But when she looks at me over her wire-framed glasses andtsks,my whole body is engulfed in flames. My heartbeat jumps as I burst into movement, escaping the kitchen.
I flop onto the couch next to a sleeping Luci. Her quiet, rumbling snores echo beside me as I pull out my phone to text the group chat with my three best friends.
We Catan Beat Finn
Lena: RED ALERT! Guess who showed up to Christmas!
Millie: The Easter Bunny.
Micah: Is it Emil? He hasn’t come home from work yet.
Emil: Driving home, love.
Lena: GAVIN.
Lena: Not to be dramatic, but did you see the name GAVIN??
Micah: We’ve never known you not to be dramatic.
Lena: FOCUS! Gavin is here, and I don’t know how to act around him.
Millie: Act like yourself.
Lena: That’s not your best advice. I acted like myself and ended up being a bitch.
Millie: Well, then, transport back to three years ago before he left. How did you act around him then?
Lena: Like Auggie’s annoying little sister. Probably flirtier than I should’ve been.
Millie: That seems like a good place to start.
Micah: That sure sounds like normal Lena.
Millie: What would you tell me in this situation?
Lena: That’s tough. I would probably tell you to drag him into a closet and release some tension.
Millie: Okay. Yeah. Go back to the “act like yourself” advice.
Lena: I don’t even know what that means.
When no responses trickle in, I toss my phone aside on the couch, silently cursing my unhelpful friends.
How on earth am I going to make it through the next week in the same house as Gavin?
If I follow my friends’ advice, I willbe myself. Can I slip right back into the easy friendship we used to have? Years ago, my crush on him felt harmless. The teasing and flirting were fun, and I had a blast poking and prodding until I got under his skin.
But I’m not so sure it would feel the same now. Something about him seems strained and tense, and I don’t know how to react to it.
My stomach sours as I remember how his face paled in the living room a moment ago.
I hate that I implied he wasn’t a part of our family. I may have only seen him for one week out of fifty-two, eight years in a row, but he helped my mom cook our Christmas dinners, read Penelope countless books, and had snowball fights with us in the backyard.
He was absolutely a part of everything we did.
Until he left.
Mama’s voice sings through the house, calling us to dinner, and my family’s chatter fills the dining room. Drinks are made, bowls are set around the table, and seats are chosen.
