Текст книги "Immaculate"

Автор книги: Katelyn Detweiler

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Did you feel that, Gracie? The baby just kicked!”

“I didn’t feel anything!” Gracie squealed, pressing her head more heavily against my stomach. “Do it again! I’ll listen harder this time!”

“I don’t think it quite works like that, sweet pea. I can’t tell the baby what to do. He or she has a mind of their own. But it’ll happen a lot more, don’t worry.”

I smiled over at my mom and saw that her eyes were wet and shining—she was crying, too, excited, happy tears as she pressed a warm hand next to Gracie’s head on my belly. I could see my own grin mirrored on her, no sign of the pursed lips and tight lines that had become such a permanent fixture on her face.

“Congratulations, Mina. I’m glad to see you’re doing so well,” Pastor Lewis said, rising from his chair to leave us to our family moment. “You’re truly glowing.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, given that I’ve destroyed my social life and I have a whole school filled with people who think I’m crazy . . . but I am doing well. I’m happier than I would have thought possible right now.”

From the corner of my eye I saw my dad stand, too, and for a second, for one glorious, shimmering, perfect second, I thought that he was coming over to join all of us. I thought that he was going to accept me and the baby, even if he couldn’t accept my story. But he wasn’t coming over to me. He wasn’t accepting anything.

Instead he simply left the room without another word, his footsteps echoing through the hallway and out through the foyer. The front door banged shut behind him. Pastor Lewis watched him go with a small frown on his face.

He glanced back at me, his eyes creased with a newfound sympathy. “Please call me, Mina, if you ever want to talk more. I’m here for you.”

I nodded, waving as he turned to follow my father out the door.

I wouldn’t let him destroy the moment. The memory of that first kick, the feel of their hands on my belly, Gracie’s sweet, sticky breath against my face as my mom pulled us all together even closer. This was more family than some people would ever have in their lifetime.

Like my mom had said earlier, my dad had to find his own way back.

All I could do was hope that he somehow found a compass.

• • •

I sat alone on the front porch later that night, curled up on a rocking chair with an old quilt and a mug of hot chocolate. The early November breeze was cool and crisp, laced with the rich, oaky scent of nearby wood smoke and the dizzying sense of imminent change. The leaves were becoming brown and brittle, and those that had already dropped were swirling in circles across the dark lawn. I realized, watching the leaves dance, that I had barely noticed the reds and golds of October, hadn’t had even one cup of cider or eaten a single caramel apple. I had dreaded everything about Halloween, convinced that someone, Kyle or one of his clones, wouldn’t be able to pass up the opportunity to dress like Mary or Joseph or baby Jesus. I’d stayed home on Halloween as a precaution, and kept the door locked and the lights off while my parents took Gracie out trick-or-treating. Nothing happened, no jocks cross-dressing in a long blue Mary tunic caroling at my doorstep, thank God, but I wouldn’t have had the heart to celebrate, anyway. And besides, soon enough my Halloweens would be very different—next year I could be dressing my seven-month-old baby in a fluffy orange jack-o’-lantern costume. It was time to change, along with the season. Time to let go, time to make new traditions.

An owl hooted from high up in a nearby tree, and I shivered, pulling my mug closer to my chest and inhaling the warm sugary vapor. It would be my birthday in a few weeks, and Thanksgiving, then Christmas right around the corner. I couldn’t imagine celebrating any holiday without my dad. He would be there, yes, sitting in a chair at the table eating turkey, driving the car to church on Christmas Eve, but he still wouldn’t really be there. Not in a way that mattered. I set the mug down on the porch rail and squeezed my eyes shut as I rocked back in the chair, willing away the tears that I refused to cry. Not anymore.

A soft knock drummed against the front door behind me, so quiet that I didn’t hear it at first over the tapping of my chair.

“Um, yes?” I said, confused. People knocked to come in to the house. “Come . . . out?”

The door opened and my dad stepped out onto the front stoop. I tensed, not willing to start another round of the evening’s conversation. He’d disappeared for the rest of the night, hadn’t even come out of hiding for dinner. “I’m too tired right now, Dad. I don’t want to fight with you anymore tonight.”

“I just came out to check on you. It’s late, Mina, and cold out. That blanket’s not enough. I think you should head back inside.”

“Oh,” I said, too surprised to say more.

“I also came out . . .” He paused, scuffing his slipper back and forth against our worn WELCOME TO THE DIETRICHS’ mat. “I came out here to say I’m sorry. About some of the things I said earlier. Pastor Lewis just threw me off, I suppose. I was expecting him to have very different advice from what he gave. But he chased me down after I stomped out of the room like a child, and he said a lot of things that I needed to hear.” He glanced at the empty rocking chair next to me, hesitating for a few seconds before sitting down on the edge of the seat.

“I want to try to be more a part of all this, Mina. Even if I can’t agree to believe everything that you’re saying, I still want to support you. I’m your dad. I want to start acting like one again.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding in the dark. “I’d like that. A lot. And . . . and I want to apologize, too. I told you that I’d never forgive you when you made me call Nate that day. I wish it hadn’t happened quite that way, yeah, but we were both angry. Neither of us could be completely rational. Nate had to find out one way or the other, and it was probably better it happened sooner rather than later. I needed to let him go so that I could start moving on.”

There were a few beats of silence before he spoke. “I appreciate that. But I’m still sorry that it hurt you.” He settled a little farther back into the chair, kicking the runners up as he rocked in a rhythm that seemed to directly oppose my own. I watched his silhouette in the dim porch light, slowing my chair until the pace better matched his beat.

“How are the college applications going?” he asked, his voice still just a little more polite, a little more formal than I was used to.

I grinned to myself in the dark, wondering how long this question had been gnawing away at him. Usually this kind of conversation annoyed me, but now—I felt practically giddy. My dad was harassing me about college applications again. It felt beautifully, fabulously normal. “Just Penn State. Following in your footsteps, of course. The application barely took any time at all, and I figured I would go to the branch campus near us, at least in the beginning, take some English classes and knock out other general requirements. As lovely as it would be to move away, get a fresh start somewhere else, I obviously can’t do that. Firstly, I don’t need to explain to you that I’m broke and need state tuition, and, secondly, I need to be near Mom and Gracie. And you. I can’t do this alone, even if that means I don’t get the Ivy League degree I always imagined I would. Dreams change, Dad. They get rewritten so that we can create new dreams instead. I think that’s the secret to growing up, right?”

“You can be very wise sometimes, daughter,” my dad said, and I didn’t have to turn my head to see the tiny smile on his face. “One more thing. I want you to know that your mom and I have talked about some of the . . . arrangements. And I want you know that you’re welcome to stay here after. After the baby is born.” He paused, probably as surprised as I was to hear those words out loud—those words out of his mouth. He was acknowledging my decision. He was acknowledging my baby. “We of course want you to continue with your studies and to continue with a job on the side that will help you to contribute. But we don’t want you to worry about living on your own and funding everything by yourself. Not right now. This can still be your home. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said, reaching over to squeeze his hand in mine. We were both quiet then, and I closed my eyes, lulled by our synchronized rocking, the creaking of the old porch planks with each sway and tap of our chairs.

“Well, you may be wise, but you’re not wise enough to make all your own rules yet. You’re not even eighteen,” he said, pushing off the chair to stand. “So it’s time to get inside and get to bed. Father’s orders. You need to stay healthy, got it?”

I nodded, swiping at a tear on my cheek with my sweatshirt sleeve as I stood to follow him in. “Got it, Dad.”

In all of my almost eighteen years, being sent to bed had never felt so amazing.

chapter twelve

In my dream I was perfectly skinny again, straight up and down from shoulders to toes, no round belly or swollen chest. I was flat and hard and entirely naked, standing with Nate in the middle of the tree house. A cool, early spring breeze ruffled the curtains, and goose bumps raced along my arms and legs. Nate saw me shiver and stepped closer to me, pulling me against his bare chest, warming me with his body heat. This was the night we had planned, the night all those months ago when I’d had my real chance. This could be so different, I thought, looking up into his eyes. There was no hate there, no disgust or bitterness. Just pure, raw love and desire. We could be so different.

I wound my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck and tilted his face down, pressing my lips hard against his. They were so sweet, so familiar. He moaned into me, and I started pulling him with me lower, to the ground, our bodies becoming tangled on the bed of old sleeping bags.

I can do this. I will do this.

But suddenly, just as I started to crawl on top of Nate, everything felt wrong. His skin became rough and coarse, like sandpaper scraping bits of me off with even the slightest brush of our bodies. His breathing and groaning was loud, too loud, so piercing and terrible that I wanted to put my hands against my ears and scream at the top of my lungs to hide the noise. When I opened my eyes, his face was entirely blurred and unrecognizable in the moonlight that spilled through the tree house window. Shapes, lines, colors that had just been Nate’s features, all shifting and transforming right in front of me.

I tried to push away, but Nate—or the boy who had been Nate at least, had looked like him on the surface—whispered that he loved me, wrapped his rough arms around me even tighter.

But did I really love him? Did I even know him at all?

My phone rattled against the nightstand and I jerked up from my pillow, my heart still thudding fast and heavy against my rib cage. A wave of chills swept up my spine, tingling along the back of my neck. The dream had been too real and three-dimensional, the senses all so magnified and heightened, swirling around me still as I lay shaking under my covers. The sounds, the smells, the heat. Suddenly the idea of touching Nate, of being with him like that, felt abhorrent. I was never more glad that whatever had happened—whatever was happening now, this little human kicking inside of me—hadn’t been confused with other potential explanations. If Nate had been the father, if he even just believed he was the father, I would have been tied to him forever, our lives sewn up for good. It scared me now, that I’d come so close. It scared me to think that just one night together could have changed everything. Nate could have been my first, and my last.

I pushed back the strands of sweaty hair that clung to my forehead and reached for the phone. Hannah was calling. It was just barely past six, way too early for any normal morning check-ins.

“Han?” My throat croaked, and I realized how dry my entire mouth felt. The dream flashed in my memory, the horrible sounds, the screaming.

“Meen. Listen to me. Start getting ready, and I’m going to be at your house in ten minutes, okay? And I need you to promise me something really important.”

“What’s going on? What am I promising?”

“Seriously, please just trust me on this.”

“Okay. I’m playing along. I promise.”

“Thank you. Don’t touch your computer until I get there. Nothing, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

She hung up and I glanced over at the computer resting just a few feet away, the screen black in sleep mode. Why couldn’t I touch my computer? What couldn’t I see without Hannah being there first? Every last part of me wanted to frantically start scouring any recent e-mail, news, classmates’ blogs—but I made myself look away. I had promised.

I threw on a loose sweater and a pair of stretchy jeans, and ran a brush through my tangled hair. Without even a glance at the computer, I grabbed a pen and crossed out another day on the pregnancy countdown hanging above my desk—Friday, November 16. Sixteen weeks until my March 7 due date. It was a morning tradition I’d started when I’d realized just how quickly the days were flying away from me. I had my midpregnancy sonogram hanging above the calendar, a constant reminder that this was real. This was happening.

I still had time before Hannah would get there, and I couldn’t wait around in my room, staring at the computer I wasn’t allowed to touch. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, still trying to wash away every last trace of that dream. I didn’t want to think about how good it had felt at first to have Nate’s skin against my skin—or how horrible it had felt by the end. I had been getting better at keeping that part of my brain locked up, and I wanted it to stay that way. A few swipes of mascara and a little blush made me look slightly more awake, but nowhere in the mirror did I detect the glow that Pastor Lewis had claimed to see. It was funny to me that my face could still look the same as it had months ago—just a bit paler maybe, more tired-looking—when the rest of me was so entirely different.

There was a knock at the front door, and within seconds my mom was in the foyer, greeting Hannah. They started talking in hushed, hurried whispers. Cold beads of sweat prickled along the back of my neck. What could have happened since last night?

Their footsteps started up the stairs, and I walked toward them, meeting my mom and Hannah at the top. One look at both of their anxious faces, and I knew that something was most definitely wrong.

“What is it? What’s happening?” I gripped the banister next to me.

“Let’s go into your bedroom, sweetie,” my mom said, her eyes blinking down at the carpet. “We’ll talk there, okay?”

I followed her numbly into my room and leaned against the edge of the bed. Hannah shut the door behind us and turned to face me.

“So I was up pretty late last night, working on that essay for Sweeney’s class, and I was chatting with Elise, you know, the girl who sits behind me and always has a thousand questions.” She paused, twisting a spiral of hair so tightly around her finger, I could see the tip losing color. “Anyway, she asked if I’d heard about the website that everyone was talking about. The website . . . It’s about you, Mina. It was two a.m. when I saw it, so I decided I’d wait until this morning to tell you about it.”

“A website about me? What kind of website?” The words sounded tinny, distant in my ears, as if I was anywhere else but in my own body.

She sat down at my desk, typing on the keyboard as the computer flicked back to life.

“Here it is. I think you should come see for yourself.”

The first thing I could clearly make out was a picture of me at the top of the page, a photo from last year’s Halloween party at Peter’s house. Izzy had dressed as the devil and Hannah and I were angels, and the three of us spent the entire night mock-fighting one another with cheap light-up plastic swords. The picture showed just me, though, dressed in a puffy short white dress that I’d coated in clear iridescent sparkles, big yellow wings strapped to my back, and a pipe cleaner halo hovering on the side of my head. Someone from the party—a friend—must have taken that picture. And now they’d posted it here, for anyone in the world to see, with the caption THE VIRGIN MINA in massive capital letters that screamed at me from the screen.

There was more just below it, a long paragraph. The letters were swimming in circles in my vision, and I closed my eyes.

“I’ll read it out loud to you,” Hannah said, her voice shaking.

All Hail the BLESSED VIRGIN MINA, the miraculous Mother Mary of the twenty-first century! At long last, after two thousand years of waiting . . . the promised second coming of the Messiah is upon us! (Repent, repent!) With his all-knowing wisdom, God has chosen Mina Dietrich of quaint but lovely Green Hill, Pennsylvania, to be the blessed mother of this sacred child. Mina is a senior at Green Hill High, a straight-A student in line to be the class valedictorian, admired throughout the community for her many achievements and aspirations. Beauty and brains, kindness and virtue, a solid gold reputation—it’s no surprise that the Father would choose Mina out of every other female on the WHOLE ENTIRE PLANET to help him in his holy plan. Though Mina was in a long-term relationship at the time of the Second Messiah’s conception, she claims that she has never engaged in any form of intercourse, and thusly, there is NO OTHER EXPLANATION other than DIVINE INTERVENTION for the creation of the child that she is now carrying. (Side note: this relationship has since been terminated, as for some inconceivable reason way beyond our grasp, the partner refused to BELIEVE that such a miraculous event could ever happen in these modern times. Shocking! Outrageous! Ex-boyfriend, be damned!)

Mina has been reportedly carrying the Lord’s child since the beginning of the summer, which means, oh dear world, that we can expect the baby’s grand arrival in early March. We see it as our divine duty to spread the TRUTH as far and wide as possible, and ask that you please do the same. We have created this Virgin Mina website to explore Mina’s nine-month journey, and we ask you to leave your observations, questions, concerns, etc. in the comments section, as we want this to be a forum for group discussion. We also ask you to send any pictures and suggestions for the site to the e-mail address provided on the contacts page.

Please note: ONLY BELIEVERS MAY ENTER. (And for all you nonbelievers—SERIOUSLY, ARE YOU F*#@ING CRAZY?! Who doesn’t believe that babies can magically appear out of thin air without sperm or penises or any kind of sexual interaction?! Didn’t you read the BIBLE?!)

Our most sincere blessings to all,

TEAM VIRGIN MINA

Hannah’s voice stopped reading, but I could still hear all the words, looping and weaving like bright red ribbons through my mind.

Who could have started this? Who would hate me this much?

I mean, even if everyone thought I was lying, why couldn’t they just ignore me? Leave me alone? I hadn’t asked for any of them to believe me. I hadn’t asked for them to worship me.

I hadn’t asked them for anything.

“How many . . . ?” The question froze on my lips, but I didn’t have to finish. I’d seen the answer for myself as Hannah silently clicked on to the comments page. Nine hundred people had already left responses. Did I even know that many people, even if I counted every single person in my high school?

“It was at around eight hundred last night when I first found the page. It seems to be . . . spreading pretty quickly, I guess. From the posts I saw, I think it’s been around for a little while now, a month maybe, but it seems like it’s just starting to pick up speed. I’m so sorry,” Hannah whispered, her head in her hands. “Do you want to read any of it? What people are posting? Or is it too much right now?”

“Now. I might as well see it all now.” My mom reached out and squeezed my hand, steadying me.

Comments varied on a spectrum from incredibly shocked and entertained to incredibly cruel and hateful: OMG, this bitch needs a TV show! to I can’t believe she hasn’t been struck by lightning yet, but I guess Hell will be burn enough. There were plenty of pictures, too, on the dedicated photos page. Me in a tight hot pink minidress and matching heels, a Barbie costume I wore for a party last year, the caption saying THIS IS OUR VIRGIN?!!? A classic painting of the Virgin Mary with my face Photoshopped in over hers, Menius scrawled along the bottom; another photo of me and Nate at last year’s prom, a bright red line drawn in between us and the words I’M NOT THE DADDY written in a bubble above Nate’s head. The most recent was a picture that must have been taken just yesterday, judging from the outfit—I was standing at my locker, Jesse holding my books as I was reaching out for something on the top shelf. Jesse’s eyes were on me, and we were both grinning. I hadn’t noticed at the time, but my shirt had ridden up, leaving the bottom of my stomach exposed for somebody’s waiting camera. That was my bump, right there on the screen, for the whole online world to see as proof of my pregnancy. The caption made the post infinitely worse: COULD THIS POSSIBLY BE THE REAL DADDY, VIRGIN MINA?

The idea that someone had been watching so closely, holding a camera for just the right angle, just the right pose, made my stomach erupt in hot swirling waves. I put my hands on my bump, holding my baby to ground myself. To remind myself what really mattered. But I could still taste bile in the back of my throat. There were no boundaries anymore. I was public property.

As Hannah scrolled through more of the posts, I realized that I barely recognized most of the names—it seemed as if the majority of comments came from people who were from other schools and towns, other states, even. This wasn’t Green Hill’s secret. Not anymore. The names that I did recognize were mostly strangers or very casual acquaintances—no sign of any of my old friends yet. They were probably just too scared to get publicly involved, too worried that I’d try to get them in trouble once I discovered the page’s existence. No doubt they were all sitting around that very morning checking for updates, prepping for in-depth conversations about the most recent posts.

“What’s going on?”

I jumped at the sound of Jesse’s voice from the doorway. I’d forgotten that school would actually be starting soon, that time had been moving while we’d sat there staring at the screen. He’d had his camera out, filming his walk up the stairs, probably—I’d gotten used to its constant presence, his constant need to document—but he shut it off now and dropped it onto my dresser.

“Look,” I said, waving my hand at the screen. “Just look.”

Jesse came over to the desk and hovered behind Hannah as she clicked and scrolled, silent as he took in everything there was to see on the screen.

“You should call the police, Mina,” he said, turning to face me, his cheeks splotchy and red. “This is slander. This is harassment, and you can’t let them get away with it. Whoever started this deserves to be punished. I’m sure the cops can easily trace this.”

I looked away, his steely, penetrating gaze more than I could handle at the moment. “But they’re doing this for a reaction, aren’t they, Jesse? They want me to freak out. They want me to scream and cry and run away with my hands up in the air. I don’t want to give them that. They don’t deserve that much from me.” Could Kyle be smart enough to make an entire website? Maybe if some of his friends helped, too—he had always been good at getting people to do his bidding.

“So what, you’re just going to walk into school today with all these terrible people and act like everything’s fine? Act like it’s okay that they’re doing this to you?” Jesse’s hands were knotted up in his unruly dark curls, and I could tell that he was struggling hard to keep his voice level. “Mrs. Dietrich, you agree with me, right? It’d be crazy to not report this. It’s practically a hate crime.”

“I don’t know,” my mom said, shaking her head as she reached across the desk and closed the web page. “I don’t know the right answer yet. I think we need more time to think about it before we make any rash decisions.”

“I agree. What if the police getting involved just makes everyone even angrier?” Hannah asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I don’t think that we can stop people from having a reaction to Mina’s story, and the bigger deal we make out of all this, the louder and more cruel their responses might be. I think Mina might be right, at least for now. She keeps holding her head up, she keeps pushing through. We keep pushing through with her.” She gave me what I knew she meant to be a reassuring smile, but I could see the strain of her lips, the worry clouding her eyes.

“This is absurd,” Jesse said, “completely and ridiculously absurd.” He latched his hands on to my window ledge, his knuckles white from the pressure, and stared out at the fields, shaking his head. “But it’s not my decision to make, is it? So do what you think is best, Mina. It’s your life, and I’ll stand behind you. I promised you at least that much, and I promised Iris, too.”

I blinked at the sound of her name, the ring of those two syllables that had become so significant, so earth-shattering when strung together side by side. I-ris. I wanted to tell them all that I’d seen her, that she was still around, somewhere, hovering in the air around us like dust particles, but I couldn’t. Not until I saw her again. Not unless I was sure.

“I just hope that everyone at school gets bored with it when you don’t react, so they can turn their attention to other things and other people.” Jesse paused, pulling his gaze away from the window to meet my eyes. “I hope that this is as bad as it gets.”

• • •

There was no denying the tension as we walked through the school hallways that morning. The blatant stares, the judgments, and the jokes that no one even bothered to whisper anymore. How had I been naive enough to think that Kyle’s performance was just a blip in everyone’s memory? It was obvious that I was now a public entity, like some C-list tabloid celebrity who had ceased to be a real person and had instead become something less than human. Something that didn’t deserve respect or compassion, something without feelings or emotions or a living, beating heart.

The three of us stared straight ahead as we made our way to my locker, Jesse and Hannah flanking me on either side like bodyguards. I tried to still the shaking in my hands as I fumbled over the combination, cursing under my breath when the lock refused to snap open.

“Mina . . .” Hannah said, “I think—”

“Hold on for just a minute,” I said, frustrated. “I can’t get my damn locker to open.” I spun the dial back through the familiar pattern, and after a few tries, the lock clicked open against my palm.

“What were you saying?” I started to reach for my books on the top shelf. “Han?”

I froze, my calculus book suspended in midair. The hallway around me suddenly felt too quiet, expectant, as if everyone but me was holding their breath.

I lowered the book and slowly turned around.

Nate. Nate and Jesse, face-to-face, standing barely a foot apart in the middle of the hallway. Everything else had ceased to matter—all eyes and attention focused on them, waiting for whatever movement or word would come next.

“It was you,” Nate said, his voice low and threatening and almost entirely unrecognizable. Though I hadn’t actually heard him speak since August, I realized. Maybe I’d already forgotten what he sounded like. Maybe a few months was all it took to make someone a complete stranger. “You’re the father, aren’t you?”

Jesse laughed in surprise. I flinched, tilting my head down. The laugh sounded nervous to me, a twitchy giggle stemming from his social awkwardness, but that was because I knew him. To a stranger, to Nate, I was sure it sounded mocking. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Mina and I weren’t even friends until a few weeks ago.”

“It’s just a little funny to me that out of nowhere you’ve suddenly become her biggest defender. You’re a little too protective for someone who barely knows her, don’t you think? A little too possessive, maybe?”

“Seriously,” Jesse said, stepping back, hands fanned out in front of him, “you’re way off. I have nothing to do with what’s happening with Mina.”

“And why should I believe you?” Nate asked, taking a few steps forward to close the distance. “Who else could it have been? I don’t exactly see any other guys trailing around behind her like a desperate little puppy. You’re making it a little too obvious, don’t you think? I know that you work with her. Were you there at the beginning of the summer, when she . . . ?” As he asked that question, I could see in his eyes that something had clicked. The details were spinning into new, terrible possibilities for him. He looked so sad suddenly, so broken, that I fought the urge to run to his side. “That night you came to my house crying,” he said, slowly turning to face me. “Was that when it happened, Mina? Was that guilt? Were you going to tell me something then?”

“Nate, no!” I yelled, pushing my way through the throngs of gawkers to wedge myself in between the two of them. I couldn’t stand that he thought that—I hadn’t, I never would have. “Jesse and I are just friends. Nothing happened between us. You have this all wrong. I promise.”

“You promise?” Nate asked, his voice breaking so loudly and so obviously that his entire face flamed red with embarrassment. “Sorry, Mina, but your word stands for very little these days.”

Someone in the hallway laughed, a hollow sound that set off a round of murmuring all around us.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” I pleaded, blinking to keep the tears back. “Somewhere where we’re not on public display?”

“That seems unnecessary. It’s not like any of this is a secret. Not anymore. And the way I see it, you deserve for everyone to see you for who you really are.”