Me: It's not working.
Tiffany: How is that possible?
Me: Fuck if I know.
I can picture the disappointment crossing her face, the same as our mother.
I grab a flashlight and head to the control panel for the electricity and flip breakers, hoping that will fix the problem. When it doesn't, I fiddle with the generator. Nothing. It's impossible. I just upgraded it in the summer, so it's practically new.
My phone rings. My sister.
"What, Tiff?"
"Uncle Holden? It's Bailey."
"Hi, sweetheart. I'm gonna need to call you back."
"Are you mad at me?" Her five-year-old voice is thick.
I stop cold. "No, honey. I am not mad at you. What would make you think that?"
"You're not coming to the recital. Everyone is coming but you."
I picture her sweet brown curls, her big brown eyes, the dusting of freckles on her nose.
"I will absolutely be there, munchkin. I wouldn't miss it."
"Yay!" I can practically hear her bounce.
The lights flicker back on. I'm getting an electrician out here tomorrow to check everything.
I turn on the TV, looking for something to watch, deciding it's probably an old, and settle on an old showing of The Godfather. At the commercial break, I get up to make some popcorn. I'm ticked off that I even have to stop for a commercial, but it wasn't on the satellite, so there's that—when a holiday commercial catches my eye. I swear it's the same Santa from earlier, giving a little girl a soda. He turns to the camera, and I would swear he is looking right at me with that same intense stare before turning back to the little girl.
I must be out of my fucking mind. But how did he know that I didn't vote for the holiday parade? No one could know that.
I don't believe in curses.
I. Don’t. Believe. In. Curses.
I turn onto Main Street, the twenty thousand things I've got to do for the office hijacking my mental bandwidth. Running my own business is a challenge, one that I used to love, but lately it's a burden. My VP, Carter Jameson, has been pushing me to trustthe team and delegate more. But slowing down means thinking about what I really want. And what I want is the curvy redhead sitting in the office down the hall from me.
Which can’t happen.
Besides, I know that Big Sky Architecture and Design can become one of the top architectural firms in the U.S. I recruited the best talent, including my VP, Carter Jameson, who is a much better architect than I am. We all have the drive. We even won the AIA Gold several years ago, and the surge of pride I felt topped anything else I had ever accomplished.
Do we need to go national? Do I really need offices in Texas, California, and New York? I'd likely spend the rest of my life on an airplane. Forget the family I dreamed about when I set my roots here in Hope Peak.
It’s like I’m trying to recapture those accolades, which is ridiculous. The steady stream of customers is a direct reflection of our work and should be enough. But it’s hard to let go of old shame. I wasn’t the strongest student in high school. I did just enough to get by and gave my parents a hard time about pretty much everything.
It didn’t help that my brother and sister were perfect kids. Good grades. Followed the rules. Didn’t get caught on the football field with their buddies and a twelve-pack.
As the youngest of three, I’ve been in my older siblings’ shadows my whole life. This is why I moved to Hope Peak.
Logically, I know my parents love us all equally. Individually, but equally. But I’m willing to bet my parents shouted “Holden!” four times as much as they did the other two combined. I was filled with nervous energy and didn’t always know how to properly channel it.
And when I decided to attend college, nobody believed I would stick it out. But I’d always been interested in math and building things, so architecture was a natural fit.
My jaw clenches, shame edging just underneath my skin. I shouldn’t envy my siblings. I didn’t used to, at least not outside the typical sibling rivalry. But they started having kids, having monetary success, and the green-eyed monster reared its ugly head.
