Page 61 of The Second Chance Year

My parents’ house is quiet when I let myself in, and I hope it’s because everyone is asleep. I deliberately put this off, waiting until the very last train was about to pull out of Penn Station before I got on. Once I hopped off in downtown New Brunswick, I decided to walk the two miles home rather than call my dad or an Uber to pick me up. I know I’m just prolonging the inevitable. The first thing my parents are going to ask me tomorrow morning is if I got the promotion.

I guess it wouldn’t be a Thatcher family gathering if I didn’t let my parents down. It turns out that massive disappointment pairs well with festive holiday beverages.Merry Christmas, your daughter is still a disaster. Eggnog, anyone?

No doubt, Owen will come home for the holidays having invented a robot that can cure cancer, casually announce that he’s been promoted to president of the world, or have accomplished something equally impressive that my parents can hold up as a shining example of how well itcouldhave gone for me, if only I’d gotten a proper education.

Tiptoeing into the hallway, I hang my coat on a hook by the door. Then I turn around and—

“Jesus, Owen!”I spring backward.

My brother is standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe to the living room.

“Quit lurking like that!” I whisper-yell.

“I’m not lurking, I’m calmly standing here.”

“You’re standing there in a lurking manner.”

Owen rolls his eyes. “You’re the one creeping around in the middle of the night.” He looks at me sideways. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you slept in an alley. Make that in a dumpster in an alley.”

“How could I possibly take that the wrong way, Owen?” I huff past him, but when I do, I catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror. And well, he’s not wrong. It’s impossible to miss the black mascara smears underlining my bloodshot eyes or the fact that my nose is still red and puffy from crying. Oh, and look, my shirt is on backward. I pull my arms through the armholes and spin it around.

My brother squints at me. “Seriously, what’s the matter?”

I shrug, looking over his shoulder at the family photos lining the wall that my mom used to insist we take every year. I’ll never tell anyone what really happened at Xavier’s. It’s the most mortifying thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’d love to erase the memory from my own head. What a complete idiot I was, staying late, cheerfully organizing ingredients in the pantry, and making an extra-special effort to earn a promotion Xavier never intended to give me.

I really was nothing but a nice face and a perky pair of tits after all.

“I didn’t get the promotion.” I try it out on Owen, practicing for my parents tomorrow.

“Shit. I’m sorry. What happened?”

Maybe I’m just being sensitive, maybe it’s my parents’voices humming in my head, accompanied by a rousing chorus of my own insecurities, but what I hear is:What did you do?

“I don’t know. He just gave the promotion to someone else.” I move into the living room and flop onto the couch.

Owen follows, sitting on the chair opposite of me. “I really thought you had it.”

I did, too. But looking back, Xavier never said the job was mine. He said he had his eye on me, that I’d be happy with his choice, and I was doing a great job. But it washowhe said those things. I know I didn’t read into them.

Did I?

Somehow, Xavier is still gaslighting me, and he’s not even here.

“Well, you deserved that fucking job,” Owen says, and I feel bad for all my unkind thoughts about him earlier.

“Well, now I have to tell Mom and Dad.” I prop my feet up on the coffee table and accidently kick over a pile of books. Sophocles and Euripides tumble to the floor, but I don’t have the energy to rescue them. “And they’re already devastated that I turned down Alex’s proposal, so they can add this to the list of ways I disappointed them.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

“What is?”

“That not agreeing to spend the rest of your life with someone who was incredibly wrong for you means you’re disappointing Mom and Dad.”

I look up. “Alex was incredibly wrong for me?”

“Yes? Obviously? I mean—” He holds up a hand like he’s about to count off the ways on his fingers, but then he hesitates. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

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