “You’re grounded forever.”

He nods once. His jaw works, like he’s trying not to cry. He wrings his hands, eyes wide and darting around. “Is Violet still here? Maybe I need to talk to her.”

“She and Skye went home.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth. “Is she okay?”

“You honestly don’t remember anything? Do you understand how problematic that is?”

He nods again. “I only invited a few of the guys over. But then one of them wanted to invite his girlfriend. And I should’ve said no, but I didn’t. And then it snowballed from there. And someone’s brother brought a bunch of hard liquor over and well…things got out of hand.” He rubs the back of his neck.

I cross my arms. “There are condom wrappers all over the floor in the spare bedroom, where Violet was supposed to be sleeping.” Maybe Skye shouldn’t have left. Maybe this would have been better managed with all of us together, instead of the divide and conquer, especially since my son is having issues remembering what in the sweet shit took place last night.

His already white face turns green. He spins around and dives into the bathroom, retching like he’s exorcizing an entire team of demons from his stomach.

His phone buzzes from somewhere on the floor. I search through the random clothes strewn across the hardwood and see nothing that belongs to a girl, which is a relief.

I finally find his phone in a pair of shorts that somehow made their way under his bed. The most recent message was sent a minute ago from Violet.

I stalk to the bathroom, where Miller is hugging the toilet bowl. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to throw a party. It was just supposed to be a couple friends. And I didn’t mean to get drunk like that. It won’t ever happen again. Oh God.” He heaves again. “I don’t think anything happened. I really hope nothing happened. I really like Skye. I kinda hoped she’d end up being my stepmom and that Violet would be my stepsister. And I know that would make her totally off limits. Sober me knows that she’s forbidden. Oh, shit.” He hurls again. “I think I might have said that to her.”

Between heaves I snap my fingers and use his momentary distraction to unlock his phone with facial recognition. I click on the message from Violet.

I’m trying not to throw you under the bus, but the house is in shambles, so that’s a hole you’ll have to dig yourself out of. Not sure what they think happened last night. I like yetis, but only as cute characters in movies or stuffies. Hope your hangover doesn’t kill you before your dad does.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

OH, THANK GOD

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