“This part,” he says, shaking our linked hands between us, “is a new thing, yes. But the idea of this part…it’s been there for a while.”

His eyes skirt to me as he smiles, sweet and bashful. He looks like a teenaged boy, caught—in trouble. I can’t help but compare my thoughts to what it must have been like when he and Beth came to Joyce and his father—telling them about the baby. I squeeze his hand in acknowledgement and encouragement.

“Have you talked to Leah?” Joyce asks. I know this is her concern, and she glances at me, giving me the same look she did this morning.

“No, but I will,” he says, every word, so sure. There’s a small blip in my chest that feels like nerves; I ignore it. The chant of Leah’s name is softer now.

Joyce looks between the two of us, then slides from her chair and stands, passing by us without any expression at all. With her back to us while she rinses her cup off in the sink, she speaks. “Leah’s upstairs, coloring Paige a picture,” she says.

I swallow.

“It’s just…dating. We’re only…dating,” I hear my voice and wonder why it’s making a sound. Houston looks at me curiously, maybe a little hurt and offended. I nod at him, my eyes widening, telling him I’m sorry. I’m nervous. I panicked.

“Cee Cee’s coming over for dinner, so maybe you two can hold off your…dating…until tomorrow?” Joyce says, her back still to us. I let my eyes fall shut, embarrassed that I’m not as brave as Houston.

His grip loosens, but he still hooks his pinky around mine. “Probably smart, in case Leah has questions,” he says. He doesn’t look worried at all. In fact, his face is nothing but calmness, like one of those soldiers standing guard outside the palace in London. Inside, I’m still working to keep my fingers on the holes in the dam that is every fear I have over what this all means. I like Houston. I like him a lot. But telling Leah—making this a thing that’s not just a secret is so very big. I haven’t even worked out what to tell Cass in my head. I might be okay with us waiting more than a day. He though…he seems ready to roll.

When Joyce finally turns, she doesn’t speak, but her expression says volumes. This isn’t how she saw this step going for Houston, but she’s never going to tell him not to take it. I let go of Houston’s hand completely, nodding toward the stairs, toward Leah’s room, partly as an excuse. He smiles, and leads me up the stairs. With every step we take, I realize I let go of his hand because I’m afraid it’s my last chance—to let go.

“Hey, are you really okay…with waiting? We should probably talk about it before we talk to Leah,” he whispers, his hand brushing into mine, tempting me to grab hold again. Something holds me back.

“Yeah, we should get on the same page…with what to say,” I smile. He leans in to kiss my neck quickly, and I keep my breathing in check, careful not to show how terrified I am of this step. He moves to his door, and I let the air slowly escape my lungs, quietly, so he can’t hear the breath I’ve been holding.

I’m that girl—the strong one. People follow me.

“Dinner won’t last long. It never does with Cee Cee,” he says, pausing at his door. “She’s…” his lips twist on one side, his eyes gazing down at the floor before coming back to mine, a touch of sadness suddenly added to them. “She’s Beth’s half sister, but she’s nothing like Beth at all. She’s not even really family—honestly. She wanted to know Leah, though. And Leah gets a trust from Beth’s dad when she turns twenty-one. That’s the only reason we do this, because Cee Cee likes to visit with Leah. And Leah seems to love her. She comes over once every few months.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling sicker now that Beth’s memory has entered into this equation. I feel selfish for wanting Houston, and I feel guilty for wanting to keep him my secret. “Sure, I understand. If it’s family, I could just…you know…go hang out with Cass or something? She’s already texted me because she feels bad about today.”

“No, please stay…I mean, I think my mom would love you to stay,” he pauses, looking downstairs. He bites his lip, holding in a chuckle. “I mean, I know it doesn’t seem like she wants you to stay. But she does. She’s just…we’re…dating. Just dating, apparently,” he says, holding both hands up, playing offended by my little display downstairs.

“I’m sorry. I freaked out. That’s going to happen. If we could just…call this dating?” I say, my fingers finding my scalp, ruffling my hair, scratching at my head that suddenly feels full, hot, and itchy. This is overwhelming.