Page 111 of Falling Like Snow

But I was confused. Surely a confused asshole is better than just a plain asshole… right?

I can’t possibly owe him an apology after what he did.

Ugh, or can I?

“You good?” Hannah asks as she approaches the booth.

“What? Yeah. Why?”

“You look like you’re having a crisis,” she says. “What did that dickhead say?”

“Nothing,” I lie. “He just apologized.”

“Well, we don’t forgive him,” she says.

“No. We don’t.”

Hannah holds out her fist. “Grudge sisters forever.”

I laugh and bump her fist.

“Chloe invited people over to her house later,” she says. “You want to go?”

Not a single part of me wants to hang out and pretend to be happy all night. But if I don’t go, I’ll just sit at home and text Asher even though he asked me not to. Which will not help the situation.

“Maybe. Text me the details, and I’ll see how I’m feeling after all of this.”

When karaoke ends, Mom enters me into the ugly sweater contest, which I win easily. With a giant brown reindeer face that looks more like a mushy turd and two floppy antlers sewn onto the chest, the pieces of fabric dangling so it looks like I’m leaking chocolate from my boobs, my sweater is hands-down the most hideous holiday sweater in existence. Asher and I bought it when we were thrifting last summer, and as Mom pins the red winner ribbon on me, I wish he were here to laugh with me about it.

“Where’s Asher?” Mom asks as if she can read my mind. “I haven’t seen him all day.”

We were so busy with setup yesterday, I knew she wouldn’t note his absence. But it seems my luck has run out. “Not sure.”

“That’s… strange…,” she says. “Have you not asked? Or has he not responded? Is everything okay between you two?”

“What? We’re fine. He’s probably just tired from the holidays and helping his mom at the inn. I’m sure I’ll talk to him later.”

Mom would be understanding about what happened. She’d be supportive and might even say something to make me feel better. But I can’t bring myself to talk about it—partly because I’m embarrassed to have thought the cake was a good idea, partly because I don’t want Mom to have to worry about anything else, but mostly because Asher’s feelings are his business. He might not want my mom to know how upset he is about his dad, especially if he doesn’t want his mom to know.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” she says. She surveys the busy square, still full of festivalgoers laughing and shopping and eating, then turns to me. “Well, you can stay if you want, but I have lots of volunteers to help finish up here if you’d rather head home.”

“Okay. I’ll probably go.” My couch and a movie sound great about now.

“All right,” she says. “Thank you for your help today.”

Mom squeezes me into a quick hug before running off to the cookie-swap booth. And as the daylight bleeds into a lavender nightfall, I turn my phone off and promise myself I’ll leave Asher alone even if it kills me.

I’m a liar. A pathetic, weak liar. And I harangue myself for it as I knock on the Yoshidas’ door.

Because, yes, I know it’s about more than just the cake. He’s upset because I didn’t think. Because I was oblivious to how deeply he was affected by his dad not being here when I’m supposed to be his best friend. I’m supposed to know these things.

But also, it was just a cake! It’s ridiculous to be this angry with me over a baked good.

Except that when someone’s feet shuffle on the other side of the door, I immediately have regrets. I shouldn’t be here.

A familiar friendly face swings the door open. “Sloane!”

“Mr. Yoshida. You’re home,” I say, stunned and hurt that I didn’t know.