“Identify a body?” I asked, and he nodded. “Not directly. She sent dental records a few times, but they never matched. I think it got to the point where she just wanted to know even if it was bad news, but then the police would call and ask her to send them and she would just . . .” I shook my head. “It was bad.”
I told him about how protective my parents were, not even letting me get my license until I was seventeen. “That was huge,” I admitted. “Like, monumental. I thought they would just keep saying no, but they finally said yes.”
We were sprawled in the grass at a park near Drew’s house for that conversation, listening to crickets and general nighttime noises. It’s always easier to talk in the dark when you can’t see the other person’s face, when you don’t worry about how they’re reacting to what you say. You can just . . . talk.
Oliver found my hand across the damp grass, then gathered it up in both of his and placed it on his stomach. It felt solid and warm. “You should tell them about surfing,” he said. “I think they’d actually be proud of you.”
“No way!” I snatched my hand back and rolled to sit up. “Are you crazy? They’d freak out for a million different reasons. No. Just no.”
“Maybe not, though. Maureen would probably talk to them—”
“You told your mom?”
“No! Emmy!” Oliver sat up, too. We were supposed to be studying at Caro’s house for a group project that didn’t exist. “I didn’t tell anyone, okay? Relax!”
But my heart was pounding. “If they find out, then I can’t surf anymore, and they probably won’t let me move out and go to school, either.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry, okay?” He reached for my hand again. “I was just saying that sooner or later, they’re going to find out.”
“Later,” I said. “Absolutely later. Like, when I’m a retiree who lives in Boca Raton. Then they can find out.”
My parents figured out something else in the meantime, though. “Emmy?” my mom called up the stairs one evening. “Can you come down here for a minute?”
Never good.
My mom and dad were both sitting on the couch. I knew this meeting venue all too well: if my mom is trying to act like it’s no big deal, she sits on the couch. If it’s a serious “you are in so much trouble” scenario, then they sit at the dining room table. So far, so good.
“Emmy,” my mom began once I sat down, “we can’t help but notice that you and Oliver are spending quite a lot of time together.”
“Yes?” I said, because I wasn’t sure if it was a question or if I was about to say the wrong answer. “We are?”
“You are,” my dad said.
“Are you two dating?” my mom asked.
“Mom,” I groaned, covering my eyes with my hand. “People don’t really date anymore, they just . . . I don’t know, hang out together.”
“Is that the same as ‘hooking up’?” my dad asked.
“Oh my God!” Now I covered my ears with both hands. “Am I grounded? Can you just ground me? Hearing you two talk about ‘hooking up’ is cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Emmy, relax,” my mom said. “You’re not in trouble, you’re not grounded, and your dad is joking.”
My dad winked at me and calmly took a sip of his water.
“Revenge will be sweet,” I muttered to him.
“But you and Oliver are ‘hanging out,’ yes?” my mom asked.
I nodded, picking at one of my ragged cuticles. I had scraped the side of my hand on my board earlier that day and it was starting to ache. “Yes,” I finally said. “We’re hanging out.”
My parents glanced at each other. “We know you’ve been a wonderful friend to Oliver,” my mom started to say, but to my surprise, I cut her off.
“We’re not just friends,” I told her. “It’s more than that.”
“Oh,” she said. “Okay. I know we haven’t talked about this before since it hasn’t come up, but your father and I would prefer that you not seriously start dating until you’re eighteen. That being said”—she rushed on before I could protest—“because we know Oliver and his family, and since they live right next door to us, and because we trust you, we think it’s okay if you two want to keep . . . hanging out.” I could tell that it pained her to say that phrase.
“But no closed doors,” my dad quickly added. “No being alone in either of our houses without a parent home—the twins absolutely do not count as responsible chaperones, so don’t even ask—and no sex.”
“Subtle,” my mom murmured as I started choking.
My dad shrugged. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what the word means. You okay, Em?”
I nodded as I tried to get myself under control. I couldn’t wait to text Oliver and see what Maureen’s version of this conversation sounded like. If she used the word intercourse like Drew’s dad had, Oliver was probably going to fling himself out the window.
“I’m fine,” I managed to say. “And got it for all of those rules. Can we stop talking now, though? If I promise to do everything you say, can we end this and promise to never speak of it again?”
“One last thing,” my mom said. “Oliver is going through a lot right now, honey. Just . . . keep that in mind.”