Emmy & Oliver - Robin Benway Page 0,63

question or if I was about to say the wrong answer. “We are?”

“You are,” my dad said.

“Are you two dating?” my mom asked.

“Mom,” I groaned, covering my eyes with my hand. “People don’t really date anymore, they just . . . I don’t know, hang out together.”

“Is that the same as ‘hooking up’?” my dad asked.

“Oh my God!” Now I covered my ears with both hands. “Am I grounded? Can you just ground me? Hearing you two talk about ‘hooking up’ is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Emmy, relax,” my mom said. “You’re not in trouble, you’re not grounded, and your dad is joking.”

My dad winked at me and calmly took a sip of his water.

“Revenge will be sweet,” I muttered to him.

“But you and Oliver are ‘hanging out,’ yes?” my mom asked.

I nodded, picking at one of my ragged cuticles. I had scraped the side of my hand on my board earlier that day and it was starting to ache. “Yes,” I finally said. “We’re hanging out.”

My parents glanced at each other. “We know you’ve been a wonderful friend to Oliver,” my mom started to say, but to my surprise, I cut her off.

“We’re not just friends,” I told her. “It’s more than that.”

“Oh,” she said. “Okay. I know we haven’t talked about this before since it hasn’t come up, but your father and I would prefer that you not seriously start dating until you’re eighteen. That being said”—she rushed on before I could protest—“because we know Oliver and his family, and since they live right next door to us, and because we trust you, we think it’s okay if you two want to keep . . . hanging out.” I could tell that it pained her to say that phrase.

“But no closed doors,” my dad quickly added. “No being alone in either of our houses without a parent home—the twins absolutely do not count as responsible chaperones, so don’t even ask—and no sex.”

“Subtle,” my mom murmured as I started choking.

My dad shrugged. “It’s not like she doesn’t know what the word means. You okay, Em?”

I nodded as I tried to get myself under control. I couldn’t wait to text Oliver and see what Maureen’s version of this conversation sounded like. If she used the word intercourse like Drew’s dad had, Oliver was probably going to fling himself out the window.

“I’m fine,” I managed to say. “And got it for all of those rules. Can we stop talking now, though? If I promise to do everything you say, can we end this and promise to never speak of it again?”

“One last thing,” my mom said. “Oliver is going through a lot right now, honey. Just . . . keep that in mind.”

No one knew that better than me, though.

THE TREES

It’s two days before Emmy and Oliver’s third birthday.

They’re planning a party. Well, they’re not planning it, their moms are, but it doesn’t matter because it’s going to be so much fun and they’re having their party together. At first, Emmy didn’t like that idea because she thought it meant they would have to share presents, but then Oliver pointed out that the birthday cake would be bigger if it was for both of them, so that helped. Oliver is smart like that.

And right now, at the park, while their moms are sitting in the shade and talking about party plans, Emmy can’t see Oliver anywhere. He’s not on the swings or the slide, and he’s certainly not sitting next to her in the sand, making a sand castle that always seems to slide out of her bucket and into a heap on the ground. It never looks like a castle the way it does at the beach. Emmy likes the beach a lot better than the park.

She stands up and looks at their moms, who are so busy talking that they don’t see her quizzical expression, wondering where Oliver is. She looks past them toward the street, but she knows Oliver isn’t there. They’re not allowed to cross the street by themselves, not yet. Emmy can’t wait to do a lot of things when she’s older, especially crossing the street without holding a grown-up’s hand. She can’t wait to do things by herself.

She turns and looks toward the trees. That’s always been a scary part of the park, where the ground gets damp and smells like dirt and darkness. She never goes over there, but she sees the sun splash across Oliver’s hair, lighting him just for a second, and she