“You said that? To your mom?” Chris gapes at me from across the booth at Italiano’s. He has a dab of tomato sauce on the side of his lips and I’m dying to reach over and wipe it off, but I force myself to stay focused.

“It made for a tense flight home, but she’ll get over it.”

Chris shakes his head. “I don’t know. We’re talking about your mom. The same woman who took away your phone for three weeks freshman year for talking back to her.”

“Meh.” I nibble at my crust. “She’s already coming around.”

“Really?”

“Yep. As I left to come here tonight, she yelled at me to drive carefully. It’s the first thing she’s said since we got back. I take it as progress.”

“What about your dad?”

I shrug. “He’s a little easier. He’ll be okay.”

Chris gives me a sly grin. “How many times did he rub his bad knee on that flight?”

I laugh and roll my eyes. “I counted sixteen. Which is about fourteen times more than on the flight up.”

Chris finally wipes his mouth with his napkin, and I take a deep breath. I asked him to come out tonight for a reason, and it wasn’t to talk about my trip to U Conn. Standing up to my parents was tough, but it has made all the difference. I feel like I can breathe, and I’ve been dream-free for two nights. I’ve decided I need to clear the air one more time. I may not be able to tell Chris everything, but I do want to have a heart-to-heart with him about one thing.

“Remember the last time we were here?”

Chris squints as though he’s trying to place it.

“I was sitting in my car, and you knocked on my window?”

“Oh, yeah. I still don’t understand why you were ordering on your—” He stops, and his eyes light up. “Wait a minute. You were on a stakeout, weren’t you? Spying on someone. Who was it?” He cranes his neck and checks out the front window as though Brendon McDonough might still be sitting there four months later, slopping down his pizza.

“Not important.” I give a dismissive wave of my hand. I won’t discuss clients or cases. Just because I was outed doesn’t mean their dirty laundry needs to be. “What’s important is something you said to me that night. I don’t know if you’ll remember it, but …” I blink hard and tug at my straw. “It pissed me off.”

Chris leans across the table, his expression serious. “What did I say?” The concern in his voice is so palpable that part of me already regrets bringing it up. It was an offhand comment. Why make a big deal about it? Only it was more than that.

“It was about me being a girl … or not. And—”

“Oh, right. I remember.” Chris taps his forehead. “I’m sorry. I know what I said, and it was stupid. I mean, you were acting a little weird, but I get it now. Super spy and all.” He must read the confusion on my face because he holds up his hands to stop me from replying and rushes on. “But even if you didn’t have a reason to act weird, I shouldn’t have said it. It was sexist. And even if it wasn’t sexist, I probably shouldn’t have said it, because you’re allowed to have weird moments. Or days. Or weeks. I had no right to judge. I suck.”

I squint, trying to process his apology. “Okay. But … what exactly are you talking about?”

“That night. When I asked if you were … whether you were having your …?”

“Ohhhh.” Of course. His remark about me acting like it was that time of the month. I’d forgotten all about it. I close my eyes and press the heels of my palms into my eyes. How did he go from asking me about my period one minute to insinuating I’m not even a girl the next? “That’s not what I was talking about. I mean, I appreciate the apology, though, ’cause that was kind of a rude thing to ask.”

He pulls my hands from my face. “What then? What did I say?”

I swallow hard, look him straight in the eyes, and spit it out. “You said you didn’t think I was a girl.”

“No way.”

“You said it. Right there in that booth.” I point to where we were sitting that night.

He furrows his brow in thought and shakes his head. “No. I remember what I said, and that wasn’t it. Or at least, that wasn’t what I meant. Believe me, Lexi, I am well aware of your sex. I mean, your gender. Your … your ….” He waves in the general direction of my body. “Girl-ness.”

I feel my face grow warm, but I press on. “So then what did you say? Or mean? Because it sure felt like you meant you didn’t think of me as a girl.”

Chris pushes aside his plate and his drink and rests his forearms on the table between us. “I believe my exact words were something along the lines of, ‘It’s almost like you think you’re a girl.’ Because sometimes it seems like you … I don’t know. Fight it.”

“Being a girl?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Just because I don’t own a single piece of pink clothing, and I can’t apply eyeliner without looking like a raccoon, and I’d rather be on the court than at the mall, and I basically don’t do any of the stuff girls are supposedly always doing, doesn’t mean I’m fighting it. I’m … redefining it.”

He grins. “Fair enough.” His eyes grow soft, and I realize he’s staring at me the same way he did that day on Massey’s staircase. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”

Redefined or not, the girl in me melts under his gaze. My face, my neck, my whole body burns. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Chris motions toward the door. “Want to get out of here?”