Page 17 of Atlas

How long has she meant it?

That pretty much shuts the whole table up. My parents and my sister are lost in a dreamy state where they can hope for a happy ending. I didn’t realize just how much this past year has affected my mom and dad and probably Georgia too. Years? How long have they been worried about me without saying it? I’ve chosen a vastly different path than my parents did. They were high school sweethearts. They dated for years before they married. Everything was carefully planned. It worked for them, and whatever recipe they have for their happiness, it’s bang fucking on.

I failed to see just how many times they didn’t voice their concerns, even when I thought I was happy. They were alwayskind to Jodie, but I already know that was for my sake. Did they love her? Or were they always worried that we’d fracture apart and that she’d be the one to break the heart I placed so naively in her hands?

After dinner, my mom is right on top of the dessert and coffee. Thankfully, there’s no more talk about my love life, or recounting of embarrassing childhood memories. Georgia never spills about me passing out and having to collect my bike tomorrow.

I know that I’m unnaturally quiet the whole time, but I pass it off as exhaustion. Willa catches on, or maybe she’s legit worn out from the whole day of picking, and begs off early, after dessert. She pointedly offers me a ride back to the clubhouse since she dropped me off.

My parents don’t even try to press us to stay longer.

They share ridiculously hopeful looks that aren’t even subtle. They’re so clearly hoping that I’ll leave here with Willa tonight and call them tomorrow morning to let them know that we’re madly in love.

Fuck.

***

I expect the ride back to the clubhouse to be tense, but Willa is at ease behind the wheel of her pink station wagon. It’s pretty much just the worst car ever, but then again, I hate all cages besides my Mustang. My parents live a good twenty minutes away and for at least ten of those minutes, Willa says nothing.

We need to talk, but the how and what and when are totally confused. I don’t know how to start this, because fuck me if I even have a clue what I’m feeling right now.

That’s not true.

I feel like my head is the equivalent of getting shoved down and run over by a bike. Followed by the entire club worth of bikes, not to mention my closed up throat, the crawling under my skin and the too tight feeling of being in my own body.

“It’s late,” I find myself muttering, almost under my breath, though I’m not normally a low talker. “I promised I’d help you unload the trailer in the morning, but without my bike, I won’t have a ride. Fuck me if I’m getting in Raiden’s old beater or asking Grave for a ride in his stupid jacked up beast. It’s probably easier if I stay the night.” The whole thing sounds contrived, so I quickly tack on a very casual, “Camp out like we used to.”

If she has reservations, she doesn’t let on. She doesn’t give me a hard time or demand we have this out now, and she sure as fuck doesn’t blame me for the dinner from hell and ask me what my family was thinking. She doesn’t give me any of those strange looks that lets me see all the way down to the very center of her. She actually doesn’t look at meatall.

“What about your Mustang?”

“It’s in the shop.”

“Oh?” She stops at a red light and waits. We’re the only ones out, though it’s not late yet. We’re a few weeks away from the longest day of the year and there’s still plenty of sun. “Since when?”

“Since I noticed some rust on the trunk. With classic cars, it’s important to keep on top of that. You let it go, and it gets away from you.”

“I can see how that would be bad. The gas tank is back there, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s not good.”

Is it the truth? Yes. No matter how desperate, I could never lie to Willa. Could I walk to the shop and get it out and drive it? Absolutely. I haven’t started tackling the rust yet. I just parked it out there a few days ago to get it into the shop rotation next week.

The light turns green and the only indication that Willa might not be so chill, is that she basically floors it. “Do you miss it? Camping out?” She takes a right at the next stop sign instead of a left, heading to her place. “Because if you do, I do too. The renovations were so much work. and it was stressful sometimes. The whole moving to Hart thing because of what was going on and that crazy Harold guy, and with Lynette and Bullet—it was all just a lot,but it was fun too.”

“Yeah.” My hands are resting on my thighs. They’re starting to get damp, so I curl my fingers around my kneecaps to encourage airflow.

“It was fun because of you.”

I have no idea how to deal with this. As a friendly statement, sure, but not after this dinner. Thank fuck she’s focused on the road. I don’t want her to give me another one of those looks and watch me unspool over here.

“It would have been a lonely time in my life without you,” she goes on.

I still don’t know what to say, but apparently that’s not a problem for my mouth. It goes spouting off truths I didn’t think beforehand, but as soon as I say them, I know that I’ve felt them for some time now. “It would have been lonely for me too. All the guys at the club, all my friends, my family—I’m thankful for every single one of them, but there was no one like you. I can just bemewith you, and that doesn’t even have to be my best version. It can be the worst version and that’s okay.”

She goes radio fucking silent until she pulls up behind the antique store, parking beside her truck and the trailer.

We enter through the backdoor, a static storm of tension flooding the hallway. We have to go through the shop and up to the second floor to get to Willa’s apartment. It probably wasn’t the best planning, but we had to work with what was there.

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