“I’m sorry they made you do this,” I say. “Who?” Finny says. “The Mothers.” He shakes his head. “They didn’t,” he says. “It was my idea.” He’s looking down at his lap. He doesn’t move. He just sits there with me. I look at his shoulders and his hands. His hair is even more golden from the summer sun. Something stirs in me, and I push it down again. I’d rather feel nothing.
