“I’m proud of you.”
My heart skips a beat, and I lift my head.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, one hand dragging slowly along the edge of his jaw. And just like that, the rest of the café fades away, blurring into the background.
Jesse has always had this gravity to him. This way of pulling me into a quieter space where it’s just us.
It’s a feeling you can easily get addicted to if you’re not careful.
“You did it. You made it big, got everything you wanted from your dream board.” His lips pull into a tiny smile, and I know he means it to be nice, but it does nothing but break my heart.
How could he think that?
“I didn’t get everything I wanted…” I shake my head, my throat tightening as I lift my eyes to his, holding them there. “I didn’t get you.”
26
Penny
THEN
Age 18, Fall Semester at UNC
The smell of cinnamon and fresh-baked rolls overwhelms me as soon as I step inside the house. The music’s loud—some symphony playing on the radio—and I only make it three steps into the foyer before it sounds like a herd of elephants is rushing down the staircase.
“Oh, thank god you’re home!” Fia flings her body onto mine, unruly red hair and long arms flying everywhere as she smiles, flashing shiny new braces.
“Hey, Fi.” I squeeze her back before she twirls down the hallway leading to the kitchen. It’s only been four months since I left for school, and two months since I saw her last, when Nan brought Fia to Chapel Hill for parents' weekend, but to a twelve-year-old, I guess that’s forever ago.
“My college girl is home!” Nan dusts the flour onto her yellow apron and rushes over to pull me into a warm hug. She smells like a mix of sweet apples and spicy nutmeg, and there are bits of flour in her pale-blonde hair that’s piled high on her head—her signature style.
“Hi, Nan.” I smile softly, guilt gnawing at my core for not having been back since the day I left.
This weekend is Thanksgiving, though, and I wasn’t about to stay on campus and miss out on Nan’s famous dinner. She goes all out with a feast, making everything under the sun—from scratchwith love, she says. Cooking and hosting people is something she doesn’t get to do often, but it’s her love language.
Even if the act of stepping into this home feels suffocating for me, I did it for her.
However, the state of the house is undeniably jarring. I’ve only been home for ten minutes when I realize that every TV is on, but the blasting music drowns out all the voices coming from them. Dozens of wooden utensils, ceramic bowls, and baking sheets cover every open inch of the kitchen counter, and all the lights are turned on, even though it’s a sunshiny day. Fia dances around the living room like a ballerina, blissfully oblivious to the stacks of library books and crafting supplies strewn about the floor around her. Nan always kept an orderly house. Even if it was crammed full, it wasneat.
This is a tornado.
If it’s their attempt to fill the empty void, distracting from the fact that Jesse and Danny are spending their holiday in prison and not at home with us, it’s not working on me. No amount of clutter and stimulation can make this feel right.
Frustration simmers in my chest.Why did I come back? I can’t handle this yet.
But Nan’s eyes find mine, just as I feel myself start to come undone. Herexpression is soft, knowing. A small smile pulls on her rosy lips.
She knows.
She knows what I’m thinking. And that breaks my heart a little more.
“Why don’t you get all settled in, honey, and come join us? We’re about tostart on the pecan pie, and I could use your precision blending skills.” She winks, and I let out a little chuckle.
“Oh, can I make something, too?” Fia flitters over, observing everythingNan has going on.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and Nan doesn’t like to leave anything to the last minute.
“Grab an apron, wash those hands, and grab a spoon. You can stir the caramel,” she instructs Fia, who listens without hesitation.
