• • •

It's been a month since we buried Dad. Well. Planted him, I guess. Every time I think of him growing underground, the roots his legs and the branches his arms, I smile. I used to cry. God, I have cried a lot, the past month, but now it's been a full four weeks and the beauty of Dad's burial has finally overwhelmed the grief that wrecked me.

In my mind's eye, I see Dad cracking jokes about his leafy fingers and his muddy feet; I see my future children climbing up into his branches to hug their grandpa. I can't help but smile to myself, a happy warmth flushing my cheeks. I'm content. I feel good. Finally.

Liam nudges me. He turns down the volume of the movie we're watching and smiles at me, his arm draped around my shoulders like a heavy blanket. "What're you thinking?" he asks. He asks that a lot, whenever he senses me slipping off into my own world.

I don't always give him an honest answer. It's hard to admit out loud that I still spend too much time wondering why he chose me, why he wanted to talk to me. Sometimes my mind slips into neutral and I wonder how on earth I got to this point, lying with my boyfriend – my crazy hot boyfriend, that is - in his bed, watching movies and maybe spending more time making out.

"I'm just feeling good," I say, turning my smile to him. It would probably bring the mood down if I said that I'd been thinking about my dad as a tree. Liam knows everything now. Probably more than I ever meant to unload on him, but when I get on a roll, I can't stop the words flowing and he's turned out to be a pretty great listener.

He grins and squeezes my shoulder, his hand slipping down. "You sure do feel good," he says, his accent slipping just a bit. He may be from Cincinnati but his mom's from Alabama and he says she's as southern as they come. I haven't met her, or even seen a photo, but for some reason I'm intimidated by the idea of her.

"Looking good too, beautiful," Liam says, pressing his lips to my cheek. I still blush when he calls me that, no matter how often we end up in this position. At least a couple times a week, we'll find ourselves here in his bed with his laptop in front of us but movie time is rarely dedicated to a movie.

Sometimes we just talk. Sometimes we cuddle. I love those times, when I feel like there's just the two of us in the world and all that matters is our words. Sometimes things get a little more hands on, but never more than that.

When I turn my cheek, Liam kisses my lips and pulls me closer, his legs over mine. His tongue is hot and soft, a strange and slippery sensation that I'm still getting used to; his hand is exploring south of my shoulder. His fingers are warm on my waist, grazing over dimpled skin to my bra. He cups my breast over the lace, his other hand in my hair, then pushes the material aside.

A thrilling tingle pulses though me when his palm grazes my nipple. My hands are under his shirt, feeling my way around the muscles I know so well, my heart thudding as Liam presses himself closer. His stomach hard and tanned and smooth to the touch, and he smells insanely good. God, I could inhale him.

He throws his pillow out of the way, still kissing me with such a hunger that you'd have thought his life depended on my lips. When I lie down, he looms over me, his knees either side of mine, and gives me that irresistible grin. I loop my arms around his neck, pulling in again, and I hear the familiar snap when he shuts his laptop.

Another movie forgotten. I can't count how many times we've loaded up Netflix only to push it away before the movie's over, but we've never gone much further than this. I know the feel of his hands all over me, in me; I know how he feels when I wrap my hand around him; I know the pattern of his breaths and he knows the arch of my back. But nothing more.

I'm not ready. I wasn't, anyway. I think I am now, or I'm nearly there. I'm no longer terrified by the thought of sex. If anything, I'm excited for the day that Liam and I take that step. He already knows my body. He already loves it. He doesn't care that it's lumpy and overstretched and hairy, all the things I've been taught that guys don't like.

He doesn't care. He loves it. To me, that's more than half of the battle. Without the stress of being rejected for the way I look beneath my clothes, there's nothing that scares me nearly as much.

"So," he murmurs, leaning over me. I know that today's not going to be the day I lose my virginity. That's fine. I think I'd like to talk about it before we do it anyway. He kisses me again, with coffee breath that I don't like but I'm getting used to, and he sinks down next to me.

His fingers trace patterns over my stomach through my t-shirt. That used to make me feel weird. Now I like it.

"So?"

He props up his chin on the back of his wrist, his hand on my shoulder. "What're you up to next weekend?"

I pull up my mental calendar, scrolling through everything I can think of. I have two essays due on Thursday, but nothing aside from that. Mom and Tad are going away for a weekend together, somewhere on Lake Huron, so I was just going to hang out at home.

"Nothing," I say at last. "I'm free as a bird. Just, you know, if you sub wings for wheels. So not quite as free. Birds don't pay for gas."

Liam chuckles. "So you're around, free bird?"

"I am. Mom's away so it's just me and Gray. And maybe Navya," I say. The two of them have been seeing each other for a month now, and they're totally besotted. He's even met her parents, though they think he's her study buddy. The triplets love him, though, so the parents do too. He has a way with kids. Well, Gray has a way with everyone.

Liam walks his fingers up my stomach and lays his hand over my heart. Which, seeing as I'm lying down and gravity is no friend of mine, means he has a handful of my left breast. "Any chance Gray and Navya can manage without you for a weekend?"

My heart skips a beat. He probably felt it. "Um ... yes. Probably. Maybe. I think so. Yes. Why?"

Liam laughs at my flustering . "Well, I'm heading home for the weekend and I thought maybe you could come with me," he says. My heart skips another beat. He wants me to go home with him? His actual home? My blood pounds as though I've just been injected with a fresh needleful of anxiety.

"As in where your parents live?"

He laughs again. "Your pulse just got crazy," he says, his hand still on my chest. I give him an apologetic smile. He beams right back. "Yeah, that's kind of what I was thinking. Dad'll be away on business but my mom'll be home, and probably three of my siblings."

He rolls onto his front next to me, propped up on his elbows. "You don't have to. No pressure."

He's changed his tune since we met. Back then, he was always trying to get me to stay, to come to his parties, to sleep in his bed. Now everything is no pressure. He gives me the space I need, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel like a million bucks.

"Ok," I blurt out.

"Are you sure? You don't have to."

I hate that question. Making a decision is hard enough. Once I've made one, I don't want to have to remake it. "I'm sure," I say, before I can get overwhelmed by the thought of meeting Liam's mom.

"Awesome." He beams and leans across to kiss me again, his hair falling around his face like a pair of curtains when it slips out of its half-assed bun. The kiss is everything I love about kissing. Long and slow. Soft and deep. I don't want it to end, but it has to when the door clicks open.

Davis. My body sags into the mattress. I've gone out of my way to avoid Liam's roommate ever since I found out he was the one who creeped me out in the bookstore. This is only the third time I've seen him in the flesh. The first was horrendous. And awkward. A bud of hatred uncurls in my gut.

"Dude," Liam says. His voice is flat. He rolls away and sits up. I'm glad I'm still dressed.

"Dude yourself." Davis avoids my eye. We went through the horrible apology process the first day that I went back to college after Dad's funeral, but Davis didn't seem to believe he had done anything wrong and I definitely didn't believe that he should be forgiven. I don't trust him one bit.

"You said you'd be at Annika's," Liam says. I like that he's annoyed. Davis is a douche and I was uncomfortable when I thought they were close, but it's become pretty clear over the past month that their closeness comes from nothing more than being forced to share a room.

"Forgot something." Davis grabs a condom from his bedside table, then he smirks and winks at Liam and throws one at us. "Seeya."

I feel sorry for Annika. She broke up with Davis when she heard the story of how I met him, but that only lasted a week. She hates being single and I guess being with him is the easy option. They have history. But she knows he's an asshole, because she apologized to me when they got back together. I don't think she sees what she's doing to her own self-worth.

He leaves with a finger gun and takes the mood with him. Liam sighs. I sit up and fix my bra. The condom falls to the floor. I nudge it under the bed, then on second thoughts I throw it away. There's no way I'd ever trust anything Davis gives me. He'd probably poke holes in it for fun.

"Sorry," Liam says. He pushes his hair off his face and ties it in a lazy bun. A few strands come loose, almost reaching his shoulders. I tuck them behind his ears, my hand resting on his cheek.

"It's ok."

"I can promise next week will be Davis-free."

"But Daria-full," I tease. Liam's three-year-old sister is the only member of his family I've ever seen: we were hanging out last week when she facetimed him, having figured out her mom's phone somehow. She's a total mini Liam, all blonde hair and blue eyes and an adorable smile.

He groans. "True. But I'm glad you'll be there," he says, kissing my cheek.

"Me too," I say, even if I'm terrified under the surface. It doesn't escape Liam.

"Mom's gonna love you, don't worry," he says, his hand over mine. "She already loves you."

"She doesn't even know me."

"She knows of you."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "You've talked about me to your mom?"

He shrugs a shoulder and says, "Yeah."

"Wow. I didn't realize," I say. Mom still doesn't know about Liam. I don't know how to tell her that I have a boyfriend, that I've been with him for nearly two months. There's been so much going on lately that it's never been the right time, and now I know that whenever I tell her, she'll be upset that I didn't tell her sooner. Mom and I have always told each other everything.

I think part of me is stuck on that nagging thought that this is too good to be true, that I'd be so embarrassed if I let Mom know and then things fell apart. She'd be distraught. I'd be distraught. It'd just be a mess. It's easier if she doesn't know, and I quite like having a secret.

"It doesn't mean you have to say anything. It just came up last time I talked to Mom," Liam says.

"Mmm."

"How's your mom doing, anyway?" He sits up and moves next to me, swinging his legs over the side.

"She's good," I say with a smile. "She had a couple more tests last week, so..." I trail off and cross my fingers. Each time Mom gets a call from the doctor, I hope it's a diagnosis, but we're still waiting on that.

The worst thing is that she finally has a doctor who listens to her and believes her, but we can't do anything until we know what's wrong, and ten days ago was the first time she really hurt herself when she fainted. We'd just had dinner in Five Oaks with Tad and Gray when she collapsed on the way out of the restaurant and fell down the concrete steps.

She's fine now, nursing a sprained ankle and a minor skull fracture – I flipped when the doctor said skull fracture, until he reassured me that it'd heal on its own and Mom hadn't damaged her brain or anything – but it scared the crap out of me when she dropped down and cracked her head on the sidewalk.

Liam squeezes my hand. "She's going to be fine," he says, his voice soft. "She sounds indestructible."

"She really is," I say. My gaze falls on my watch and I stand, slipping into my shoes and rearranging my bra before I pull on m cardigan. "I need to go."

Liam checks the time before he protests, and he slumps when he sees that I do actually need to go. "See you tomorrow?" He stands and cups my cheeks and kisses me before I can reply. I nod and hum against his lips, and I repeat the words back to him before I leave.

Ten minutes before class is due to start, I meet Gray outside the lecture theatre. Navya walks over with him, their clasped hands swinging between them, and she leaves with a kiss for him and a grinning wave for me.

I grin back and call, "See you tonight!"

She gives me a double thumbs up, more excited than she should be to work until ten tonight. Probably a side effect of being head over heels for Gray. They're beyond adorable together. He watches her leave until I poke him.

"Hey," I say. "How was lunch?"

He grins so wide that I can see all his teeth. "I did it."

My eyebrows leap to my hairline. "You did it?"

"Oh my God! No!" He guffaws, his cheeks red. "I mean I asked Nav to be my girlfriend."

"Oh. That it. Let me guess, she turned you down and stomped on your heart and that's why you look so inconsolable right now."

He laughs, still grinning, and loops his arm with mine. "I have a girlfriend," he says. "Can you believe it? I, king of the terrible first date, have a girlfriend?" He lets out a happy sigh, resting his head against mine. He'll hurt his neck though, considering he's half a foot taller.

"About time. You two are the cutest couple. The cutest official couple, now," I say.

"Thanks, Storie." He has a dreamy look in his eyes. I wish I could bottle up what he's feeling right now. It looks like the best drug. "I haven't used the L word yet, but I think I will. I'm in love. I'm totally in love with Navya Khatri."

My cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. I don't tell him that two days ago, while Navya and I were closing the store together, she told me that she loves him. To be honest, I don't know how anyone could not love Gray. He's the kind of person you can't help but adore.

• • •

Class is boring as hell, as per usual, but it's made slightly better by Gray's enthusiasm. Work is tedious, but it's made better by Navya gushing over her new boyfriend. The drive home is long, but it's made tolerable by Gray's infectious laughter. Everything's hilarious to him now that he's in love.

It's almost midnight when we get back, and it's only exhaustion that quietens him down by the time I pull into my driveway. There's a light on in my house, which always instils a little dread in me when I get back this late. No matter how good things are, my first instinct is still that Mom has fallen, left alone in pain.

Gray, tired and happy, drifts by my side. He and his dad have pretty much moved in now. The spare bedroom has a bed at last and Gray spends most nights there, if he doesn't crash next to me.

Relief floods me when I hear murmured voices coming from the kitchen. Mom's fine. Just staying up late with her boyfriend. I don't blame her. When Gray and I head upstairs, the murmuring stops.

"Storie?" Mom calls out. I hope we haven't interrupted anything. That's not really something I want to think about.

"Yeah?"

"Can you come in here for a moment, honey?"

Gray and I share a look. He goes to bed. I go to Mom's room. She's standing at her dresser in a nightie that hangs off her shoulders, unclasping a couple of bracelets that she lays out for tomorrow. Tad is sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxers. When I step in, he quickly covers himself with the duvet.

"Yeah?" I hover in the doorway. I don't want to intrude on their routine, getting ready for bed together like a married couple.

Mom lays down her bracelet and tucks her hair behind her ears, and then she looks at me and she sits on the bed and motions for me to do the same. When I glance at Tad, he awkwardly clears his throat and stands.

"I'll give you guys a moment," he says, ducking into the hallway and adjusting his boxers.

"What's up?"

Mom puts her hand on my knee. "I went back to the doctor today," she says.

"Is everything ok?"

She nods, and then the most brilliant smile blossoms on her lips. "All my tests came back."

I sit straight, leaning forward. "You know what's wrong? They told you?"

She looks like she's about to cry happy tears when she nods, squeezing my hand. "The doctor thinks it's most likely something called Graves' disease," she says.

"Grave? That sounds serious, Mom."

"It's an autoimmune disease," she says. "Apparently it can be triggered by emotional trauma."

"Dad?"

"Mmm."

"Oh my God. Oh my God. So what is it?"

"My body is attacking itself for something that isn't there," she says, and she sounds like she's regurgitating doctor-speak when she says, "I have an overactive thyroid, which he said is what led to atrial fibrillation. An arrhythmia." Her hand goes to her throat and moves to her heart.

"That's why you faint?"

She nods. "And why I lost weight. The doctor also said that it can cause anxiety and insomnia, but I don't think I needed an autoimmune disease for that." She lets out a quiet laugh.

I can't believe what I'm hearing. After more than two years, after countless useless doctors who probably never bothered to even check for that, we have a couple of words that feel like a bright light in the dark.

"Can it be fixed?" I ask. "Are you going to be ok? Can you get better?"

As soon as she nods, my shoulders start to shake and tears well up and swiftly fall, and my tears soak through her nightdress to her skin when she hugs me, holding my cheek to her shoulder.

"I'm going to be ok," she says, stroking my back. "Everything's going to be ok, honey. We've got an angel on our side."

This time, I believe her.

• • •