ONE
Madeline
The hanger breaks in half in Cara’s hands before she flings it toward the trash bag, missing it by a mile. It ricochets off the wall and clatters to the floor.
“Close,” I say, picking it up and dropping it into the garbage.
“It had one job,” she shoots back. “Remind me to buy you new ones. These aren’t going to cut it.”
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor of my new bedroom surrounded by half-emptied cardboard boxes. I tug open the flaps of the box labeled “Books & Random Crap.” My sister, Cara, stands in the middle of the room, surveying the mess while rocking her baby girl in her arms. She makes motherhood look like it’s the easiest thing in the world, even though I know she hasn’t slept more than four hours straight in three months.
“You’ve got way too much stuff,” she says, eyeing the boxes stacked in a leaning tower along the far wall.
“It’s called having a life,” I tell her, pulling out a stack of sticky notes and setting them on the floor. Yellow, pink, and blue. My system. I ignore Cara’s amused look. “Besides, Ialready downsized. You should’ve seen how many books I gave to Goodwill.”
Cara snorts and the sound startles Marigold, who starts to squirm in her arms. “Downsized? You needed a U-Haul for your books alone.”
I grin and peel a sticky note off the top pad, writingbuy coat hangersin neat block letters before sticking it to the drawer on the front of my desk.
“You know, when most people move to a new town they try to declutter,” Cara says as she shifts Marigold higher on her hip. “They start fresh. They simplify.”
“I did simplify,” I say, pulling a pink book from the box and lining it up on the shelf next to another pink one. “I’m basically a minimalist now.”
Cara laughs—the boisterous, unfiltered sound I’ve been hearing my whole life—and Goldie blinks up at her, mesmerized. “A minimalist doesn’t need three different color-coded sticky note systems, babe.”
“It’s called being prepared,” I say, scribbling on a yellow note—buy laundry detergent.
“It’s a fine line between being prepared and being a sticky-note extremist,” Cara says, nudging the box in front of her with the toe of her Converse sneaker. “And you’re very close to crossing it.”
I still can’t quite comprehend the fact that my sister is a mom. It feels like I blinked and suddenly the girl who used to braid my hair before school is somebody’s mother, a role she was always meant to play.
Cara catches me staring and arches a brow. “What?”
“Nothing.” I force a smile as I’m hit with a pang of sadness. “Just thinking about how it’s going to feel not waking up to Marigold tomorrow.”
“We’re both just as upset asyou.” Cara frowns then presses a kiss to her daughter’s head.
A low whistle comes from the hallway, and then my brother-in-law, Ryan, strolls in carrying a box labeled “Clothes.” He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with that permanently smug expression men seem to develop once they have a mortgage and a wife who still laughs at their dad jokes.
“Your roommate’s not gonna appreciate all your crap in the middle of the living room,” he says, dropping the box beside my bed with a grunt. “Place is cute, though.”
“It’s not crap,” I argue, glaring at him. “It’s essential. And Lottie won’t mind. Besides, I’ll have it unpacked by tomorrow.”
As if on cue, Charlotte, my new roommate and old boarding school friend—bounces into the room with a set of mismatched mugs in her hands. Her long hair is piled on top of her head, her wide smile making her look like she hasn’t aged a day since senior year.
“Charlotte!” Cara says. “Perfect timing. Please tell Madeline this stuff is a safety hazard. One wrong move and you two will be buried alive.”
“Don’t drag me into your sibling drama,” Lottie says, grinning as she sets the mugs on the dresser. “I’m just here to supply caffeine and moral support.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving my sister and Ryan a pointed look.
Cara laughs, but I can tell there’s a kernel of genuine worry in there somewhere. She’s always looked at me like that. She’s only three years older than me, but ever since Mom and Dad stopped looking at either of us, she’s made it her personal mission to overcompensate. And I let her. I’ve probably leaned on her too much over the years. But now I’m here, really on my own for the first time. No big sister to watch over me. No big city to disappear into. No expectations I can’t possibly meet. Just…me.
I pull another book from the box, running my fingers across the cover before placing it neatly on the shelf. A little anchor in a home that doesn’t quite feel likemine yet.
“This is good for you, Madeline,” Ryan says. “New job. Independence. Deep Cove is slower, it’s safer. I think you’ll like it here.”
I swallow against the sudden lump in my throat and paste on a smile. “Yeah. I hope I will.”
