He looked at her, and the confusion between them became almost unbearable. Eleven weeks earlier they had met in AP Government when the teacher paired them for a mock campaign project. Connor had been funny, patient, and impossible not to like. By prom night they had kissed exactly four times, held hands constantly, and spent enough hours texting that David had warned Megan about sleep deprivation.
Now they were staring at each other with the possibility of shared blood between them. “I’m sorry,” Megan said. “For what?” Connor asked, voice breaking. “Existing?”
“No. For stepping away.” “I would have stepped away too.” Sarah closed her eyes.
David finally found enough adult authority to act. “Prom is off.” Megan whipped toward him. “You think?”
He accepted the anger. “Yes. And we are not doing anything else tonight until we know facts.” Connor looked at him with open hostility.
“You had eighteen years to know facts.” David had no response. Sarah sank onto the edge of the foyer bench as if her legs had finally failed. “He is right,” she said.
That was the first moment David understood the night would not be about protecting his old decisions. There was no framing that would make him look careful, honorable, or simply unlucky. He and Sarah had taken uncertainty and treated it as permission. They had allowed other people to build identities inside a question they were too afraid to answer.
Megan walked upstairs without another word. The sound of her bedroom door closing carried through the house. David almost followed, but Connor was still standing by the door in a tuxedo his mother had probably paid too much to rent or buy, trying not to cry in front of three adults who had just detonated his understanding of family. David stayed where he was.