Page 11 of You Fall First

A middle-aged lady who’s already married?

Me

I said what I said.

Dex

I set my phone down, and Dutton stirs before settling back into sleep. Looking down at him, I crack a smile, thinking about the wild Saturday night ahead of us.

Just me and my nephew eating spaghetti with Dex’s parents.

To be real though, I’ve got nowhere else to be, and no better people to hang with than the Michaels family.

Turns out my Bingo card is filling up okay after all.

Chapter Three

Jo

“I’m thinking about coming down to the kitchen!”

I shout this from the top of the stairs after the scent of garlic and onions lured me from my bedroom. I usually help my mom with dinner prep, but after learning the risks of entering a room without warning, I’m afraid now.

Very afraid.

The wall beside me is crowded with school portraits in descending order. Dex, Kendal, Landry, and the goofball with a gap-toothed smile, completely unselfconscious about her cheek butts.

“Is now a good time?” I call out again. Man, I miss the good old days before catching my parents nooking in the kitchen nook.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jojo!”

My mother sounds like she’s in the living room. She also sounds amused. What I can’t tell for sure is if she’s fully clothed.

“I just want to be sure everyone’s decent,” I say. “That’s not a guarantee these days. Apparently.”

“For your information, your father’s mowing the lawn.”

“Okay?” I cringe.

Please don’t let that be a euphemism.

“And that’s not a euphemism,” she calls up.

Phew.

I jog downstairs, and as predicted, my mom is standing between the living room and the kitchen, in an apron with a smear of tomato paste across the front pocket.

“The sauce is simmering,” she says. “Would you mind making a salad while I get the garlic bread ready and into the oven?”

In the kitchen, a cutting board waits for me by the sink alongside two loaves of bread, butter, fresh garlic, and parmesan. On the island are ingredients for a spring salad. Cucumber, mushrooms, tomato, carrot, and my favorite, purple onion. My mom gives the sauce a quick stir, and my mouth waters.

“Mmm. I love your bolognese.”

Almost enough to make me forget I’m eating with my parents on a Saturday night. Just the three of us, and a mountain of produce.

“So, how was the farm today?” she asks, and I give her a quick recap of my time with Kendal, the kids, and the petting zoo. How precious the piglets and bunnies were. And yes, my niece and nephews, too.

The subject of Noah doesn’t come up. As far as I know, my parents have never even met the guy, and he’s Dexter’s friend, not mine, so what would I even say about him?