We stop along the side of the garage, out of the light. I glance down to where my foot has started drawing semicircles over the pavers.

Dawn’s finger pulls my chin up gently. “So, what are the terms of this whole snow-globe thing? Is it closed? Is this a secret snow globe? Can we see each other before you go home? Do we never speak of this again? You spending the day with the fam tomorrow?”

I swallow. “It looks like I’ll be with Grams and Dad tomorrow, but I’d love to at least say goodbye on Monday. I think it might be best for everyone if we keep our snow globe private, right? At least for right now? I don’t think Jamie would want to know.”

“Are you out?” she asks.

I nod. “To my mom and Papa.” The garage rumbles and starts to open, so we stumble back farther along the side of the house. “But, I mean, Jamie never asked and it never came up.”

Dawn’s silent for a moment, looking down at our feet with a contemplative expression. “Well, I have absolutely zero exciting romantic dirt in my life, so I’m fine keeping this day between us if that’s what you want.” She sighs and meets my eyes again. “Ninety-five percent of the time Jamie does what Jamie wants and doesn’t think about the consequences until someone points them out. I think we’re allowed to have today and keep it to ourselves.”

I nod, staring at her mouth now. “Can I kiss you again?” I ask.

Dawn winds her fingers into the straps of my overalls. This kiss is soft and light and leaves me feeling restless as she steps away, beaming. She backs away into the darkness, cutting through the backyard to her house.

“Talk tomorrow!” She sprints off.

For ten glorious minutes I don’t think about all the anxiety and dread awaiting me in the next few interactions I’ll have with my father or Jamie. I let myself revel in the endorphins spiraling through my limbs and careful-dance alone in the dark of the driveway.

I saunter into the living room fifteen minutes later and find my dad in the kitchen, standing near the table, sorting through a batch of mail.

I stop short as he looks up at me. “Hey, Jame, nice night?”

That’s all it takes for everything in me to yank taut. “Yes? How are you?”

“I’m good. Glad we’re having a nice family dinner tomorrow night.”

“Good, me too.” I turn toward the steps.

“Jamie, how long have you been emailing with your mother?” His voice is softer this time.

I pivot slowly to look at him again. “I haven’t been emailing her, Dad. She, she emailed me one time, and I didn’t respond because … I know how you feel about her.” The words taste sour.