Page 22 of Under Pressure

I watch her go,her curls bouncing as she heads down the stairs. Through the building’s glass windows, I see her brace herself against the cold as she steps outside, disappearing down the sidewalk toward the nearby parking lot.

I rest my arms on the railing and hang my head down low. What the hell was I thinking kissing her like that? It was completely unprofessional. There’s nothing between us. Nothing.

But when she’d started panicking, I’d seen true fear in her eyes. The gasping noises she was making, clutching at her chest, had made my own heart race watching her so desperately flail about. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. And when she finally got her breath in sync with mine, her body relaxing, there’d been this… connection. One I’ve never had happen with anyone else. Like we truly understood each other. Looking up at me with her big, gray eyes, so trusting, how could I have resisted her?

She should have slapped me. Pushed me away.

But instead, she’d kissed me back.

I’m surprised she didn’t call me on my bullshit excuse about calming her down, but what else was I supposed to say?

And what am I doing now? Wistfully reminiscing? Jesus Christ.

And really, it must not have meant that much to her. She didn’t seem upset about it. She’d calmed down and acted like normal the whole time during her biofeedback sessions. Even thanked me just now for keeping her secret.

What, am I mad the kiss didn’t seem to mean more to her? I should be happy. We’re back to the status quo.

If it meant more, then she’d have expectations of me I don’t want. There’s a reason I don’t have girlfriends. I’ve never wanted to get tangled up in all these messy complications, these… feelings. I shudder at the thought.

Driving home, I get a text from Mom asking me to come for dinner. I automatically think to put her off and then remember I did that last week. And the week before.

I sigh and switch lanes, U-turning back in the other direction.

As soon as I step in the house, Riley barrels into me. “Tyler, Tyler,” she shouts, jumping up and down, hugging me around the waist.

I pick her up and spin her till she’s upside down, her hair nearly brushing the floor. She giggles loudly, alerting my parents I’m here.

“Glad someone’s able to do that with her,” Dan says from the kitchen entryway, a dish towel slung over his shoulder as if he’s some kind of real chef. “I’m getting too old to be swinging her around like a monkey.”

Mom comes up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Dad made lasagna for dinner.” She always insists on referring to him as Dad to me, even when Riley’s not around, though she didn’t start doing that till after they were remarried. She says it’s rude for me to still call him Dan, but he’s never scolded me for calling him by his name.

I carry Riley into the dining room by her feet, feigning confusion when she won’t fit in the chair headfirst. After a minute, Mom breaks up the game. “Tyler, just put her in her seat,” she sighs.

“Mom, he was only being fun. No one’s ever fun with me.”

Mom’s about to be fifty in a few weeks and Dan is fifty-five, so I understand they don’t have the energy to play the way she wants to. I try to make up for it when I come over, but Mom ends up breaking it up half the time, too used to the horrors of raising three boys and the collective broken bones, sprains, and bruises we accumulated over the years.

“Sorry, squirt.” I set her down properly and take the seat next to her, furthest from Dan.

“I tried to get Brandon to come tonight,” Mom says, serving up the lasagna, “but he was busy with Rochelle. They’ll be coming for my party, though.” Dan is throwing her a big birthday blowout, with all sorts of friends and family invited. “And Dylan is bringing his new girlfriend, Laura. They’re taking the train from New York.”

“Yeah, I know where he lives,” I mutter, burning my tongue when I take a bite before thoroughly cooling it off.

“You should bring a date,” she continues.

I snort, then realize she’s serious. “Mom, when have I ever brought a girl home?”

“It would be a birthday present to me. I’d like to see you paired up with someone before I’m over the hill.”

“I thought forty was over the hill.”

“Are you saying I’ve been over the hill for a decade already?” she exclaims, fake aghast.

“You’re still as beautiful as the day I married you,” Dan pipes up, covering her hand with his.

Which time?

I quickly shovel a mouthful of too hot lasagna in my mouth before I voice the thought aloud. It’ll do nothing but cause another fight and make everyone upset.

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