Frank, curled up under the table with a napkin around his neck like a cape, lets out a snort of agreement.
My phone dings, and I roll my eyes, already anticipating Harper texting me from where she’s crashed out in her childhood bedroom upstairs, begging me to bring her up a bowl of Cheerios and coffee.
My hands freeze.
Noah.
Noah: Saw the video. So, how do I join the grief society? Is there an application or a dance audition?
I stare at the screen, cheeks warming.
Me: What are you doing on the internet, looking at viral grief videos?
Noah: I wasn’t. I was watching viral cat videos, like any normal person does on a Friday morning before work, and I saw your face.
I quickly lock my screen before anyone can peek.
Viv notices. “Was that from a handsome stranger from last night?”
“No. Worse.”
“Oooh. The mailman.”
I groan. “You people are feral.”
Chapter Sixteen
I’m staring at the email from the Seattle Art Museum… again. Same subject line. Same blinking cursor. Same quiet sense of impending shame.
It’s been sitting in my inbox like a dare. Ticking down to the deadline while I do absolutely nothing.
Every morning, I open it.
Every morning, I hover my mouse over “Start Application.”
And every morning, I chicken out.
I tell myself it’s timing. The laundry, the dishes, the ghost of Owen lingering in the corners of this house.
But the truth is, I’m scared.
Scared I missed my chance.
Scared I don’t belong anymore.
Scared that dreaming at this age is embarrassing.
Viv appears beside me, peering over my shoulder before I even register her footsteps. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.”
My face flushes so fast it feels like a betrayal. I scramble to close the tab with the open email, but it’s too late.
Marin walks in, nursing her late afternoon tea and raising an eyebrow. “What’s nothing?”
“Still nothing,” I mutter, fumbling for my mug like it might deflect the attention.
Viv’s already squinting at the screen. “Seattle Art Museum internship?” she reads aloud, like she found a love letter I swore I’d never send. “Birdie!”
