• • •

I wake up tangled in Liam's arms and my comforter is kicked off on the floor. He's in his boxers, his body lean and tanned against my white sheets, his hair a buttery halo on the pillow. When I sit up, he rolls onto his front with a quiet snore, one leg pulled up. The muscles in his back shift when he stretches out his arm, reaching for me and finding my pillow.

I told him last night. I can't believe I told him. And he didn't make it weird. He didn't try too hard to act normal. He didn't pause so long it hurt. It was just ... no big deal. Like it should be. It isn't a big deal. It's just me. But I live in an exhausting world that doesn't like a lot of things about me. My name; my skin; my size; my brain.

I'm in the middle of changing after the world's quickest shower, standing half naked in front of my dresser, when Liam wakes up and stretches across the bed, resting his chin in his hand.

"Morning, beautiful," he says, his voice croaky with sleep. I'm aware that the sun is streaming through my window, highlighting my body as I do up my bra, but I force myself not to cower. I do, however, turn my back on Liam to arrange my breasts before I pull on a woolen dress. It's supposed to be cold today.

"Morning," I say, leaning over to kiss his cheek when I sit on the edge of the bed to pull on my tights. There's no way to do it elegantly, tugging and wriggling once I get them past my knees. Liam laughs, a deep, tired laugh.

"So sexy," he says, rolling off the bed and lazily looping his arms around me. He's slow in the morning, everything turned down a few notches for the first hour or so. "How'd you sleep, cutie?"

I turn so we're facing, his arms still around me. "Pretty well," I say. "Really well, actually." I hug him and breathe in his familiar smell. Wrapped up in him, my nose pressed into the curve where his shoulder meets his neck, I feel right at home. He smells like the hint of his intoxicating aftershave and the detergent Mom uses, and sleepy skin.

"You smell like a hug," I murmur. Liam laughs and kisses my forehead.

"You smell like someone I adore," he says. "By the way, about what you said last night..."

Oh, God. I forgot I told him. I dropped the A-bomb. Now he's had all night to figure out how he feels in his dreams. My mind tries to tie itself in knots but I don't let it. He's holding me. He's kissing me. There's no point worrying.

"What about it?" I ask, and I can hear the nerves in my voice.

"I just wanted to reassure you," he says. "I know you think a lot." He taps my head and then runs his hand through my hair. "Everything and nothing, right?"

I smile. "Right."

"I meant it when I said that it makes no difference to me." He leans back a bit, so he can see my eyes. "I love you, and I love all the pieces of the puzzle that makes you you, so I don't want you to overthink it. Or us. And I love that you told me."

"I love you so much," I say, my voice hardly louder than a whisper. "It really doesn't bother you?"

"No. Why would it bother me?" He shrugs and twists his hair into a bun, securing it with the hair tie I pass him. "If anything, it helps me understand you more. And that's always a good thing, right?"

"I've only ever told you and Gray," I murmur.

"How come?"

I shrug. "It's hard. People judge. They have preconceptions."

"Yeah," Liam says. He sounds thoughtful. "When I was in elementary school, a kid in my class was autistic. Like, severely. But it's a spectrum, right? Like one of Gray's scales?"

He gets it. Oh my God. He gets it. I nod and grin and his smile reflects back at me a hundred times brighter. "Exactly," I say. "Most people just don't get it. Or I'm so scared they won't get it that I don't tell anyone because I'm paranoid they'll think differently of me."

"I don't think differently of you, I can promise you that." He pulls on his shorts and rummages through his bag for a stick of deodorant. "I get it. I had therapy for a while a few years ago, for depression. I never told anyone, even when things were good. Not even my brothers. So I totally get what you're saying."

Once he has dug out a clean t-shirt, he takes both of my hands and interlocks his fingers with mine and bends at the waist to kiss me. I move my hands to his waist to hold him in place, devouring him, morning breath and all. It's not that bad. I don't even care.

"Thank you." It's all I can think to say. It's pathetic, given everything he has just told me, but my brain has gone into overdrive and it's all I can say without tripping over myself. "We could skip brunch. We could just stay here."

He laughs and lets go of me, tutting. "Your mom invited us to brunch, so we're going for brunch. I want to get to know her. You had a one on one coffee with my mom!"

"She tricked me! I thought I was helping her run errands!" I unhook a cardigan from the back of my door when I see the gray clouds outside, and Liam laughs when he catches sight of the two of us in my mirror. He looks like he's about to head to the beach; I look like I'm a New Yorker in fall.

"That's Mom," he says, smoothing out my cardigan where it got hitched on my dress. "Anything I should know about yours? No questionnaires to prep for?"

"Nope. Mom's lowkey. She just wants to figure you out, make sure you're a decent guy. She can be a bit nervy – it's not that she doesn't like you, just that she doesn't know you."

"Ok. Thanks. And she works at a bookstore, right?"

"Mmhmm. Books are her life. Literally any and all books. She's no snob. If you can find a way to drop a title into conversation, mention what you're reading, then she'll love you."

"Noted." He mimes writing a checklist. "At some point over brunch, let Storie's mom know I'm reading the karma sutra."

"Sometimes I don't like you," I mutter, reaching into his open bag for the book I know he's been reading. I didn't peg him for the type at first but since we've been together, he's read a book or two each week. "Here." I push the book at him. "You can tell her you're reading Orphan Monster Spy."

Judging by the shelf in his room and the dog-eared books I've seen by his bed, he doesn't stick to one genre but he does seem to favour historical fiction. It's not my genre at all, but Navya loves it so she arms me with reviews and recommendations, and Liam leaves with a new book each time he comes into the store while I'm working.

"Does it ever get confusing?" he asks.

"What?"

"Being called Storie? Especially when your mom works at a bookshop, and your house might as well be made out of books," he says, glancing around my room at the teetering piles of books without homes. I only have one shelf, which holds the ones I can't wait to read, and the rest are stacked wherever there's space.

"Sometimes," I say. "My dad made loads of jokes. He thought it was hilarious. The puns were never-ending. He was king of the dad joke."

"He sounds like he was an awesome guy."

"He really was. He was the best." I let out a sigh. "Right. Let's go."

• • •

Five Oaks is pretty limited for places to eat. There's a bar, the diner, and a restaurant that's great for an adult date but not much else. The diner's the only real option, but Mom wrinkles her nose at the suggestion and says that we need to go somewhere nice.

So we leave Five Oaks. The five of us pile into Tad's car, Gray squashed between Liam and me in the back, and we head off towards some place Mom found on TripAdvisor. We only get lost once, when Mom gets confused translating the directions from her screen to the road. I don't know why Tad doesn't just follow the GPS himself, but we make it there in the end.

It only takes an hour. When Mom mentioned brunch, I figured we might drive ten minutes. Not halfway to Columbus. It's kind of depressing that aside from spending last weekend in Cincinnati, this is the furthest south I have ever been – only thirteen hundred miles north of the southernmost point in my country. It's pitiful.

"This looks so sweet!" Mom grips my hand. I feel the cool metal of her new engagement ring. It strikes me that at some point, she took off the two rings Dad gave her. She hasn't taken them off in over twenty years, and the ring Tad slipped onto her finger doesn't hide the band of pale skin.

It's a perfect ring. Very Mom. Simple, narrow silver with a modest diamond and a tiny, perfect sapphire either side. And yet it's so different from the ring she used to wear. Tad grew on me even more when I saw that he had got it so right without copying Dad.

"It looks perfect," I say, checking out the quirky bistro she has directed us to. Liam emerges at my side and takes my hand a moment before Mom lets go of the other, and for that split second I feel like a little kid again. But then Mom lets go. She joins Tad. Gray takes her place at my side.

"I don't have a hand to hold," he complains. Liam waves at him.

"Got a spare over here," he jokes, and I can see Gray contemplate it for a moment.

"On a scale of one to thirteen, how awkward would you feel if I actually held your hand right now?" He chuckles, a bounce in his step as we follow our parents inside. Liam shrugs.

"Maybe a three," he says. "Mostly because then I'd be in the middle -" he holds up my hand "- and it'd look weird. Like I'm you guys's dad or something."

"A very young adoptive father, perhaps," Gray says, moving a hand in a circle around his face. He and Liam don't exactly bear a resemblance. But neither do Mom and I.

"Your mom's white," I point out to Gray, who laughs.

"Totally the only flaw in this hypothetical," he says. He doesn't miss it when I let go of Liam's hand to tie back my hair. "Now how awkward would it be?"

Liam looks down at his empty hands. "Still one to thirteen?"

"Yup."

"One," Liam says. He holds out his hand, palm to the sky. "It's yours if you want it."

When we reach the table, Mom does a double take when she sees Gray and Liam holding hands. I roll my eyes and sit down. She glances at me, looking a little awkward for a moment before she looks at Gray and asks, "What's going on?"

"Social experiment as a result of a scale," Gray says, taking a seat beside his dad. Liam sits next to me, looking only slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry," I say. "Gray's a lot."

"I can hear you, you know," Gray says.

"It wasn't exactly news," Tad says drily. "You and your scales. Honestly, Graham."

In the fifteen minutes between ordering and our food arriving, Liam does exactly what I knew he would: he charms my mom. He's open and chatty; he name-drops books; he compliments her. He compliments me. He answers all of her mild questions, though she gives him far less of a grilling than his mom gave me. Allie went all out with her interrogation, but I know Mom would rather quiz me once Liam's gone.

Watching him talk so easily to my mom endears me to him even more. He knows exactly what to say, from his tactful sympathies about Dad to his warm congratulations on her engagement; from his apologies for crashing the weekend to his excitement at meeting her.

Only when he goes to the bathroom does Mom clasp her hands and lean forwards, her eyes bright, to say, "He seems like a wonderful boy, Storie. I like him."

"Thanks, Mom." My cheeks heat up. She looks so certain. It's so good to see Mom look certain after two years of doubt. She rests her elbows on the table, arms folded, and her gaze flickers across Tad for just a moment. When her eyes land back on me, they're brighter, reflecting the brilliant blue of her engagement ring.

"He makes you happy," she says, her tone lingering between a statement and a question. "You should always surround yourself with people who make you happy."

"And then marry them," Gray adds. Mom laughs quietly, and she nods.

"If you take a leaf out of my book," she says. Gray's expression changes, looking momentarily surprised and then awkward, and I frown after him when he excuses himself to the bathroom before Liam's back.

A moment later, my phone buzzes with a stream of texts from him.

not trying to sneak a peek at your boyfriend's junk I promise

your mom got my feet confused for my dad's

I didn't want to play footsie

oh damn your boyfriend is PACKINGGGGG

(just kidding don't worry)

it's tiny

Gray is a liability. I drink my water to cool my cheeks and hopefully hide the fact that I'm blushing furiously, but Mom's too engrossed in a conversation with Tad to notice that I'm cringing at my phone, quickly sending him a reply.

I know you text with two hands. you better not make a mess.

He returns a moment later, after Liam, grinning so hard it looks like he's about to burst out laughing when he sees my face. As he sits, he whispers, "I didn't actually peek."

"I hope not."

"I'm sure he's packing plenty," he says, teasing.

I wait until he's taking a sip to say, "Oh, trust me, he is."

Gray splutters, choking on his water. His dad whacks his back. I laugh. Liam nudges me.

"What's going on?" he asks, then he stops himself and shoots a glance at Gray. "Do I want to know?"

"No," I say. "Probably not."

• • •

After eating way too much, we end up wandering through the town. It's a quiet, picturesque place that feels like it was picked out of a quaint movie, an idealization of suburban America. All the stores are independent and boutiquey, including a gorgeous bookstore that we can't resist, and a florist with stunning bouquets spilling onto the sidewalk.

"This is the kind of place I'd love to live," I say as we wander along a river that trickles over reeds and rocks through the center of the town. It's so peaceful, but not as quiet as Five Oaks. There's more of a soul here, and a few more people.

"Really?" Gray asks. "It's very ... white."

"Have you seen Five Oaks?"

"Yeah, but this place gives me a distinct confederate flag vibe," he says. "I bet there's one somewhere. Time for a game. Find the flag." He claps his hands together but his face is solemn.

"You're like a puppy, you know," Liam says. "Down, boy. Heel."

Mom and Tad have wandered a few meters ahead of us, holding hands and occasionally stopping when Mom wants to take a photo. She loves to document happy moments, even if only with a photo of a random rose in a random park in a random town. Tad waits for her as she captures the stunning vista of the river flowing amidst the first leaves of fall. When she stands straight, he kisses her beneath an oak tree.

We've caught up by the time they pull apart. Tad's lips are slightly rouged from Mom's lipstick. He smiles at us.

"Such a perfect day, isn't it?"

It's not too bad. Although the forecast has been predicting storms for a couple of days now, so far the weather has held out and it's the perfect temperature to wear a cardigan at the moment. When a breeze ripples through us, I pull it tighter around myself at the chill and Liam nestles closer as we start to head back to the car.

Gray comes to a sudden stop. He grabs his dad's wrist, and Tad almost trips. He almost looks annoyed, not a look I've ever seen on him, until he follows Gray's line of sight and his shoulders sink.

"What is it, honey?" Mom asks. I'm not sure if she's talking to Tad or Gray, but it's Gray who answers.

"My mom," he says, nodding at a woman across the park.

I've never seen a picture of Gray's mom, so I've had a hard time imagining what she would look like, but the image in my head doesn't match the woman in the distance. I had built up a bitter picture, a stern and sharp-faced woman, but she's just ... ordinary. Mousy brown hair, flat and straight to her shoulders. Average height; average size. Average everything. She walks with her arms folded

Gray looks like he's seen a ghost. For a moment, all five of us are staring, long enough to watch her disappear out of the park gate. There's nothing extraordinary. No secret family exposed; no emotional outburst. Gray just stares. Then he turns to his dad.

"Does she live here? Did you know?"

Tad looks equally shell-shocked. He shakes his head. I know he's telling the truth. "No, I had no idea," he says. "Last I heard, she told me she was in Arizona. But that was over a year ago," he adds.

"Why's she here?" He looks so distraught. I've never seen Gray like this. He hardly even talks about his mom, except to occasionally complain about her, but she's his mom. He told me she had moved across the country, that it was the only reason he could accept not seeing her since he was sixteen. But she was right there. She's here. An hour from home.

"I don't know, Gray," Tad says. He puts his hand on Gray's shoulder. "Come on. Let's head back to the car."

Gray doesn't move for a moment. He stands rooted to the path until I squeeze his elbow and he drops his shoulders, shaking his head. He doesn't say a word on the walk back to the car. He hardly says anything the whole way back to Five Oaks, his head bumping against the window. Mom and Tad chat away as usual up front, but I don't know what to say to Gray. Seeing his mom put him in a funk. The mood has shifted.

I end up falling asleep with my head on Liam's shoulder. I don't wake up until Tad comes to a stop in the driveway. Gray has hardly moved a muscle.

"Hey." I catch him when we get out of the car. The sky is a weird color, hazy before a storm. I glance at Liam, and I don't need to say anything for him to know to give me a minute. He smiles and nods and follows Mom inside.

Gray scratches the back of his neck, looks up at the sky and back at me. "Hey."

"Are you ok?"

He breathes in deeply and lets out a heavy sigh. "Yeah ... no. Yeah. I'm fine," he says, rolling back his shoulders. "It's just weird. I was so mad when Mom left, but she went far, so it was ok. But she's not far. She's in freaking, I don't know, Whitesville, Ohio."

"Are you sure it was her?"

"I know what my mom looks like, Storie," he snaps.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Sorry," he says, pushing both hands through his hair and letting out a low groan. "I'm just ... I feel weird. If she's there, why hasn't she told me? Why hasn't she come to see me? She's my mom."

"I don't know, Gray." My voice falls small. "I really don't know. Maybe she's just here today? Maybe for work, or meeting someone?"

"Still. She should've called."

"Maybe she will." I don't know what to say. I feel awful for him. I can't imagine how terrible it must be to have such a fractured relationship. I pray there's a simple explanation, that it isn't what it looks like, because it looks bad.

"Hmm." He crosses his arms, holding himself tightly. The first droplets of rain begin to fall. He looks up. "Let's go inside." He digs out his phone, staring at the screen as though his mom will suddenly decide to ring, but she didn't even see us earlier. "Should I call her?" he asks me. "Maybe I should call her. Should I?"

"I don't know, Gray. Maybe talk to your dad?" I hate myself for being so useless, for not having any of the answers.

"I'll wait," he says. "If she doesn't call by the end of the weekend, then clearly she doesn't care." He shoves his phone back in his pocket. "I'm gonna go read."