Page 53 of The Second Chance Year

Owen crosses the room to give me a hug. “This was great, Sadie. You’re the best.”

“Happy birthday.” I give him a squeeze in return. “Have fun withNora,” I add in a sing-song voice, because as his sister, I’m contractually obligated to take every opportunity to tease him. “You’d better call me tomorrow and tell me if there’s anything serious going on between you two.”

“No call necessary, then.” Owen gives me a cocky grin. “This is purely friends with benefits.”

“Ew!” I cover my ears. “Don’t say another word about the benefits.”

The kitchen door swings open, and Paige and Nora walk in.

“You guys ready to go?” Paige asks, sidling up next to Jacob. “So convenient that our apartments are in exactly the same direction.” She gives him a flirty smile.

Jacob pauses and, even though I’m looking anywhere butat him, I feel his gaze on me. “You sure you don’t need help cleaning up?”

For a second, I’m tempted to ask him to stay. But most of the dishes are in the dishwasher, José Luis has already taken the bottles out to the alley, and Paige is clinging to him like caramel on an apple. What would be the point?

“I’m sure.” I meet his eyes now.

“Okay.” He pauses for another moment before turning and following Paige through the kitchen door.

Chapter 28

November

Iarrive for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house with homemade pies, and Owen arrives moments later with store-bought chocolates. Naturally, my mom swoons over the chocolates so wildly you’d think Godiva stuffed those truffles with opium. On the subject of my pies, she gives me a distracted “oh, thanks,” and heads to her office to finish up some emails.

I leave the desserts in the kitchen where my dad is rushing around swearing at whatever’s burning in the oven while green beans boil over on the stove. He’s always enjoyed cooking as a break from the wretchedness ofOedipusandAntigone, but to be honest, his dried-out Thanksgiving turkey is always a bit of its own tragedy. I’d offer to help, but he doesn’t like my method of mashing potatoes with the mixer because it’s nottraditional. Instead of pointing out that the ancient Greeks wrote on parchment scrolls but that doesn’t mean my dad has any plans to ditch his laptop, I wander to the living room to watch football with Owen. On the way, my mom calls to me from her office off the hallway.

“Sadie, can you stop in here for a minute?”

I take slow steps, feeling like I’ve been caught sneaking in after curfew. I’ve only been home for ten minutes; what could Ihave possibly done to warrant being summoned to my mom’s office?

“How was your train ride?” my mom asks after she’s sat on the opposite end of her office couch from me.

“Uh, fine.” Did she call me in to chitchat?

“No problems with the connection?”

“Nope.”

“And—” She examines her nails without looking at me. “How’s Alex?”

I flinch.Oh, here we go.“How would I know? We broke up.”

“Of course.” My mom turns to arrange the pile of books on the coffee table. “I just thought maybe you still talked once in a while.”

“No.” I don’t tell her he’s called a couple of times and I stared at the screen, debating whether to answer until the phone eventually stopped ringing. “We don’t talk.”

She does a headshake-shrug combination like,I’m just asking, why are you getting so defensive?“Okay.”

We both stare at the opposite wall. Is Alex the only reason she called me in here? Am I dismissed now? I should make a run for it before she pulls out the college brochures, but something holds me back. We never sit on the couch and talk. “So, uh. How’s work?”

My mom blinks like she’s surprised I asked. “It’s fine. I’m spending most of my time prepping my presentation for the National Conference of Language and Literature.” She feigns a shiver. “It’s in Minnesota. In January.”

“Oh wow. That sounds… unpleasant. Is Dad going with you?”

“These days, your father prefers to hole up in his officewriting textbooks. He doesn’t present much at conferences anymore. And you know.” She rolls her eyes. “He can get away with it.”

“He can? Why?”

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