Without another word, I turned and climbed the rest of the stairs. Movement in an upstairs window—Sam’s—caught my attention. She leaned forward, an elbow on the sill, and gave a tiny salute before I disappeared inside. Nothing like your sister catching your ex’s ambush and your fake boyfriend’s heroic exit in one live-action moment.
I woke up late the next day, but it didn’t matter because it was Sunday. I reached for my phone, sent a couple of pictures of the party to Erica, then fell on a video she sent me of her ranting about humidity and temple tours. That made me smile.
Sam came into my room and lay near me.
“I’m going to miss this,” she said softly.
“Me too.”
She grinned and lowered her voice. “The new guy’s upscaled the old. Atta girl.”
“Not funny, Sam.”
“Okay, then. His swoony performance yesterday was freaking unreal. People were straight-up turning their heads when he walked by. And Mom was busy figuring out if he was an expensive rental.”
“I’m pretty sure she tried to scan his barcode at one point.”
We chuckled.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look that way,” Sam went on more seriously. “Just…you. Not holding it together for everyone else, no tight smile for Mom. You actually looked relaxed around her for once.”
I turned toward her. “And that version of me was fake.”
“Yes, except it wasn’t.”
I let out a sigh. “Whoa. A full-on early-morning emotional diagnostic.”
She nudged my leg. “Look. Mom never figured out how to make herself happy, so you became the contingency plan.”
I swallowed.
“Now that she’s moved back home after the financial fallout...it’s as if she’s trying to outrun time in wedging you into that hole even faster.”
Her words felt so raw.
“I’m leaving in three weeks,” Sam added. “If you didn’t have Sean in your corner, someone who actually seems to have your back, I’d seriously be pissed. I’d probably drag you to Baltimore with me.”
I turned to the ceiling and stared at it, but there was no cheat sheet on how to handle Mom there. The reality stared me in the face—clueless.
“That’s a lot before caffeine, Sam.” I finally broke the silence.
She smiled. “You’re welcome.”
I tucked the blanket around my shoulders. “You’re not wrong, but still, low blow using Sean as an Exhibit A.”
“You brought a fake date with championship-biceps, a public service specimen for single women everywhere. What am I supposed to do?”
I huffed a laugh. “Fake has done a damn good job of feeling real.”
“You deserve something that feels good, with no pressure attached.”
After saying that, Sam finally left my room.
The party was over, but the fallout lingered in paper plates, half-empty cups, and the house was waiting to be cleaned.
Later, Dad went to meet an old friend who might have a lead on a job at a golf course. That left the three of us (Mom, Sam, and me) cleaning up the debris of yesterday’s drama.
The scent of stale soda and barbecue clung to the air as we stacked chairs and scrubbed counters.
