"There's nothing I can do to change things but I can tell you that I'm sorry. I am sorry. I really am."

He's been giving me the evil eye and silent treatment through passing the baton to the succeeding senior captains and varsity teams. The new wrestling captain is giving a speech in front of the school at the gym as cheers echo off the walls.

Each time I've said something to Luke, he's squinted, glared, and clenched a jaw or his fist. Sometimes in sequence. On my very last day of high school, I've been making the rounds with the intention of apologizing for interfering. Peyton has ignored my calls the last few days, ignored me when I cornered her, hissed at me and tossed a couple of finger gestures at me. None of it surprising.

With those two, I felt like I was done talking and I was done apologizing. They could figure out the rest themselves, I grumbled to myself. Immediately I felt like complete garbage for quitting on what I set off.

"I was wrong to have told her."

For the first time, he turns his head to me. His growl is unmistakable even with the roars and whistles from around the gym. "Yes, you were."

"I shouldn't have done it."

His sharp, cold gaze could cut glass. "No, you shouldn't."

"I didn't mean to tell her. I didn't think anything of it," I'm appealing hastily, now that I have his approachability.

"You didn't think at all."

"I was wrong to have said anything."

"What difference does that make?" he snaps.

We fall silent just as the student body starts stomping its feet again. The cheerleaders have taken over the stage, their evocative routine triggering the crowd into blowing up. It's like a pep rally. To the other side of me on the bleacher with the Ravens, Tim is exploding into near-howls. Looking at an enthusiastic Peyton in the middle of the gyrating squad, you wouldn't think that she's been mercilessly and torturously ignoring Lucas and me for days now.

I swivel my head back to Luke. "I'm sorry I told her. I screwed up."

I've never apologized so richly to him; my brain is screaming at me to never let it happen again.

The long, resigned breath he lets out also reveals a glimpse of the tortured look on his face. "Ultimately, it's my fault. I should have told her before."

"Why didn't you?" I ask bluntly.

He shoots me a pointed glance. At least he doesn't look like a slab of granite anymore. "I made a big mistake. I wanted to tell her the first chance I got but then I didn't, and then days turned into a week and another week and then another. I royally blew it."

In the time since my blunder, his acceptance letter to Rosecreek arrived. He has some serious grovelling to do.

"I've come to the conclusion that this will give us the opening for the break-up-or-try-it-long-distance issue. If that's the case, her decision is probably to break up."

Things are snowballing. I do not have a response to that. It's just making me feel worse.

"I don't want to go my own way, Nate," he says slowly, his gaze on Peyton. "Not without her."

I stretch my back and rub the back of my neck, feeling the full weight of regret. He's pretty private, but it's not our first personal chat when he often sat and talked – or not talked – to me after Haley left for the tour. It is a first, however, where I've screwed up majorly for him.

How is it that we're having this conversation with hundreds of euphoric high school kids around us? It's not like we can stop and postpone it for later.

Composing myself, I ask, "Has she said anything to you about it?"

He leans forward, elbows on knees, doesn't speak for a stretched moment. He looks like a kid who doesn't know where to go from here. "The only thing she's said to me in days is 'leave me the hell alone'. That isn't exactly giving me hope."

"Did you see that!?" Tim screams in my ear, making me curse and jump.

As I pull at my damaged ear, I look to the stage to see the cheerleaders clearing out and shaking their pompoms. Whatever I was meant to appreciate is over.

Tim seizes my shoulders and gives them a jolt. "That Rachel is a hellcat!"

Well, if it involved Rachel, I'm not disappointed that I missed it. Her performances are usually Not Safe for Work. Principal Turner and some of the teachers don't look too happy about what she did.

The racket dies away with the principal taking the microphone. It's strange that I'll no longer be part of this, and I'll be someplace new doing something familiar yet new. I haven't experienced being a new kid in a long time but I've barely carried the anxiety of it when some Vultures have reached out. They're even planning a kind of mixer for newbie players this summer before the start of training camp.

It's now the turn of the coaches to pour forth their wisdom. Chattering starts up again across the gym. Two teachers speak without either of us talking.

"Just so you know," I say, "Haley's good at this sh–crap. She knows how to talk to Peyton."

"This is not crap, Nate," he mumbles dully.

"I didn't mean it in that way. I thought you'd want to know that Haley's not sitting back and watching even though she's up the creek, too. Girls talk. A lot. About everything."

To this he gives a crooked smile. "So you're saying I gotta put my faith in my relationship in your wife?"

I return the grin. "Smartest move. She's your advocate right now."

He sits up and squares his shoulders. "Failure is not an option."

"You expect me to tell her that or are you?" I ask him with a deliberately appalled look.

"Oh, yeah, like I'm crazy enough to tell her what to do," he snorts.

"Who's crazy?" Tim butts in, leaning heavily on me with that eager expression on his face.

"You are," I tell him, pushing him off.

He grins in a wacky way that would give somebody else the creeps. "Nature of the beast, holmes!"

The people on the bleacher behind us snigger at his unsubtle proclamation. I shut my eyes wearily. I can't believe I'm going to miss this guy.

My concentration on the speeches diminishes as the soccer coach is quoting the season's stats. I ask Luke, "Should we expect you tonight?"

His mood has lightened enough for him to tell me, "To meet Deb's suitor? Of course."

Haley extended the invitation, seeing that I was still unwelcome as a conversation buddy. He and Karen invited us to meet Andy when the time came, and it's only fair that this Alin guy meets my brother.

"Are you worried?" he asks behind the mouth of his water bottle.

"About him or about tonight? I worry about my mom, I wonder about him and I want tonight to fly fast."

I'm feeling reluctant to meet this man but I have to. I don't intend to intimidate him in any way but there are so many questions; where did he come from? Is he a strange one with a stranger obsession? Does he have a DUI? Has he been arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct? Will he treat her like his personal bank?

"I've been there, man, and I share your anxieties. Do you at least know what he looks like?"

I turn to him with some surprise. "Do you?"

A sudden flash to my left goes off. The photographer for the school paper is shooting the Ravens from different angles with the gigantic camera held up at his face. I always forget his name. The pictures must be for the online edition of the paper since school will be done in a few days for the summer.

"I asked around. That's him," Luke says, pointing with his chin. "You come to the same school every day but you've not been curious enough to find him?"

"Where?" I ask, ignoring his last comment.

"Topmost bleacher across the floor."

From where we sit, a lean man with greying hair is sitting in the farthest end. I can't tell how tall he is but he seems average of height, cordial-looking and slender. I contemplate him but there's not much to go on. Not until he opens his mouth and spills blessings or curses.

"He doesn't look younger than your mom. But then again there are men who grey prematurely."

I let it slide, allowing for the fact that he didn't know Andy was younger than Karen until later.

"I've never seen that guy before, not even in the hallways," I say as though to myself.

"He's still pretty new. He started out as a sub—"

"That much I know."

"—in spring and they only made him fulltime. And you were away for a bit, remember?"

For lack of anything more to say, I pay attention to the stage. A couple of moments later, the principal is inviting us to the court for one final show with the new Ravens. Appreciative cheers, applause and whistles rise from all directions. I get up, and like the others, pull off my pants and shirt to show my basketball uniform.

"You're still an asshole," Luke says as we walk onto the court for the last time, holding his fist out.

I bump his fist, acknowledging, "I'm still an asshole."

His face breaks into a satisfied grin. "One last game for old times' sake?"

"Let's fry them."

He's on time.

The man standing in the living room with my mother is a few inches shorter than me at about five-nine, lanky and clean-cut. Up close, his brown greying hair starts on a widow's peak and his eyes are the colour of mahogany. A distinguished gentleman, you could say.

My mom makes the introductions, her hands fluttering about as she points to each of us. "Nate, I'd like you to meet Allan. Allan, this is my son, Nathan, his brother Lucas, my daughter-in-law Haley and my grandson Jamie."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Your mother has told me so much about you," he says genuinely, articulately, accompanied by a strong handshake.

This is weird for me because the only man I know my mom has socialized with – I hate to think of it in any other way – was my narcissistic father.

"You're a hell of a player. You both are."

"Thanks," Luke and I harmonize.

In the next moment, all is quiet, even Jamie. Gazes fly from face to face, back and forth, as though we've run out of things to say. Allan's eyes settle on Haley and Jamie. Where I've had a block of ice in my gut over this dinner, she's been walking on sunshine.

"I've heard good things about you, too, Haley. And Deb is always bragging about Jamie."

So far, he's friendly-looking and easily likeable. I hope we're meeting the real Allan Alin, not a Machiavellian version of him.

"I brought him a gift." He raises a big plain white shopping bag and looks between Haley and I like to ask for permission to show the gift.

"You didn't have to do that," Haley says graciously. Sitting on her hip, Jamie stares at the bag with interest.

"Where I come from, you don't show up empty-handed to someone's house for the first time, especially one where there's a child."

They share a smile. My mom suggests, "Shall we sit first? What can I get you to drink, Allan?"

"Ice water would be good."

Haley's on one side of the couch, Luke an armchair, me the smaller sofa. Before taking the other side of the couch Haley's on, Allan presents a soft toy to Jamie. Jamie grips it by the back of its head and looks hard at it before directing the three-horned dinosaur to his mouth for a taste. Other than the news playing on TV, his reaction to the stuffed animal is the one thing that our focus can be on.

"He likes it if it's already in his mouth," Haley announces cheerfully like she's the one with the gift. "Thank you."

He gives a self-conscious smile. From the big bag comes trinkets for the rest of us; a special blend of coffee for Haley, a vintage-looking book for Lucas, a chocolate bar collection for my mom that gives them both cackles for some reason, and a pocketknife for me. I wouldn't have thought less of him if he'd only brought Jamie a present, but I admire him bringing each of us a token.

I'm running through what to say to set the ball rolling when Haley plants Jamie on my lap and rushes away, claiming that she can smell something burning. I'm certain that there's nothing burning.

My mom brings Allan his water and then she's off, too. Luke follows with the declaration that he's going to help put out the food. Deserter, doing the same thing I did when they first had Andy over for dinner.

Left alone, we might as well be on separate earths, Allan on one side of the living room, me on the other. I don't find discomfort in silences as much as other people do; I measure him quietly, waiting for his next move.

Allan clears his throat and from my periphery, he runs his hands over his knees. "Married in high school? You don't see that anywhere."

I've been instructed by my wife and mother to be warm and welcoming. I'm on my best behaviour but the small talk is going to be harrowing until dinner, I'm sure.

"She got a hold of me and I knew that she was the one. The best part is that she felt the same way about me." I'm happy to say that I don't sound rude at all. A poet, maybe, but not a sarcastic one.

"It must've been quite a hold. I apologize if I'm being intrusive."

I look over at him. Beats the hell out of me why I told him what I did, but I like telling the story. It's fun to see the shock on people's faces when they realize we're not joking about being married. "Seized me, actually. Are you married?"

Since we're already on the intrusive questions, I might as well find out.

He sips his water, his gaze steady. "No. Never been. No children."

I don't spare a blink, as though we're in a contest where looking away would mean weakness or defeat. I'm aware that Jamie is clutching my dress shirt in that way he does when he wants to be set upright.

"May I be frank with you, Nathan?"

His tone is even and relaxed as he leans forward and rests the near-empty glass on a coaster. He rubs his hands together like to dry them. I nod.

"I've been nervous about meeting you. Your opinion matters to your mother and I don't want your opinion of me to leave her rethinking me. Deb is a wonderful person. She is beautiful, intelligent and sophisticated, and I have never met a woman like her. She has become a central part of my life and I would never hurt her. Though you and I just met, I ask that you give me a chance before you decide whether I deserve her or not."

He leans back, a quiet, uneasy smile on his face. Jamie squawks unhappily because I'm refusing to lower him down or let him get up.

Who am I to dispute that pitch? I have no reason to doubt him, and if doubt comes along, I'm sure my mom will handle it readily with a gun in her hand.

I only say 'okay'. What else am I supposed to say to something like that, for heaven's sake? Hurt her and you'll be sleeping with the fishes with cement blocks on your feet?

Putting Jamie down, I jerk my chin at the TV. "You follow?"

Another loss for the Pacers to the Bulls.

"Some. My interest lies in baseball."

"America's favourite pastime."

That brings a laugh from him. "Yes. Not very original, is it?"

"Neither is basketball. Hot air balloon racing and bobsledding, though. They're something else."

He laughs again, this time louder. "In a different dimension."

It's strange, but I'm relieved that he's not a basketball addict. Like Dan. Lessens the pressure, I think.

"I was raised watching football, ran track in high school, and picked up other fads along the way. Do you mind if I…?" he asks, pointing at the mantel.

"Go ahead."

He stands to get to the fireplace. I relax in my seat and flip the heavy penknife in my hand; it's so well-made that it could pick locks as well as handcuffs for all I know. In quietness, he takes in each picture, not like one who's only looking at photographs to occupy himself but one who is intrigued in seeing the captured moments. He seems an alright guy.

"You have a beautiful family," he says when he's finished walking around and seeing what's on the walls.

I think I heard a note of longing. My defences have been knocked down partway since we cleared the air, but not so completely torn down that I'd respond by stating that it was ugly before it became beautiful. "Thanks."

Jamie the little engine that could closes in on him after crawling and following him around. Allan picks him up and starts a conversation, and by the time my mom's calling us in for dinner, they're acquainted.

Dinner, as excellent as the food is, is more sedated than usual. With a stranger among us, conversation is affected. No one sits at either side of the head of the table. My mom and Allan are on one side, and Haley, Luke and I are across on the other. I wonder if Allan feels like he's facing a panel of judges.

Good food, iced tea all around, water within reach. Allan doesn't ask for wine or beer, and I wonder if he's abstaining tonight out of consideration, to show false support to us, or he just doesn't drink. I'm grateful for it for my mom's sake; the last thing she needs is a guy without a thought about her sobriety.

He's really different from Dan. It makes me think that I should be hostile or feeling threatened about this man "taking my dad's place". I'm not even feeling the least bit caged in. I'm actually glad she's moved on because from the way they look at each other, they care about each other.

Other than the pertinent personal questions that I don't know how to pose – do you have a police record, are you in a militia, have you brought debts with you, show me your driving licence – Allan isn't cagey about himself. His smile, though guarded and hesitant, seems genuine. I learn that he's forty-four, a native of New Mexico, his father died of a heart attack when he was in middle school and his mother ten years later of renal failure.

Our side of the table is silent, cutlery suspended and unmoving in our hands over beef Stroganoff. Saying sorry seems inadequate but we say it, anyway. The little smile he gives is saddened, and he goes on to add that in his mother's honour, to do what she never got to do, he's visited cities and states with 'New' in them – New York, New England, New Hampshire, New Orleans – and even countries like New Zealand and somewhere in Canada called Newfoundland. Haley and my mom tear up.

It's still an on-going adventure, he says, when there are more New cities and towns to see. I pretend not to see the look he shares with my mom like they know something I don't. Could they be planning a New Vacation together?

Overall he's relaxed, soft-spoken, kind of geeky, and handles himself carefully in actions and speech. I believe that I accept him at the end of the night because he is so unlike my father.

"So. What do you think of him? I like him," Haley says, pushing the stacked pots to one side.

My mom's upstairs after having walked Allan out. She'd been so anxious about tonight that when she expressed her thanks, it looked like she was deflating from the relief of the concluded night. Haley and I have packed away the food and are now cleaning up. Luke's in the living room with the baby, probably whispering to him secrets about strip clubs or watching him crawl from one end to another.

"You're not planning a commitment ceremony already, are you?" I drone along with the dishwasher.

"Between him and your mom or you and him?" she grins, drawing her hair up into a ponytail.

"None of them are particularly appealing. You wash, I dry."

She growls, but then pulls an apron over her head, snaps on gloves and dips her hands into the sink full of hot water. She disapproves every time but as long as I'm helping, she agrees to the arrangement.

Her hip bumps against me. "Come on. He's nice and I know you think he's nice."

"I don't know enough, Hales."

Her wide smile expands, like she knows something I don't. "You're a suspicious person. Short of hiring an investigator to do a background check on him, you'll have to take things as they are. Give the man a chance. He's well-mannered, well-dressed, well-read, well-travelled—"

"And I'm sure there haven't been serial killers with the same qualities," I interject.

There's not much love in her eye roll. "There's no doubt in my mind that he's a keeper. What did you guys talk about before we sat down to eat?"

"Oh, you mean that conspiracy to leave us alone in a room together?"

She laughs, dumping a soaped up saucepan into the rinsing basin. "He's done so much already, visited places I've only read about, and not forgetting what he's doing in his mother's memory. Can you imagine what it'd be like to have a purposeful adventure like that?"

"He's twice our age. I'm sure we'll have done some things by the time we get there."

"It just made me think hard about how there's so much to do in this world."

I know her too well to see that something lies beyond that sigh. "What's on your to-do list?"

Her smile falters a little. "For a while, I had this fantasy of going to every continent. It was right about the time Quinn took a gap year before college and she'd send these postcards from all over South America. Every time we heard from her, I wanted it to be my turn to do the same, to feel like an alien in a foreign place. I wanted to experience culture shock, eat strange food, hear people talk in a language I didn't understand, dance to music I'd never heard, and immerse myself in learning about communities different from my own."

I get a sour feeling in my stomach. "I never knew that."

She keeps scrubbing the pot with all her might. "The desire washed out over time. My parents started travelling longer and longer and I would see them less and less. Touring the world wasn't a priority anymore considering I couldn't even get a chance to speak to them about college. Then we got married, and more so after Jamie, it just didn't come to mind. As much as the idea of living in different places around the globe was tempting, I'd made promises and commitments that were far more costly."

I had no idea. The farthest we've been together is our train journey to Cincinnati for one of her brothers' anniversary parties, and I wouldn't have guessed that she'd wanted to travel extensively. We spent a few days with them, and I realized that Haley and I are different travellers; she's the sort who wants to see the sights, monuments, museums, craft shops, and I'm the kind to get my hands on a bike and take a ride to a beaten trail or give bungee jumping a go. My body needs to be on the move, and her mind is the one that needs to be fed on the same vacation.

"So you settled?" I prod, the thought troubling me.

She shakes her head vigorously, her nose crinkled as she takes a moment to think about an answer. She plants her wet hands on the edge of the sink and turns a bit towards me. "Not settled, no. Content. I'm content."

I'm not content in believing that she forgot so easily. By now, her music career would have taken her to New towns, states and cities, and beyond. I haven't travelled much in my life, but I can strike out holidays in Hawaii and Puerto Rico, and a sports tournament in Canada.

"But what about your worldwide safari? Just like that it's gone?"

Dipping her hands back in, she looks intently into the soapy water. "Not completely gone but it was progressively discoloured." She raises her head to stare out the window before us, saying more slowly, "My parents have been exploring the country for as long as I can remember. They left at a moment's notice without thinking hard about what it was doing to me. I feed the same hunger and then what, I can barely stand to be at home for a week? I can't do that to Jamie."

Her movements seem forceful, like she despises the idea of taking a vacation following her parents' inconsistent patterns. I don't blame her; we've all been marked by our parents in big or small ways.

Still, I want to learn some more. "I'd think that coming out of surviving the accident would give you all the more reason to make use of your passport."

A little hunched over, she draws in a deep breath, considering. "Babe, I don't think contentment comes with what you have; it anchors you despite what you have or don't have. I'm content in being a young wife and a young mother. I'm content in going to college in the fall and not taking a year off to travel. I'll still be content whether we're on a trip to Maine or Hong Kong. It's not a loss for me to be where I am. I am right where I want to be."

She's a hell of a woman, isn't she? My mind is blown at the insight she reveals sometimes; she's more perceptive and mature than her years. I reach my arm around her waist and pull her towards me. "That's a cool philosophy. I don't think I'm as enlightened as you are, or anywhere near it."

She tilts her chin up, her arms held up such that water's dripping off her gloves to the floor. "Maybe you can think of us being in a different kind of adventure right now until we start on another."

"Changing a tot's diapers, entertaining him, soothing him, raising him and such? That kind of busy, tiring, messy adventure?"

Our laughter flows easily. I hang the dampened towel over the dishwasher's handle. I touch her face and kiss her slowly on the lips, wishing for her that she'll get to do all the things she wants to do or forgot she wanted to do. We could start by doing something small this summer, like visit one of her numerous siblings for a change of pace. Heaven knows we need it.

"Wait, where are you going? We're not done cleaning up."

I gesture to the remaining bowl. "There's only one left."

"One?" She looks behind us to the island counter and turns to me with a cool scowl. "Do those look like one? Did you just kiss me like that so that you could get away?"

The sight of the heaped containers makes me recoil. I can't do this any longer than I have to, not when Lucas has his feet up like a princess in the other room.

"Finish up without me. Jamie needs to be taken up to bed." I give her a quick peck on the nose, adding with little innocence, "So sorry."

"You're not. You want to play stupid video games with Lucas," she mumbles, indignant but cute in a long flowered dress and barefooted. "Both of you should actually be doing this after all the cooking that we did."

"Leave them, then. I'll take care of them tomorrow."

She glares at me, knowing that I don't really mean it. I wouldn't expect her to delay cleaning a messy kitchen overnight, unless under the most dire circumstances. Unless those circumstances involve Jamie.

"I'll make it up to you. I'll hunt down the raccoon that lives under the house."

"There's no raccoon living under our house and you know it." She smiles like she's enjoying a private joke. "But there might be a family of gargantuan spiders in the attic and basement. Watch yourself."

Compromise. Isn't marriage grand?