She says Deedy’s name like she’s sucking on a piece of hard, bitter candy. I have a feeling it’s a mix of her being a daddy’s girl and Deedy being close to her age.

“Jake’s … fine. I guess.”

I give her a sidelong glance with a raised eyebrow. Avery smirks, keeping her gaze pointed at the road ahead.

“Oh … she’s going to wear an actual wedding dress? That’s … interesting.” Her smirk drops into a solid frown. “Even though it’s just the two of you and witnesses?” She picks at the frayed hem of her jean shorts.

After a few more uh huh’s, okay’s, and I supposes’s, she says “I love you” in a very honest way and ends the call.

“Just to be really, really clear … you’ve never been intimate, sexual, flirty, or anything like that with Deedy?” Avery glances over at me. “Have your lips ever touched any part of her body?”

“You really want to have this conversation?”

“JAKE! You lied to me! Eww …” An exaggerated shake shimmies her whole body. “It’s cross contamination. You can’t do what you’ve done to me and have a history with my dad’s fiancée. It’s all kinds of wrong.”

I laugh. “You realize you’ve done a few things to me too.”

“But I didn’t screw your mom’s boyfriend.” She wrinkles her nose. “That’s my bad. Your parents are probably happily married. I’m not seriously suggesting she has a boyfriend. And I certainly haven’t slept with him. Oh god … at least I hope not.”

“My mom is not alive.”

Avery covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head, closing her eyes. “Shit … I’m sorry. I just shouldn’t … speak. I should stop talking indefinitely.”

“It’s fine.”

She doesn’t respond for several miles. I must not have sold the fine so well.

“Can I ask how she died?”

I clear my throat, keeping my eyes on the carless road in front of us. “She was sick.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. Cancer? That’s how my mom died.”

I shake my head. “Not cancer.”

“Oh … um …”

I hate that this is so fucking hard. I always thought it would get easier. It hasn’t. Years of physically fighting away the demons, and I’m still filled with anger when I think about it too long. “She battled depression.”

Avery nods slowly, not saying a word for several miles. Finally, she breaks the silence. “How long ago did your mom die?”

“I was fourteen.”

“What do you remember about her?”

“If I don’t want to talk about this, does that make me an asshole? I know you shared about your mom, but—”

“No. Doesn’t make you an asshole.” Avery’s reassurance sounds anything but reassuring as I hand over five dollars for parking.