“If only we could figure that out. All I know is, the more his dad has pressed, the more Duke rebels. Or maybe rebel isn’t the word. He’s not, like, trying to piss his dad off. He’s just … I don’t know. Holding on to his sanity? His sense of self? Meanwhile, his dad is doing his best to break him down. It’s a mess.”

“Families can be jerks,” she says, and we walk in silence for a few minutes before she asks, “Can I tell you something you can’t tell anyone else? It’s not my secret to share.”

“Sure.”

“My dad—not Andrew, but my dad dad, Declan … I’m pretty sure … well, maybe not sure, but I think he might be gay.” She tucks her hair behind her ear compulsively. “But verrrrry closeted. Like, married my pregnant teen mom at eighteen and lived as a straight man his entire life closeted.”

“That’s horrible.”

“I think so, too. I don’t know for sure … It’s one of those things I suspect but haven’t talked to my mom about. I’d rather talk to him about it, to be honest. But he’s MIA and has been since the Grand Announcement. All I know is both my parents came from extremely conservative Christian families. They definitely married out of mutual desperation. It’s not good.”

“How would you feel if he told you he was gay?”

Meg exhales a sharp breath of air. “I’d be sad for him. Mostly. And me. Him because he felt like he had to hide his entire life, and me because I think he’s been lying to me out of some misplaced fear that I would judge him.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

To her credit, Meg doesn’t answer right away. “Not anymore. But I can’t say for sure I wouldn’t have a few years ago. Which…” Suddenly, she’s swiping at her cheek. “I mean. What if I made him feel like I couldn’t love him for who he is? He raised me and gave up everything for me. What if I made him feel like garbage, spouting off untested rhetoric from Sunday school?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I can understand that.”

“But now, definitely not.” Her mouth is set in a firm line, her posture stiff as if daring anyone to contradict her. “I’d have some thoughts for him about how he’s lied to me my entire life, but that’s something else.”

“Of course.”

“Hey, Micah?”

Our arms are loose at our sides, occasionally brushing, and the sidewalk is dappled with early-autumn sunlight. I love to run and ride my bike, but sometimes a walk is better. “Yeah?”

“Do you think we’ll ever have a regular old mundane boring conversation?”

“Regular, sure. Mundane? I hope. Boring? Not possible with you.”

“You’re very sweet, you know.”

I grimace. “Don’t tell anyone.”