spent the next week rewriting them for me in his neat, slanted handwriting.
I smiled back. I put the apple slices in the cooler.
That was the thing about Michael. He always had an answer. And the answers always made sense.
Work was busy. The gym was open late. The new cologne was a gift from a coworker. He was tired, that’s why he didn’t want to talk. He was stressed, that’s why he went for drives alone at night. He just needed some space to clear his head.
Every answer made sense on its own. It was only when you lined them all up together that they started to look like something else.
I didn’t line them up. I didn’t want to.
“Are you excited to see Rachel and Tom?” I asked him.
He shrugged. “Sure. It’ll be nice.”
“Rachel’s been planning this party for months. She’s got the whole family coming on Saturday.
Mom and Dad. Aunt Deb. Tom’s parents. Everybody.”
“She does love a party,” Michael said.
“She does,” I said.
His phone buzzed again. He picked it up this time. He looked at the screen. And something flickered across his face. Just for a second. It was quick, like a fish moving under dark water.
