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It’d be even nicer not to be alone while I wait to find out.

I check my phone again, only to discover a text from my dad. My dad? After all these years?

He’s sorry for not reaching out sooner but would really like to catch up sometime. If I’m interested.

Am I interested?

My first thought is no, I’m not. But is that fair? It wasn’t fair when he left me with nothing more than a flimsy excuse about not wanting to interrupt my school year and an even flimsier promise to visit every summer. How many summers have gone by with no word from him? Too many.

I can’t help but reminisce about the dad I did know and love though. The rosy glow of childhood makes everything seem better than it was because the sad truth is if he loved me the same way, he wouldn’t have abandoned me. He would’ve fought.

Not ready to decide quite yet, I close my texts without responding. I don’t know what changed for him, but tonight’s not the time to open an old wound. Not while I’m triaging a new one.

Now I really wish Guy was here. He would know what to do in this situation.

It’s not even nine yet. There’s still plenty of time for him to call or show up.

In the meantime, I just have to stay busy. I already cleaned my room.

But that only took five minutes.

In my bathroom, I find the same products I always use, no face or hair masks. I could paint my toenails. It is May.

But all of my nail polish is old and crusty, some of them dried up completely.

I study my reflection, pulling at the ends that need a trim before flipping my ponytail upside down on top of my head, so it hangs loosely over my forehead.

Ooh! I could give myself bangs.

The ponytail instantly drops from my fingers, half my own doing, half my hair’s I’m sure. It’s universal law: DIY bangs are never a good idea.

My feet practically trip over themselves in my dash from the bathroom.

Okay, well…I spent last night cooped up in here with my phone glued to my hand, waiting, hoping. Desperately freaking hoping. I’m not doing that again. Khaos was right, I have this huge house I don’t utilize nearly enough. There’s plenty inside it to do by myself.

Whether my stepbrother is here or not, his door’s always closed and locked—I know because I’ve checked—so it’s hard to tell when he’s home. I’m almost positive he is now. A little over an hour ago, I heard him through the wall we share.

I may have pressed my ear to it trying to make out what he was saying. And to hear his voice. I haven’t heard it in almost a week.

The couple times I saw him in passing, he was oblivious to me. That’s how it felt anyway.

The indifference was such a frosty juxtaposition to the inferno building between us in his bathroom.

It was toasty to me, probably nothing to him. I’m definitely nothing to him. Not his sister, not his anything.

This is mine. God, what it’d feel like to be Khaos’s though.

Hurrying past his closed door, I head downstairs.

Traipsing into the kitchen, I feel nothing, no sense of belonging or comfort sparking of any kind. Like always, it’s empty and dark and smells like cleaner.

If I bake something, it might smell different, maybe even homey.

In the pantry, I find multiple boxes of bread mixes—chocolate chip, wild blueberry, lemon poppyseed, but the banana bread seems like the best bet, so I grab that one. Upon reading the instructions, I learn the bananas have to be added in, but unfortunately, we don’t have any. With all the spices in it, hopefully it will still smell good.

I hit the Bake button on the oven and 350 pops up, which is perfect, exactly the temperature I need.

After gathering the eggs, water, and oil, I measure them out, then stir everything into the bananaless mix.