Page 35 of The Second Chance Year

If I get him in the right mood, maybe it could work.

But Kasumi’s eyes narrow and her head swings back and forth. “I’m not going back there.”

“But—” I start to argue. Even a lot of well-paid restaurant workers live paycheck to paycheck in New York. What if Kasumi can’t pay her rent? Or she loses her apartment? What if Xavier blackballs her, and she can’t find another job?

My breath catches.

What if instead ofmyVery Bad Year, this has turned intoKasumi’sVery Bad Year?

“Listen, Kasumi.” I climb the steps to her door two at a timeuntil I’m standing in front of her. “If you won’t go back to Xavier’s, do you need help with money or anything until you find a new job?” I tried not to dip into my nest egg during my own Very Bad Year, but this is different. I can’t let Kasumi end up homeless because she landed upside-down in my time loop.

For a second, her face softens. “No. I don’t want to take your money, Sadie.”

“But how will you afford to pay your rent?”

“I’ll be fine.” Kasumi shrugs. “I have a couple of things in the works.”

I wait, hoping she’ll say more, but she just moves the pastry box to her other hand and reaches for the door handle. “Well, I’ve got to go.”

I shift my weight nervously. I know she’s still mad, but we’ve been friends for over a decade. “Are we still—do you think we can still hang out?”

Kasumi sighs. “I don’t know.” She swings back around to face me. “It’s not just this thing at Xavier’s. You’ve changed. Maybe the pressure from your parents has finally gotten to you. Or maybe it’s Alex’s new job with all those finance-bros that’s making you care more about superficial stuff instead of what actually matters.”

“What?” I stumble back against the stair railing. “Alex’s job has nothing to do with it.” But a little part of me can see how she might think it does. Until Alex started working at Wright and Moore, he never used to hang out with guys who made inappropriate, sexist comments and hit on us at parties. Thefew times Zach slithered around during my Very Bad Year, I shut him down. But in my second chance year, I’ve been putting up with him. I’ve been putting up with a lot of things that make me uneasy.

Confusion curls in my gut like a Swiss roll and suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by the desire to tell Kasumi everything. Maybe if she knew how things went wrong during my Very Bad Year, she’d understand. “Actually, Kasumi, the thing is…” I raise my eyes to meet her gaze. “Do you believe in the supernatural? Like, magic and wishes… things like that?”

Kasumi stares at me like I’ve just told her I’ve given up chocolate.

“Look, I know it sounds far-fetched.” I take a deep breath. “But the thing is that about seven months ago, I met this fortune teller, and she—”

“Are you serious?” Kasumi cuts me off. “I just lost my job, and I’m trying to talk to you about our friendship, and you’re going on about fortune tellers?”

Oh God. This isn’t going well. “No, that’s not what I’m doing—” Except that’s exactly what I’m doing. “It’s just that—”

Kasumi shakes her head. “I really do have to go.” She looks down at the pastry box in her hands, a frown creasing her brow. “Thanks for the croissants.” And before I can say another word, she turns and disappears into her building.

Why did I think this was a good idea?

I slowly turn and start walking for home. And because the universe likes to kick me when I’m down, my phone buzzes with my mom’s name. I swipe to answer.

“Hi, honey, what are you up to?” she asks.

“Oh… I just left Kasumi’s apartment.”

“Well tell her hi from me,” my mom says, showing she wasn’t really listening.

“Okay, I will. Next time I see her. Because I justleft.”

But my mom forges on. “I’m calling to let you know that your dad and I would like to come into the city for dinner with you and Owen next month.” Owen and I grew up in New Brunswick, New Jersey. It’s not a bad drive into the city, so my parents come for dinner every now and then. My mom names a date, and I check my calendar. It’s during the week, so I shouldn’t have a problem getting the time off.

That thought gives me a great idea. “Hey,” I say. “Do you want to eat at Xavier’s?”

I’ve worked there for four years, but my parents have never been. Despite his general assholery, Xavier is a fantastic chef, and the restaurant is gorgeous. It might be nice for my mom and dad to finally see where I work. To show them it’s not a random hole-in-the-wall, but the kind of place people book months in advance. I could make a special dessert for their visit. And Xavier’s bullying only happens behind closed doors. In public, he’s the picture of the generous, charismatic celebrity chef. He’ll come out in the dining room and absolutely charm my parents.

“Oh no, honey. That’s okay. Your dad has already booked a table at Russo’s.”

Russo’s?I nearly choke. Russo’s is one of those New York restaurants that’s been around for decades. It was probably the place to be back in the forties and fifties when Frank Sinatra was friends with the owner. But now it’s a sad, dated restaurant that serves overcooked spaghetti and soggycheesecake to tourists, charging them a boatload because the place is “iconic.”

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