Page 69 of Spearcrest Queen

I watch them as they talk. They look different: Mum’s lost weight, and her greying hair is several shades lighter, dyed a brownish-blonde. Dad, who always towered over us both, somehow seems smaller now, his beard a little longer, his hair, unlike Mom’s, now completely grey.

Two realisations hit me simultaneously: my parents are getting older, and stranger still—they’re justpeople.

Logically, I’ve always known those two things to be true. Of course they’re getting older, that’s what time does to people, and of course they’re just people, everyone is.

For so long, my parents have felt like an all-powerful entity in my life, a sort of structure standing high above me, offering me shelter even while it casts me into shadows. I’ve been afraid of them, and worst still, I’ve been afraid of disappointing them. But I never once looked at them as though they were real people, living their own lives without even knowing if they’re doing it right.

It fills me with a deep, terrible tenderness.

“I missed you,” I whisper to Mum that night when she comes to place one last cup of tea on my bedside table as I finish unpacking.

“We missed you too, sweetheart. We’re so happy to have you home.”

Mum moves around my room, tidying things that don’t even need tidying. She picks up my gloves and folds them neatly on my nightstand, smoothing the fabric. Then, as if satisfied, she walks to the door. She pauses, just for a second.

“We’re so proud of you, Sophie, we know how hard you’re working. But you’ll see, once you finish Harvard and come back, it’ll all be worth it.”

I open my mouth—but my throat is suddenly too tight to speak. I close my mouth.

In the end, I don’t have the heart to tell her I never once planned to come back.

33

War & Art

Evan

When I left herhouse, Greer Manning told me she would send me her decision in the new year.

On the first Monday back after the holiday, silence reigns in the small boardroom. To my right, Inés sits stiffly with her fingers linked together. To my left, Patch is staring at a newspaper crossword without touching it, twirling his pen. Mina’s picking fluff off the sleeve of her jumper. Matt’s pacing near the window, elbows catching the drooping leaves of the dying plants.

A quiet bleep from my laptop breaks the silence.

I look at Inés, eyes wide. She nods. I open the email, a slight tremor in my fingers. Everyone pulls close to read, Patch’s chin practically on my shoulder, Mina reaching over Inés to tilt my laptop screen back, Matt leaning down over all of us.

Subject: Re: Ink & Vellum.

From: Greer Manning.

Evan,

You win. I’ll stay with Inkspill.

It’s the best publishing house I’ve ever worked with, and you’re right: I don’t want to see it fail. Do not make me regret this.

Best,

Greer

For a second, my brain refuses to process it.

Then the small boardroom erupts in an explosion of joy. Mina leaps up with a yell and almost drops her chair as she turns to hug Matt, who’s roaring with incredulous laughter. They bounce around the room, squeezed into each other’s arms, banging into filing cabinets as they go.

At my side, Patch slaps the table in triumph, then my back with equal force, shaking my hair into my eyes. Inés’s looking at me, wide-eyed.

“How did you do it?”

It’s a complicated question, because I’m not sure what it was, in the end, that swayed Greer.

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