Marisela.

"…Thank you, again, for the ride." I pipe to Jared's mother, my hand resting against her car door, preparing to shut it.

"Anytime, Mari, I hope to see you sometime soon." She replies with a little wave, her eyes crinkling at the corners due to her generous smile.

"I'll make a point to." I assure her. "Good night."

"Goodnight." She says before I'm shutting the door, and she's off.

My feet are merely dragging along the dirt before I'm stepping up to Emily's porch and yanking the door open before I'm slamming it shut and locking the door behind me.

"Kinda rude to slam doors in other people's houses." I hear as I'm heading up the stairs.

Despite the fact I recognize the voice, I instinctively let out a gasp and a short scream before screwing my eyes closed to take a breath before I'm looking back up to see Paul munching on left overs, standing by the kitchen counter in the dark.

"Sorry." He says it genuinely, but his lips are still upturned in a smile at the fact he got me.

"What're you doing here?" I ask him, trying not to sound rude, and he pushes his plate away and finishes his glass of water before saying, "we have plans, remember?"

"Emily said I can't go, remember?" I remind him.

"Oh, you follow rules now?"

His question has my face twisting in confusion as I shoot back, "aren't you supposed to be a good influence or something? Pretty certain your cult leader would want that, anyway."

A sharp whistle leaves his mouth followed by him chuckling.

"The cheap shots don't bother me." He tells me, stepping closer, amused by my comment. "And that depends. Do you want me to be a good influence?"

I take it as sarcasm, but there's a whisper of seriousness to the question as if he's legitimately asking me exactly what I want him to be, as if there's a guarantee he'll become whatever it is.

"If me being on my best behavior depends on you influencing me to be, then I'm screwed." I scoff.

"I'm not that bad, you know." He shrugs. "I can be a pretty good influence."

"I'm not that bad, either. So I don't need a good influence." I reply.

"Aside from starting shit with your cousin out of boredom."

I don't say a word, biting my tongue as I roll my eyes, heading up the stairs.

"I know it's not my business and I'm not trying to be an asshole," He starts, following me as I get up the stairs and down the hall to my room, "but Emily—"

"—You're right. It's not any of your business." I scoff, stepping to the chest of drawers to grab a gray spaghetti strap tank top and black pajama shorts for bed, about to walk to the bathroom to wash my face but his massive frame blocks my way. "Get out of my way."

His brown eyes cut at me.

"Or what? You're gonna mow through me like you do Emily?"

"Oh my God." I turn away from him, tossing my clothes, and myself, onto the bed. "Why the hell can't people get off my back?"

"Nobody's on your back." He's stepping closer to me. "Emily's got a lot going on right now and you aren't really helping by being…" he searches for the right word before choosing, "…sensitive."

"Oh, I'm sensitive?" I'm gawk, sitting up on my forearms. "You're the one with everybody tip toeing around you because you blow up over practically nothing—apparently."

"Nobody's had to tip-toe around me lately because you leave no room for anyone else to get angry. Someone looks at you the wrong way and you start tearing into them." He looks down at me and I roll my jaw. "And it's about to get you sent right back where you came from, do you want that?" He adds, his voice remorseful, like he doesn't want that to happen.

"Yeah, I kinda do. I shouldn't have ever come here to begin with. It's been six days and I'm in hell." I hiss out, sitting up.

"Then why did you come here if we're so bad?" His voice raises, pained.

I struck a nerve.

"I don't know." I snap at him, throwing my hands up. "Why the hell do you even care so much, you don't even know me?"

It's a valid question, but I'm only asking it so he'll stop trying to fix whatever it is he thinks is wrong between Emily and I.

"…Because I care about you." He admits to me through a shaking breath.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and I think he takes my silence as me not caring about what he's got to say.

"Forget it, Marisela, I'm not—"

"—Wait," I scramble to my knees on the bed and reach out, grabbing his hand before he can start walking to the door.

He lets out a breath as he comes back, my hand not leaving his.

"I'm sorry." I say to him, calmly.

I think about what he said. Do I want to go back home? Would even trying to convince mom to undo her disowning of me be worth going back there? In the midst of my thoughts I let out a sliver of truth, "I just…I thought I'd be happier here."

Laying back on the bed, I stare up at the ceiling as the atmosphere around us shifts.

It's no longer tense or argumentative.

I can see his shoulders slump slightly at my words before he's sitting down on the edge of the bed beside me.

"You're not happy?" He asks me, sounding confused.

"I thought being around all the people my dad loved so much and wanted my brother and I to love, would make me feel closer to him or something." I admit. "But all that's happened since I've been here is just constantly be reminded of how happy he would've been here if my mom would have just shut up and let us stay. And how miserable he was away from his family."

"You and your brother were his family, too." He gently offers, and I take in a breath.

"He adored my uncle Harry, you know." I tell him, my voice shaking a little as I try to keep my eyes from watering. "When he passed mom refused to let anyone here know. She didn't want to talk to anybody except Emily, and she wasn't living here at the time, so Stevie had to call everyone here and let them know what happened. He could barely speak when aunt Sue answered the phone." I explain. "He eventually got it out. I was glad it was him and not me because I wouldn't have known what to say." I add. "And I still didn't know what to say when Stevie passed a tear later and I was given the task of calling dad's side of the family, again." It comes out nearly a whisper, a tear finally escaping the corner of my left eye.

I'm quickly swiping it away, anger once again resurfacing as I'm simmering with my thoughts.

"So, I'm sorry if I'm bitter, and I'm making everyone miserable." I admit, sitting up, sniffling.

"I was, too, for a long time." It's his turn to admit to me. "I'm not a proud member of the, 'Mom Hater's Club' but I'm a member, regardless." He adds, and I furrow my brows. "We lived in Tacoma, my parents were happy, things were great, until one day I don't get picked up from school. They call mom, she doesn't answer. They call dad, he tries to call mom at the house, she doesn't answer. He leaves work to come get me, we get home, and there's divorce papers taped to the door. Once I understood what was happening I kept telling dad I was sorry. I told him that for years. I thought it was my fault, or something." He continues, my face shifting, my anger at my own mom fades and is replaced. "Dad toughed it out, he didn't try to fight it. They got divorced, she handed him over custody without a care, and we moved back here. I knew it bothered him, he just wouldn't say. But I could hear him, sometimes, crying."

It's horrid sight in my head, a little Paul realizing what his mom had done, taking that burden on and blaming himself for his father's grief.

"I still don't think he knows what the hell he did wrong to make her leave." He looks down at his hands that are fidgeting together.

Despite the fact he doesn't like me, I do feel pity for Nate. I wonder if he still misses Paul's mom.

"I'm really sorry, Paul." I say to him.

"I don't want you to be sorry for me." He shakes his head. "I just want you to know that anger and bitterness you have toward her…it's not worth letting it spill over into the relationships you have with people you love." He says it like he has experience from it. "I'm still trying to do that. Dad and I have been going at it more and more, lately. At first I thought it was just the fact that he didn't want to lose control over me, or something. But I've been saying things to him recently that I've realized are things I've always wanted to tell my mom." He adds. "Me being pissed has nothing to do with him. He's just the next one in line that's there to take it out on."

He's quiet for a second before he's wiping away our seriousness with,

"But yeah, don't worry about apologizing to me for being mean. I'm kinda used to it because the whole Leah situation…but I don't think Emily really wants two of her family members she loves to hate her simultaneously." He raises his brows. "You guys gotta coordinate on taking turns or something." He grins, and it makes me giggle.

"Yeah, I probably need to talk to Emily when she gets home." I say to myself aloud. "And your cult leader."

Now it's his turn to laugh.

"Seriously, though, what's up with that?" I question.

He takes in a deep breath, the expression on his face looking relieved as if he's about to get something off of his chest, but he's interrupted by the door opening, Emily's voice invading the room as she says, "Mari, we're hom—" she stops speaking when she sees us, standing in the doorway, "Oh…Hi, Paul." She's bullshitting a smile.

"Hey, Em, um…" He stands up, looking at me, "I was just about to leave." He tells her, despite still keeping his eyes on me. "I'll see you tomorrow."

I nod, my stomach in knots with nerves as he gives me a smile and moves to the door.

"Goodnight." He says as she steps aside.

"Goodnight. Be careful." She tells him.

He starts down the stairs and I get an idea, getting up and quickly moving past Emily to go after him.

"Hey, wait," I catch him just as he's getting to the door and he stops while I grab a pen from the kitchen counter, going over to him to scribble my number onto the back of his hand. "Thanks for caring." I tell him next, genuinely.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He repeats.

"See you tomorrow." I say it back, Sam opening the door behind us, confusion on his face at the sight of Paul before it washes off and he's left with a small, knowing, smile.

"Thought you weren't feeling good." He says to him.

"I feel better." Paul replies.

"Mmhmm." Sam glances at the number on Paul's hand, looks at me, and keeps his mouth shut.

"Goodnight." Paul says to him.

"Oh, I bet it was." Sam mumbles back, putting his extra food in the fridge.

Paul's giving me one last look before leaving, shutting the door, and I lock it behind him as Emily comes back downstairs.

"I'm glad you two are getting along." She pipes to me. "Anything happen before we got home that I need to know about?" I knows she's joking, but there's a hint of seriousness to it.

"We just talked." I assure her.

"About what?" She asks me, before she starts tidying up the counter where Paul made a mess.

"I'm really sorry about earlier." I say, to the both of them, and they stop what they're doing and look at me. "I'm sorry for how I've acted since I've been here, actually. Down to the mess about Leah. I've been lashing out at the both of you for things that don't even really have anything to do with you."

They look at each other as if it's a trap. before looking at me, again.

"There's just a lot that's gone on the past several months, that I'm not necessarily ready to talk about just yet, but I'm trying to work through it, and when I can't I get frustrated, and decide that if I can't just find a way to be happy despite it, I'm going to make everyone else as miserable as I am…and that's really, really screwed up. And I'm sorry."

It's clear neither of them were expecting an apology, not tonight, anyway.

Sam's the first to speak, clearing his throat, looking at me as he raises his brows and says, "Apology accepted," while my cousin steps to me, hugging me tightly.

"I wish you would've just told me all this sooner," she whispers to me, "And if you ever need to talk, I'm here." She adds, pulling away, looking at me, her mouth turning downward at the sight of the stray tear falling down my face.

She gently wipes the wet trail with her hand and gives me a comforting smile.

"I love you." She says it as if reminding me.

"I love you, too." My voice cracks and big lump grows larger the longer I look at her.

What the hell could've possibly gotten into me to make me spew so much resentment toward her? And Sam, who I've never had a problem with, whose been nothing but kind to me since I've been here despite the fact I've been starting arguments with him and the woman he adores.

"Sleep tight, okay?" She says next, pulling me from my thoughts, and I nod.

"Goodnight." I tell them two of them, and they both say, "Goodnight," at the same time as I head up the stairs.

"Note to self: Paul's the Mari whisperer." Emily whispers to Sam once she thinks I'm out of earshot.

"I guess it makes sense as to why." He replies right as I go to the bathroom across from my room to wash my face and get ready for bed.

XXX

The next handful of weeks fly by being that I'm no longer wreaking havoc on anyone's emotional well-being, attempting a healthier way of dealing with frustration by channeling it into learning to braid hair the way Emily, Aunt Sue, and Leah can, trying to cook traditional meals—that can't be thrown together in a microwave— without burning the house down, trying to fish with Uncle Harry and Seth—which I've discovered I actually enjoy it, I just don't have the patience for it just yet.

Emily's been teaching me to weave, another thing she's good at, and even teaches from time to time at the Reservation's high school.

One thing I've pin pointed that has helped me navigate little by little through trying to understand exactly why Belinda—who I've grown disdained of even calling my "mom" at the moment—wanted dad to move us away from his family, it was more than likely due to either the fact she was racist, or an extreme religious difference from them and didn't want Stevie and I to be "contaminated" in any way, or both.

I've just felt like a tourist being taught a way of life different than what I've been living, though it's not completely different, of course. The basic principles are the same. But the more I learn and do, the heavier my heart grows. How could my father, someone who had such an enthusiasm and love for his culture, his family, his tribe…marry someone who resented all of it, and eventually agree to keep their children away from it? He'd tell us the legends, of course, but that was as far as it'd go, and even those were told out of earshot from our mother.

Eventually I have the balls to bring it up to Aunt Sue, the two of us working on dinner at Emily's while Sam, Emily, and the boys are at the beach, Leah and Seth still at home with Uncle Harry, waiting for the food to be ready.

"Why didn't my mom wanna stay here?" I force it out of myself, rolling out flour for biscuit dough, Aunt Sue's brows shooting up, a deep breath in her lungs, and back out.

"Ummm," she drags out, rubbing her forehead with the back of her flour-dusted hand, "I'm not entirely sure. Tommy wouldn't ever give us a straight answer when he told us they were moving. Everyone's just kinda formed their own theories." She admits. "I think she didn't think we were, what's the word…" She ponders for a moment, "…Classy? Enough for her taste."

I can very well see my mother being classist.

"I've always hoped it was just that and not the fact we weren't more pale." She adds. "Of course it could've been that she thought we were heathens. Her mom sure thought that, at least."

"Really?" This is the first time I've ever even heard of my grandmother being spoken about.

She had died before I was born, and neither of my parents ever spoke of her.

"Very strict woman." She explains. "I think the first and last time she even came up here was to bless out Tommy and his family for 'ruining' Belinda."

"'Ruining' her how?" I question, once again stopping my rolling.

"You know how." She speaks as if I'm in on what she's talking about, whereas I just keep looking at her for an answer.

Her face falls.

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

Her lips tightly seal, a guilty look on her face as if she shouldn't have spoken a word about it.

"About five weeks after your parents met for the first time, your grandma Gloria Augustine comes banging at your other grandparent's door with Belinda to inform us that her seventeen year old was, 'with child,' as she so delicately put it, but from around here if you get busy in the back of a pick-up with someone you just met, you aren't 'with child,' you're just 'knocked up.'" She shrugs.

This entire revelation has my jaw nearly hitting the floor.

All this time I thought my parents dated through high school, got married young because they were so in love and had Stevie within a couple years of their marriage.

In reality she and dad hooked up the night they met, and she got pregnant the same night.

"Your uncle Mike and Aunt Lizzie weren't shocked at all because they knew they're brother didn't think sometimes. Your grandparents just…" She trails off as if not even wanting to mention how they reacted. "…Harry was so angry. I don't even think he was that upset that Tommy had done something so dumb, because Tommy just did stuff like that, you know? He was too laid back. He didn't really think about consequences very much as long as he and whoever he was with were having fun. I think Harry was just mad because of who, of all the girls in this town, he had managed to get pregnant." She sighs. "And of course he already had a plan to marry her once they graduated—and that was before he even found out she was having his baby, so once he knew they were going to have a kid together it just completely overjoyed him. He took it as a sign from whatever almighty being he believed in that Belinda was just his soul mate, or something. And he wouldn't let anyone try to tell him different, or talk him out of getting married. He was so in love with her…and I really do think she was in love with him at the beginning."

"What do you think changed?" I ask her, next.

"I honestly don't know, Mari." She says to me, sadly. "It didn't happen overnight, but more and more she would come around less, he'd just bring Stevie over with him. Once you born it got worse. She'd keep you at home with her if they were invited to anyones house to eat, or to the beach, or wherever. Then when you turned two and started really wanting to get out of the house and be around other people, and kids your age, she would actually let your dad take you with him and Stevie places. But that's also when she started in on Tommy about moving…it was very odd."

I take the glass I've been using to roll out dough and start pressing the mouth of it into the thick concoction of flour and buttermilk.

"Not to say it's your fault in any way." She adds, looking at me.

"No, I know that." I say. "I've just been wondering what was so bad that mom wanted to get out of here, and stay out, and keep us out."

"Perhaps that's a question for her." She suggests.

If she were taking my calls…

"Yeah, you're right." I agree, watching her as she starts doing the same thing as I am, stacking up the circles of dough she's cut out with the glass and setting them aside on the sheet we've been rolling it out on.

There's a bushel of laughter and hollering outside, signaling the return of the guys, and I have no time to try to wipe my hands before they're stomping up the steps in a run, snatching the door open and flooding the kitchen.

"Is it almost ready?" Jared's asking as he steps between us, looking for any food that's done, his shorts still wet from the ocean water.

"It'll be ready when it's ready." Sue says, chuckling when I take a couple feet back to avoid getting wet, glaring at him.

"I hope your face gets stuck like that." He tells me before my tank top is getting wet, hot skin pressing to my back as arms wrap around me, making me squeal.

"Paul!" I complain, getting flour on his skin in an attempt to get away, my feet kicking in the air.

He finally does, kissing my shoulder, my cheek, and I turn my head to catch his lips for a second, hearing a gag behind us.

"Please, don't get your ick on the biscuits." Jared states flatly, unamused.

"Shut up." Paul snips as Emily and Sam come in.

"Smells good." Emily compliments us, coming back to examine my work so far.

"Doesn't smell like the house is enflamed." Sam adds.

"Ha. Ha. Mari can't cook. I get it." I mumble, moving from Paul to rinse my hands off at the sink.

"You can. Just not good." Jared shrugs and I'm cutting the water off once I'm done and flicking the remaining water that's on my hands in his face.

"I don't mind when you cook. It's not bad." Paul assures me, and my face heats up a little under his small praise, and it's quickly interrupted with Jared throwing in, "You're just saying that so she won't cut you off."

"At least he's got someone to get cut off from, Jared, where's your flavor of the week?" Aunt Sue rebuttals, raising a joking brow.

"I don't have one. I'm mature, now, Sue." He pridefully brags.

"Yeah, he's not swimming in every mud puddle he stumbles across." I add, drying my hands, going back to my spot to finish cutting the biscuits out of the dough while Paul opens the fridge and grabs a can of soda.

Emily's coming up behind me quietly, examining my technique, and I look at her to see that she's almost jittery looking.

"What am I doing wrong?" I recognize the tell-tale sign of her wanting desperately to correct where I've went wrong.

She does the same thing while we're weaving.

"You should've left your dough a little thicker." She points out, picking up all my circles and folding them back together with the remaining dough that's rolled out, getting it all back into a ball once again before she starts rolling it out.

I've been benched, and I don't argue.

"Hey, Em, can I shower here?" Paul's asking while I peel the apron off and hand it over to my cousin.

"Yeah." She shrugs, and he moves to head upstairs, gently nudging me along with him, the two of us heading up the stairs, "Alone!" She calls to us.

"I know!" He says back as we head to my room.

I grab the clothes he left here not too long ago, and hand them over to him.

"You sure you don't wanna join?" He offers playfully.

"Emily would kill you." I giggle, his hand gently grasping my jaw, pressing his lips to mine.

"It'd be worth it." He states, as we pull away for a moment.

"You think?" I raise a brow.

"Like, a gazillion percent." He replies, going in for another kiss, and another, dropping his clothes, his warm hands slipping under my top to hold at my back, our tongues colliding as we both forget where we're at momentarily, but my memory is jogged when my hands go for the button of his shorts and he's managing a "hmmMmm," pulling away. "Not here."

"Why not? We do everywhere else." I poke at his chest.

"You're not quiet enough for here." He raises his brows.

"I can be." I try to sound convincing, knowing the last time I said that almost got us caught by his dad.

He's amused by me saying this, a toothy smile reaching ear to ear as he kisses my cheek quickly, reaches down and grabs his clothes.

"Don't burn the house down while I'm in here." He points his thumb to the direction of the bathroom and I move to playfully hit his arm, but he dodges me, chuckling out, "missed," as he heads across the hall and shuts the door.

It's something else I've been channeling my energy to, letting Paul's complete adoration of me eat away at any negative perceptions about myself that hang over my head simply because mom put them there.

"I care about you," had gone from simple friendship between two people who didn't really know each other, to a full blown, all consuming…something? There hasn't been any distinct steps like, "getting to know one another, dating, exclusive, etc." It just went from caring about each other to being borderline infatuated, throw in heaps of physical attraction, and lust, and you've gotten whatever it is that's going on. There's a silent understanding, however. He's not interested in other girls, and I'm not interested in other guys. Jared's not flirty with me anymore, which is understandable given the fact Paul's his best friend.

The two of us spend what some might consider an unhealthy amount of time together, but why wouldn't we? There's plenty of time for distance and space whenever I go back home in another month.

If I go back home.

I'm eighteen in a couple weeks, anyway, I don't even have to go back if I really don't want to.

Sometimes I can see Sam or Emily out the corner of my eye, looking at us concerned, lost in our own little world and conversation. I expected them to not to be thrilled about it, but Sam seemed relieved, and Emily was happy that I was happy, despite not necessarily wanting me around Paul and Jared all that much to begin with.

Maybe she's paranoid I'm going to have a kid on her and Sam, especially now that I know that's the exact thing my parents did, but that would also mean we'd have to be doing what people do to get a baby, and that's something we actually haven't done, despite the many times we almost have.

I think her seeing that the fact he and I have more similarities than differences makes it easier for us to open up about things to each other we would otherwise shut down over, has significantly dissipated her worry about him getting me into trouble.

Truth be told, I've been the one inadvertently corrupting him. I've had to catch myself doing it at times because I've realized he does anything he thinks will make me happy.

He's missed curfew a few times already because he'd tell me he'd have to go, and I'd let out a "no, you don't, your dad can just get over it," or something similar, trying to be sarcastic, and he wouldn't go home.

Being I don't necessarily want him putting me before the courtesy he needs to show his father's wishes of being home by a certain time, anytime he mentions having to leave, I encourage him to go.

My phone beeps with a notification, my hand reaching to my bed to grab it, falling back onto the quilted mattress, looking at a text from Seth.

S: Pssst…come get me please I'm dying of boredom.

M: Are you really?

S: Yes.

M: Ok, let me see if Em will let me borrow her car.

S: Thanks.

I sit up, grabbing my wallet from on top of my dresser before sliding my sandals on and heading downstairs.

"Hey, Em, can I borrow your car? Seth's bored."

"I told him to come with me but he wanted to nap." Sue comments.

"Well, he's awake, now." I reply.

"Yeah, the keys are over here by the fridge." Em nods her head in that direction. "Can you guys stop and grab some more drinks on the way back? I'll give you some gas money just in case you have to go into town." She washes her hands off, heading to her purse that's perched beside her keys.

"No problem." I assure her as she hands me a twenty dollar bill and the keys.

"Be careful, please, precious cargo." She adds.

"I will. I love you." I nod, slipping out of the door as she calls back, "I love you!" while I slip past Sam and Jared who are sitting on the porch steps talking.

"Where you headed?!" Jared asks me as I head to the car.

"Nunya!" I say opening the Bronco's door.

"Get some more drinks while you're out!" He replies.

"I am!" I say before shutting the door, cranking the car, and heading for Uncle Harry's.

XXX

"Maybe it'll be ready by the time we get back." I say to Seth as he and I load the boxes of canned drinks into the back of the car. "You think your sister will come?"

"She said she was, but I don't know. She might just have mom bring her back something. She's been in a funk lately." He shrugs, and I furrow my brows.

"Really?"

"Yeah." He opens the passenger door and we climb back in. "She keeps saying it's just 'lady problems' but I'm not stupid. She's still bummed about Sam and Emily."

"That's understandable, isn't it?" I crank the car, putting my seatbelt on, glancing over at him. "Seatbelt." I remind him and he snaps it on.

"It is, I guess. I just thought maybe she'd be over it by now. It happened over a year ago." He adds.

"Well, you know, they say it takes half the time you were together to get over the person once you break up. They were together for, what, four years?"

"Yeah." He nods.

"So, she's got about another year to go before we need to urge her to just move on already." I chuckle and he looks at me.

"You think she's gonna be like this for another year?" He asks it as if he's dreading it, but not because it's annoying to him.

I think the idea of seeing his sister in her own hell longer than he thought she would be, hurts him more than it irritates him.

"She might." I pull onto the road, having to stop at the red light. "But it's not gonna last forever. She'll wake up one day, eventually, and realize it doesn't suck as bad as it did when it first happened, and she'll move on."

"Hmm." He thinks about it, before piping out, "Have you ever had a bad break up?"

I think about it, breath knocking out of me just a little…

"Yeah, I have." I nod, glancing at him.

"Did he leave you for your cousin, as well?"

"No." I smile a little, shaking my head. "No, he didn't."

I leave it at that, or try to, and he just watches me and waits for an elaboration.

"…What happened? You can't just leave me hangin'." He asks.

"I made a decision for myself that he didn't want me to make, and he left." I shrug, and he looks at me.

"Oh." He says. "Do you regret it?"

"No." I shake my head, furrowing my brows. "No. He was an asshole, anyway."

"It doesn't really matter anymore. Since Paul's in the picture now." He says next, slyly, giving me a knowing smirk.

"How do you know about that?"

"Everybody knows, Mari. You guys don't even try to hide it. Mom says he's a goner." He continues.

"Really?" I feel giddy.

"Yeah."

"What about uncle Harry, what does he think?" It's the only opinion I truly care about, him being the only remanent piece of my father that I've got.

"He's over the moon. I think he just wants someone to hurry up and get married and have kids already." He chuckles, my smile faltering just a little for a moment, not that he notices. "Someone who isn't me or Leah." He adds.

I can imagine uncle Harry surrounded by ankle-biting, snotty kids, teaching them how to properly catch, clean, and fry fish like he'd tried to teach me a little bit when I was little, and again since I've been back.

"He's gonna have to put his money on Sam and Emily, then." I mumble as the light turns green once more and I let up on the brake.

"Well, you kn—" His voice is cut off by our car lurching sharply to the left as something rips through the back seats, glass shattering, and air bags deploring.