Page 67 of The Replay

"Oh, please. Those people are thirsty, and they're even saying you're doing it on purpose."

"Okay, yeah. Sue me. They like it when I lift my shirt and show my body? Then let me give them a morsel. What does that have to do with the group of people who think you and I are dating just because you showed up to a game?"

She purses her lips and leans back, and I imagine her in her living room, drinking a calming tea before sleep and deciding to call me on a whim. I want to ask her what she's wearing, just to complete the picture, but I don't let myself.I just wait and see her struggling, watching me eat like we were having dinner together, and she was making up her mind about something.

"I don't want my family to know," she finally says.

I swallow my food and chase it down with my drink. It settles heavy in my stomach. Unfair, if you ask me, as this dish is one of my favorites. The pomegranate seeds? An amazing burst of sweetness on my tongue. But I still hate that she cares so much about her family's opinion.

"Cora will probably know about the gossip at some point," I argue. "The rest of your family? Nothing I can do about it."

"Cora won't tell them, but I don't know how far my mom is willing to go to keep an eye on me."

"Fuck’s sake, Mariana. You're an adult."

"Yes, and if she ever makes a comment about us that way, I will tell her not to jump to conclusions and let me do my thing. But I want to minimize the chances of having to do that— I'm just being proactive. Clever. I thought you'd understand, considering how much you care about your friends starting to meddle."

"Starting? Is that the correct verb?"

I shovel more food into my mouth, smirking when she rolls her eyes.

"Continuing to meddle," she says.

"There we go. Still in agreement, then."

"Perfect. We're still a team on this. We're not giving anyone anything to latch on. We want to make it very clear we're well in the past. Bar a couple of exceptions no one knows about…"

She lets the sentence hang in the air. She licks her lips, and I can practically hear the question forming on her tongue.

I'm the one rolling my eyes this time. "I have not told anyone of our… encounters. What else is there? Nothing. You can relax."

"Okay. Great. As long as no one knows…"

"I can be your dirty little secret."

"Like I'm not yours!"

"Maybe we need to re-think the term. That's too sexy to have hanging over our heads. Like we're sneaking around jumping each other because we can't help it. Some kind of deep-seated need we can't fight…"

The realization hits and it squeezes my throat. Sneaking around and jumping each other is exactly what we've done twice since her return. I snort, but it comes out strangled.

I can't call it a need. That would make it too powerful. The kind of thing that could lead me straight back to heartbreak and more yearning that I know what to do with. I remember too well what that was like. All the pain I carried with me for so long after she left, wrapped around my ribcage for months after that phone call. The one no one but my mom saw, perhaps because it echoed her own story, after my dad left. I can't do that to her— us— again.

I study the screen, and the way she frowns and stares right back. Thinking hard, if the tiny twin wrinkles on her brow still mean the same.

The fork makes subtle clinking noises as I set it down. I was careful, but the silence has grown heavy and it hides nothing.

She smirks. "Maybe we should make more of an effort to start dating."

"You mean people. Other people."

"Of course that's what I mean. I think it's time we give it a real try, despite our work and goals. If we're smart about it and plan our time carefully—"

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to start dating just to deflect the internet sleuths and throw your mom off the scent. I'll date when I'm ready. When I want to."

I pick up my fork and finish my meal. There's a chance I'm chewing with too much force, but I'm annoyed and don't care. I can't believe she's encouraging me to date. As if it's up to her. As if she doesn't have to work as hard as me at keeping everything in place, lest the next few months upend the hard-earned stability of recent years.

It took my mom nearly as long to find her footing after my dad left as it did me when Mariana went to England. She learned from it and with her pride intact, made a wonderful life for herself and us. I've never seen her falter. I can't falter either.