Page 8

“Norah, sweetie, tell me all about your life in New York,” Kristine says, mouth full of brisket. “You know, Henry lives there too now,” she adds, pointing her fork at him.

“I gathered. We were on the same flight here.”

Kristine swats a hand at her son next to her. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“It was uneventful. Hardly worth mentioning,” he replies with a shrug.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” I say quickly. “What with spilling wine all over me and the general lack of regard for other—”

“You spilled that wine all by yourself,” he interjects.

“It was his fault,” I say to Kristine, who looks horrified.

“Henry,” she reprimands, and I can’t help but smile.

Kristine asks more about the marketing firm I work for, my recent promotion to copywriter. She asks about Hannah’s MFA application for Northwestern. It’s so clear how much she cares about my mom, and how much she wants to know us. I always liked Kristine, but tonight makes me love her.

Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for Henry.

He starts talking about the brokerage firm he recently started working for in the city, Karlin Stein. I’m only barely making rent with two roommates in a fifth-floor walk-up, even with my new promotion. He just moved into his own place because he’s that successful and wants me to know how much better in life he’s doing than I am. He’s really raking it in, in commercial real estate.

I stand to clear the table and barely make it to the kitchen before I realize Henry is steps behind me, once again, carrying more dishes than seems feasible for one man. I notice the definition in his biceps as they twitch through his fitted sweater, and I hate that we’re in close enough proximity that I can see that. I hate that I want to reach out and see if the emerald fabric is as soft as it looks.

“A real estate agent? Don’t you have to be likable for that?” I ask, because I’m several glasses of wine in and can’t believe I have to spend my holiday with Henry Cole.

“Don’t you remember how charming I can be?” he retorts, handing me a plate, which I rinse.

I let out a snort as I put the plate into the dishwasher, and I see his hand tense in my periphery.

“I remember you finding me charming enough to agree to a kiss once upon a time.”

The audacity of this awful man. How dare he bring that up. In my house. Where he is a guest.

I turn to lay into him, a soapy fork precariously close to his strong jaw, but Mom shuffles into the kitchen at that exact moment.

“Oh, you two. It’s so nice to see you catching up. When you’re back in New York, you’ll have to get together. We are family now!”

My mom begins to hum, pulling out Tupperware containers for leftovers. Henry hands me another plate, which I silently rinse. We continue like this until all that’s left is the stuff to wash by hand, at which point he grabs a towel and starts drying pots and dishes instead. We don’t exchange a word, but every time his fingers brush against mine, I silently fume. And every time, I see him smirk. That damn smirk. As if he’s trying to get under my skin.

It’s a cruel fucking joke given everything that went down almost a decade ago.

I finish scrubbing the last Pyrex and shove it into his hands. I rinse my own quickly, and instead of drying them, I shake them in his general direction. It catches him off guard. Good. I pat my hands the rest of the way dry on my jeans as I head upstairs to my room.

As soon as I slam the door, I regret not bringing some wine or dessert up here with me. Henry really does ruin everything. If nothing else, a decade later, at least he’s still consistent in that regard.

There’s a small knock on my door, which can only be Hannah. “I’m coming in,” my sister says. The knob turns, and she slips inside.

“So…” Hannah starts, overly chipper, clearly here to test the waters. “How’s it going in here?”

I fall back on the bed and sigh. “I can’t do it. I can’t be around him. He’s a terrible, miserable human. I don’t understand how someone as lovely as Kristine could have spawned that.”

Hannah lies down on the bed beside me, snuggling into my ribs as we’ve always done. We stay that way for a minute, and I brush some of my sweet little sister’s reckless curls off her face.

“Can’t we just put it all behind us?” she asks finally. It’s soft, hopeful.

I hate disappointing Hannah. I’m the big sister. I’m supposed to be the example.

“Henry Cole has made it his mission to humiliate me every chance he gets,” I say slowly. “It’s the same after all this time, and clearly nothing is going to change that goal. So it’s easy for you to say the words Let’s move on, but I genuinely don’t know how to do that.”