There’s a pause, and Tara’s dad grunts. “I suppose you want us to act normal about this?”
Tara laughs, the sound bright in the heavy air. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But we want to be honest with you because we don’t want to hide. That’s no way to live a life.”
Robert rubs the bridge of his nose, a gesture of defeat. “I just want you safe, Tara. And happy.”
She softens, her posture relaxing. “I am, Dad. For the first time in a long time.”
There’s another silence, but it feels less like the edge of a cliff and more like the bottom of a hill, right before you climb up again.
We make it through the meal. We don’t talk about the logistics of sleeping arrangements at holidays, or how vacations will work. We don’t talk about informing friends, neighbors, and acquaintances. There’s time for that later.
When the check arrives, my mother insists on paying. It’s her way of blessing the mess.
We stand to leave. Tara grabs my hand, her palm warm, and I feel the squeeze of her fingers. My mother sees it, and instead of looking away, she studies our clasped hands for a long moment.
“Hunter,” she says, her voice low. “You take care of your stepsister. She’s your girlfriend now.”
I meet Catherine’s eyes for the first time all evening.
“I will.”
She nods, satisfied, and hugs me, before departing with Robert in tow.
Outside, the air is clean and cold. Tara leans into me, and I realize we’ve cleared a major hurdle. Not all of them, but a big one.
On the curb, the beautiful blonde looks over and smiles. “We did it.”
I grin, unable to help it. “Yeah. We really did.”
She puts her hand on my thigh. “You’re trembling.”
I laugh, shaky and stunned. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
She leans over and kisses me, slow and soft, and I realize something I never would have guessed:
Sometimes, the truth can set you free.
We getinto our car at the parking lot, but I don’t start it right away. Instead, Tara and I sit in the vehicle for a long time. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour. The outside world is blue with cold, Minneapolis streetlights slicing up the dark. I don’t turn the key; I just sit and listen to the slow tick of the engine as it cools, feeling the way the tension unwinds from my neck andshoulders, the slow, flooding relief of a wound that isn’t going to kill you after all.
Tara is quiet beside me, one hand still linked in mine. Her thumb traces small circles over my knuckles, hypnotic and soothing. I study her in the rearview mirror: the light from the restaurant sign painting her cheekbones silver, her eyes soft and dreamy but a little wild. She looks back at me, and I get the weirdest sense that she’s about to leap out of her skin.
I let out a breath I’ve been holding for two hours. “You okay?”
She nods, then shakes her head. “I can’t believe we did that.”
“You were perfect.”
She turns in her seat, pulling her legs up beneath her. The hem of her dress slides higher, catching on the seatbelt, and there’s this obscene moment when her thigh is bare and moonlit, and all I want is to bite it.
She sees me looking and smiles, slow and feline. “I know that expression,” she says in a coy tone.
I smirk. “Do you?”
She leans in, close enough that I can feel the heat of her breath. “It means you want to fuck me senseless, but you’re too polite to say it in front of my dad.”
I laugh, sharp and brutal, and the sound is loud in the small space. “You have no idea.”
She slides across the console, graceful as a cat, and straddles my lap. The dress rides up more, exposing the soft curve of her ass as she settles on top of me. The car is too small, too public, which means it’s absolutely perfect.