After dinner, I started to wash the dishes, but Andrew approached me and said, “Go spend time with your parents; I got this.”

He jumped in, grabbing a dirty fork and scrubbing it in the worst way possible—petting it with the sponge as though it were a timid dog.

“How did they not teach you proper technique?” I asked in a joking tone. Wasn’t impressing parents with dish scrubbing, like, day two?

He laughed, low and rumbly and sincere, as if it was just for me. “They did,” he whispered back. “Part three of orientation.” Then he continued flailing the sponge at the fork with exaggerated wrist waves. “But it’s just too easy to make you squirm,” he teased.

I snapped the dish towel in his direction, spraying him with a few droplets. He yelped, dropped the fork, and grabbed the dish soap, aiming the nozzle at me.

“Truce!” I yelled, throwing my hands up in surrender.

He aimed toward the ceiling and squeezed, scattering a few bubbles in the air before putting the bottle down with a chuckle. “You don’t have anything to worry about; I would never.”

“I would.” I made a sudden lunge for the dish soap.

He flinched, and then when he saw I was just joking around, we both laughed.

Without thinking, I poked him in his side. Genuinely. Flirting. His smile was wide as he started to lean toward me—maybe to poke me back?—but then everything changed in the same moment: the playfulness melted off his face, and his body recoiled. Then he cleared his throat and exited the kitchen, leaving a chilly trail behind him.

What had I been thinking? We had a few fake moments and suddenly I was poking him for real even though I’d never poked anyone else before? Pathetic. Almost as pathetic as someone trying to flirt by poking.

I cringed so much a tiny groan escaped my lips. Then I heard movement from the corner. When I turned, I saw that my mother was watching from the other doorway, arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised. Our eyes met and she ticked her chin in my direction, then left. I had no idea how to read that. Or how long she’d been standing there.

Leaving the rest of the dishes unwashed, I returned to the dining room to join the after-dinner chrysanthemum tea. My parents were chatting easily with Andrew, and I slipped into my place at the table.