We studied together quietly for another hour before she said she needed to leave for dinner with her parents.
When she got up to leave, we both said, “I’m sorry,” at the same time, then laughed.
By the time Davis texted me at 6:52, I had mostly forgotten about it.
Him: I’m in your driveway should I come in? Me: No no no no nope no I will be out shortly.
Mom was emptying the dishwasher. “Headed out to dinner,” I told her,
and then grabbed my coat and got out the door before she could inquire further.
“Hi,” he said as I climbed into his car. “Hi back,” I said. “Have you eaten?” he asked.
“I’m not really hungry, but we can get food somewhere if you are,” I said. “I’m good,” he said, backing up.
“I actually kind of hate eating. I’ve always had a nervous stomach.” “Me too,” I said, and then my phone started ringing.
“It’s my mom. Don’t say anything.” I tapped to answer. “Hey.”
“Tell the driver of that black SUV to turn around this instant and come back to our house.” “Mom.”
This isn’t going further without me meeting him.” “You have met him. When we were eleven.”
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