This isn't weird.

Too Sweaty For Shushing

Knowing what he did about the previous night, Ben had been a little nervous that Millie and Rebecca's goodbye might intimate some tension that would leave him haunted with jealousy for years to come, but the reality of their departure was too brief to evoke his insecurities. Rebecca had simply taken Millie's hands and said, "Thank you for everything, darling. I do hope I never see you again."

To which Millie smiled, replied, "You, too," and turned away.

Ben wasn't one for brisk goodbyes, but after witnessing such a pointed parting, it was clear that the grateful farewell he had intended to wish her was much too verbose, so he settled on an awkward "Uh, thanks. Hope stuff works out," and floundered momentarily on whether he should shake her hand before deciding against it and following Millie out of the house.

A great deal of further floundering was yet to come. Two hours, he discovered, was an awfully long time to spend alone in a car without letting slip any information that he'd prefer to reveal with... delicate timing. He would tell her everything. Of course he would tell her everything. But didn't they owe it to themselves, and to each other, to celebrate the beginning of this relationship they had both wanted so badly for so long with just one day of simple happiness? He wasn't lying to her. He wasn't withholding the truth. He was just waiting a teensy bit longer to share it. No matter what, they were going to work everything out, anyway. Nothing wasn't going to come between them ever again. So what did it matter whether he told her today or tomorrow?

One perfect day, free of angst, anger, or pesky feelings of betrayal, would surely lay the groundwork to reveal his secret expedition into her past with minimal devastation. If she could just remember how entirely perfect they were for each other, then that teeny-tiny little complication would be nothing but a blip in that perfection. Maybe she would even be touched, see it as the testament to his absolute dedication to her that it really was.

And besides, it was his birthday.

Millie would understand.

He artfully dodged any potentially dangerous questions by inundating her with a slew of his own. Her rambling confessional earlier that day, so full of absurd, contextless details, had given him plenty to work with. What was so bad about the Maryland flag, or more importantly, what did it actually have to do with anything? ("Okay, so my car broke down, and this guy with a stupid muppet mustache...") What was the deal with the Vanagon? ("Okay, so, I was crying at Wal-Mart...") You found what book? ("Okay, so, the reason I got pulled into the whole Noah situation in the first place...") How many drugs is all the drugs? ("Okay, so, I'm not totally sure, but there were bong rips, obviously, some mushroom tea, some pills...") Why was your name Kathy? ("Okay, so, I didn't want to give my real name...") Was Short Paul really all that short? ("No.") Then why did they call him Short Paul? ("Okay, so, there was this guy who was really named Roger...") How does someone trick you onto a plane? ("Okay, so, at first she just got me to agree to...") Why the Xanax? ("Okay, so, it was my first time flying, and...") YOU'VE NEVER BEEN ON A PLANE BEFORE? ("Shut up.") You were seriously scared of flying? ("Shut up.") Are you still scared of planes? ("Shut up.")

But as hard as he tried to deflect on the subject of his own life, he had to give her something, so he started with the least emotionally fraught thing he could—the business he and Dustin had spent the summer building.

"Oh my god, he actually did it?" Millie gasped.

"Wait, you knew?"

"Yeah, I saw them in his garage once. He was making them for the local shelters, but he said he had a dream of starting a business someday."