Page 128 of On His Mind

She doesn’t catch on. She just says, “Juice is not dinner, Percy.” She points the spoon at me. “Come here. Watch.”

I’m a terrible cook. I’m genuinely bad at it, which surprises her. She tells me that I’m good with my hands at everything else, but put me in front of a hot pan and I go clumsy. I even cut the onion wrong. She laughs at me, openly, delighted, and I burn the garlic the first time, and we have to start over.

“You’re a Division One athlete,” she says, wiping her eyes. “You have the reflexes of a cat. How are you losing to an onion?”

“The knife is dull.”

“Right. The knife.”

I flick water at her, and she shrieks and threatens me with the spoon, backs me into the counter with it. I catch her wrist, and she’s laughing up at me. The garlic’s about to burn again, and neither of us cares.

This is the best hour of my week. I wouldn’t trade it for the net. That’s the whole reason the rule exists — I get it now, standing here with sauce on my shirt and her laughing at me. This. This is the thing it’s built to keep out. And right now I’d break it without a second thought.

We eat what we made at the kitchen table with the windows open and the summer night coming in. Dinner isn’t even that good, it’s a little burnt, but it’s the best meal I’ve ever had. After she washes dishes, I dry. She bumps me with her hip, and I bump her back. The radio’s on low while we put everything away for the night.

This is what people have. I used to think the houses I got shuffled through were all faking it, that nobody’s kitchen actually looked like this at night. Turns out some of them weren’t faking. Turns out, I wasn’t in the right one yet. She catches me looking at her while she dries the last pan.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing.” I take the pan from her. “Nothing.”

She stands tall the way she can’t help but present herself. I pull her into me. “I just love you so much.”

She smiles. “Yeah?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She kisses me, and I kiss her back because I mean it.

I love her so much it scares me.

August comes fast, the way it always does here, and I start feeling the days go. The light starts going earlier. The mornings come in cooler now, even if the lake’s still holding summer.

There’s a text in the group chat one night — Stanley, asking who’s got the big room this year and asking if the fridge still alive. He mentions how many days are left until he’s back. I put the phone face down on the table. She sees me do it.

“The guys?”

“Yeah. Stanley’s counting down.”

“To coming back.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second because coming back means the house fills back up and the whiteboard gets an audience. We go back to hiding whatever this is. We haven’t ever talked about what we are to each other.

“How long?” she asks.

“Couple weeks.”

She nods and goes back to her drawing. I turn back to my book. The days are creeping up on us quickly.

We’re out front on the porch in the open, because we still can for a few more days. She’s got her feet in my lap, and we’re talking about the fall — just logistics. When the guys land. Whether I’ll dress opening night. Her studio schedule, her firm hours, whether she can still come over once Ivory’s in London and the apartment’s hers.

“Actually.” She’s looking out at the street, not at me. Her posture’s perfect the way it always is, but there’s something set in it. “I don’t want to go back to hiding.”

I go still.

“I’ve been thinking about it all week.” Her voice stays level. “We’ve had this twice now. Christmas. All summer. I’m not asking you to imagine something, Percy. We’ve done it. We’re good at it. What we have is real.” She turns and looks at me. “I don’t want to park two blocks away in September. I don’t want to hold my breath on your stairs. I don’t want to be the thing you sneak in and sneak back out before anyone’s up.” She takes a breath. “I want to be your girlfriend. When the guys come back, I want you to tell them. I want to have you for real this time.”