Page 86 of This Broken Heart

“That’s what grandmas are for.” My mom steps down the front stoop. Trace and Maven barrel out, swathed like the Michelin man in winter coats and scarves. “I’ll watch the kids. You should take Erin to the party. She’d have fun.”

Mom says it like it’s a suggestion, but I can tell from the look in her eye that our fate has already been decided.

I’m sitting on the couch later that night, waiting for Erin to get dressed.

Maven sits on my lap while Trace hangs from my shoulders. They should be in bed, but they wanted to stay up to watch the ball drop. We celebrated London’s New Year’s Eve and now they’re wired.

When Erin steps out of her bedroom, everyone goes stock-still.

“She looks like a movie star.” Trace sighs, his little heart racing against my back.

My heart is hammering, too. She’s stealing my breath.

Erin’s wearing a gold jumpsuit.

To a small-town party where most people treat denim like a second skin.

Her hair is in a high ponytail and she wears dramatic, dangly earrings. Trace isn’t wrong to say she looks like a star. She’s wildly overdressed and I love it.

Mom stands in the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “Oh, Erin. You look beautiful.” She turns to scan my clothes. “Josh. You couldn’t bother dressing up?”

I look down at my thick flannel shirt and worn-out jeans. “You bought me this shirt.”

“For work. Not for going out. At least change into nicer jeans. That pair has holes in it. Good lord. I’ve raised an animal.”

I get up and put on dark wash jeans—the farm boy equivalent of dress pants.

Mom puts the kids in her SUV and Erin and I climb into my truck.

Her scent fills the cab, and she’s got my heart racing.

And we’re supposed to go to a party and act like we’re not together.

That was my idea, but I’m not sure what I was thinking.

The only thing I know for sure… I’m in trouble.

57.

Erin

I’m not a petite girl.

I never have been.

I have a very specific memory of getting cornered by some girls in middle school. They told me I dressed too loudly for a chubby kid.

They thought I should do everyone a favor and just blend in.

Fuck.

That.

Shit.

You only live one life. And you only get one body.

These legs have carried me all around Paris. New York City. London.