"Hi, Marie." An offensively sweet voice came on the line.

"Hey, 'Laina." My greeting was met with complete silence, until I remembered. "I mean, Jo." I rolled my eyes, Michael was laughing at me.

"Whatcha doin'?" She simpered.

"I'm at Mitch's with Michael and I gotta go." At the mention of Michael she nearly squealed in my ear.

"Michael Bridge!? Oh, I haven't seen him in for-ever! Give him a kiss— from me —will you? From me? Please, Marie?"

"Okay. Fine. I really have to go, 'L— Jo."

"Okay, don't forget, from me." She said.

"Okay. Got it. Bye, Jo."

"Byee!"

"Spare yourself— don't ask." I held up a hand as I set the phone, a little too harshly, on the table between Michael and I. "Oh, wow, the food's here." I still can't figure how I missed it's arrival.

We ate without speaking. Except once when I asked Michael for the salt. Something seemed to have dampened his good mood, I didn't really blame him. Maybe the strangeness of the past two days had struck him... or maybe it was Andrew.

Had it really been so long since they'd seen eachother?

The drive to my parent's house was equally uneventful. Michael had retreated back to his old habit of brooding. I always imagine his thoughts being much louder than his actual speech, since he never listens to the radio; not any FM stations, anyway. And it caught me then, the silence inside his truck. And the strangeness of the idea that we had gone anywhere alone together in it. That had never happened before. Why not?

Propriety.

Everything was about propriety. Our friendship was absolutely drenched in it, it always had been. That wasn't a bad thing, was it? Of course not. Then why did I have this weird sinking feeling about— oh, last night! I hadn't forgotten, but it rushed me then, in all it's hideous incongruity, with a question. Why hadn't Michael said anything about it?