but we haven’t talked on the phone in two days. The wry tenor of his voice fills the car.
“How’s the trip? What did you see today?” he asks quickly. I have a feeling he wants to vicariously tour New York.
I hold a finger to my lips, motioning to Fitz to stay quiet. None of my family knows this random boy has joined my road trip. “It’s great,” I reply. “We did NYU and Columbia, and New York was incredible. I went to all my favorite buildings in the city.”
“Rockefeller Center, right? You say hi to Marisa’s ex-fiancé?”
I laugh. Fitz’s eyebrows wrinkle in confusion. I make a mental note to explain the Prometheus story to him later. “Of course,” I say.
He pauses for a moment. “And how’s Matt?”
I falter, knowing I should have anticipated the question. Fitz watches me warily, undoubtedly putting together I haven’t told my dad about the breakup. I haven’t even told my parents I’m changing my itinerary or extending my trip. I know I have to eventually. I’m just used to hearing no so often, I usually ask them for forgiveness, not permission.
“Matt’s, um, good,” I say, hearing the high strain in my voice. Fitz might not have been completely off when he told me I’m not a competent liar.
“Can I talk to him?”
I’m really glad this isn’t FaceTime and he can’t see every ounce of color drain from my face. “You . . . want to talk to him?” I repeat. My dad and Matt aren’t exactly chatting-on-the-phone friends.
“Yeah,” he says. “I watched a movie last night I think he’d like. Can you put him on?”
“Um.” I’m a deer in the headlights unable to avoid the speeding car that is this interrogation.
“Um?” Dad’s tone revs, and I brace for the collision. “Um, like he’s in the bathroom and can’t come to the phone right now?”
“Uh.” I don’t have it in me to lie to my father. Not even now, when I really, really want to.
“Or um, like you can’t because I saw him today in Springfield, Massachusetts?”
I swear under my breath. I should’ve known this would happen. I live within six blocks of Matt. We go to the same grocery store, he orders Chinese takeout from the same place Marisa does, and he walks his dog in the park where Callie has soccer. The chance of him encountering one member or other of my enormous gossipy family before I came home verged on the upper end of 99 percent. I guess I should be grateful my dad was the one who saw him.
“What happened?” he asks.
“We broke up, Dad,” I say, nearly whispering. It’s hard to admit to my dad in a way it wasn’t to Fitz. I’m in a new world with Fitz, and telling my dad brings the breakup into my old world, into the life I was living and the life to which I’ll return. The family movie nights Matt won’t come to, the birthday dinners in the restaurant where we won’t share a fried ice cream.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he says softly. All the anger is gone from his voice. “I know how much he meant to you.”
Fitz shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and I suddenly wish he weren’t overhearing this. “Yeah,” I say, choking the word out awkwardly.
“Maybe you should come home,” Dad suggests. “We could go ice-skating in the park. Remember how we used to do that when you were little?”
I do remember. We would go every Friday when we first moved to Springfield. I remember thinking the park rink was so small compared to the one in Rockefeller Center. “How about next week? I want to finish my trip.”
“On your own?” He sounds skeptical. “That wasn’t the agreement. I don’t want you driving hundreds of miles by yourself.”
“But I can’t come home,” I protest. I flip my turn signal sharply and merge into the left lane, the traffic finally clearing up. “I’m not done yet. And—” I ready myself for the plunge, knowing I can’t put it off any longer. “I want to extend my trip a few days. I don’t