We pack up. The basement’s recycled air still hums, but the heat feels less suffocating. Or maybe that’s just because I’ve been distracted by... another type of heat. Ethan slings his backpack over one shoulder, the movement casual and graceful, lingering by the doorway.
God, I need to get out of this basement before I do something stupid, like notice how his jeans fit.
6
PIPER
Our attic flat above the old bakery runs hotter than Satan’s kitchen—great for Riya’s sourdough experiments, lethal for my laptop's will to live. I’m sprawled on the living room rug, wrestling with my dating app’s user prompts while my roommate perches on the sofa, looking like a gothic Disney princess.
Riya Patel, five-foot-two of pure confidence in a Spirited Away hoodie, currently demolishing a bag of shrimp chips while debugging machine learning models. To the outside world, she’s that terrifying girl who made Professor Jones cry during office hours. To me she’s the only person who’ll pause her true crime podcast to ask if I’ve eaten.
I would go to war for this woman.
My phone buzzes.
Mom
Don’t forget to text Meredith happy birthday!
I stare at the message.
Who the fuck is Meredith?
Who?
Jackson’s girlfriend! She’s turning 20!
Another buzz, from the family group chat.
Renner Fam
Mom
Happy Birthday beautiful Meredith. We’ve loved meeting you and we’re so happy you’re making our wonderful Jackson happy.
Jackson
Thanks for remembering Mom! Mer really appreciates being included in the fam
Meredith
I really do babe Thanks Tina. Oh! And you must share your granola recipe with me again. It’s to die for.
I groan and toss my phone aside. Of course. Another one of my brother, Jackson’s, girlfriends has infiltrated the family group chat. At this rate, we should just create a revolving door policy—you date Jackson for more than two weeks, you get added to the Renner family text chain. Break up by month three, and we’ll delete you to make room for the next one.
“Family drama?” Riya asks without looking up. She knows my groans by category now.
“Jackson’s newest girlfriend is already in the family group chat. Mom wants me to wish her happy birthday. And she’s complimenting Mom's cooking, so she’s gonna be a new favorite.”
“Which one is this?”
“Meredith, apparently. Though last month it was Madison. Or was that Mercedes?” I rub my temples. “I can’t keeptrack anymore. He goes through women like Mom goes through wine on book club nights.”
“Ah, the investment banker special.” Riya crunches a chip thoughtfully. “Let me guess—blonde, Pilates body, thinks his stories about ‘crushing it on the trading floor’ are fascinating?”
“You forgot the part where she laughs at all his jokes and calls him ‘babe’ in the group chat like they’re already married.” I pull up Jackson’s Instagram. Sure enough, there’s Meredith—blonde, beaming, draped over my brother at some rooftop bar in Manhattan.
“Your mom must love this parade of potential daughters-in-law.”
