My mom walks over to me and pats my arm. "Tell me more about what seemed to be wrong."
"I honestly don’t know. But something was off, and Howie said—"
"Speaking of Howie, where the hell is he?" Sam checks his watch, suddenly bored with the details surrounding Sadie.
The door slams open, and we all shift our focus. "I’m here… is it too late? Beatrice Bushnell was in early, giving me a lecture I didn’t need." Howie bends over, sucking air into his lungs. "What did I miss?"
"Max ran into your cousin, like physically." My sister tosses out from her spot in a green high-back chair.
"Which one?" He looks at me, curiosity on his face.
"Sadie. It was an accident. But she’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine."
"Okay? How do I get measured?" Howie spots the tailor and follows him toward a dressing room, while I duck into mine and hope they all let whatever drama they’re trying to stir up go. I don’t remember my family being this nosy or gossipy, but maybe I’ve just always been the one dishing it out or fucking with them for the fun of it.
five
Sadie
A Ruined Sweater
Seeing Max O’Reilly wasn’t on my bingo card. Not that it really makes that big of a difference, I didn’t really know him then, and I’m indifferent to knowing him now. He’s changed physically since the last time I saw him. Where he used to be tall and a little lanky, he’s now solid muscle—my facestillfeels like it hit a brick wall. One thing that hasn’t changed is that panty-dropper grin, he’s had that forever, and I’m sure he still knows how to use it. Luckily for me, I’m immune to that sort of thing after years spent near a locker room.
I’m not, however, immune to whatever juju Beth put into that letter. I mean, it’s completely unhinged. I couldn’t have actually seen anything in my coffee, and a few puzzles won't solve anything. When I got home, I shoved it and the book intothe bottom of my suitcase, zipped that baby up, and stuffed it into the back of my closet. It can stay there until Beth returns, and she’ll just have to get over me not completing it. I have important things to do, like finding a way to work without getting caught.
That’s something I can thank Max for, actually. I internet stalked him—like any normal person—and it turns out that he was still playing hockey until about six months ago. I found an article from the Mage Hollow Gazette that noted him doing some coaching, and a picture on his social media confirmed it. The deep dive made me wonder if the team here in Mage Hollow would be interested in having a spotlight player.
My phone buzzes with a text on the yellow-painted nightstand my mom made for me in sixth grade. One leg is a little shorter than the others, but with a stack of magazines under it, you can hardly tell. Dee Dee might not be the strongest craftswoman, but she tried.
Mal
Are you guys coming to the farmer’s market?
I hadn’t planned on doing much other than relaxing at Mom's or maybe the beach, but I guess I could go. I’m not very good at sitting around mindlessly with nothing to do.
I roll out of bed and slip my feet into my slides before making my way downstairs. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon rolls beckons me, and my stomach growls.
When I turn the corner and peek into the small, square kitchen, Mom’s head whips around. "There’s my girl." Her face blooms into a genuine smile as the curlers holding up her blonde hair shake lightly. "Your sister has invited us to the farmer’s market."
"I know. She texted me too." I move closer to the mismatched collection of mugs that hang on the wall above a coffee cart and next to an etched wood sign she had made that reads: Dee Dee’s Coffee Delights. "Should we go?"
My mom steps up beside me, moving me out of the way with her hip as she prepares a latte just the way I like it. "Well," she starts. "That depends—"
"On?" I cross my arms and lean back against the faux marble-topped island.
"Are you going to tell me where you went yesterday?" She spins to hand me the drink she made, throwing in a raised eyebrow that’s laced with guilt. When I got home yesterday, I was pretty freaked out and, honestly, annoyed. I’m an adult. I’ll be thirty in two years. The last thing I need is for someone else to think they can step in and control my life. So, I holed up in my bedroom like I’m fifteen again—isolating myself.
I groan internally, snatching my drink and sitting down on the wooden stool closest to the pan of warm breakfast pastries. Quickly dishing one onto a plate, I make a big show of humming over the taste. It’s not really faking. Dee Dee is a great cook, and these are my favorite. But I can’t exactly tell her about the coffee situation or what the letter said—she’d think I’d lost my mind.
Maybe I have?
"You can ignore me, but you’re not leaving this room until we talk." She moves to the opposite side of the island, so I’m forced to either look directly at her or very obviously avoid eye contact. "I’ve known you for twenty-eight years, three months, and five days. You can hardly keep a secret from me, and when you walked in the door yesterday, it was clear something was bothering you."
I sip my latte, washing down the bite I just swallowed. "Mom, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine. I just went to see Beth."
"I’m sorry. I’m just a mom, and worrying is my job." She picks up my fork and stabs a piece of cinnamon roll, pulling it to her mouth. "Did you go for guilty pleasure pancakes? Shame on you and Beth for not inviting me."
"She wasn’t there."
