“How long are you staying?” he asked.
“That is none of your business.” I swept past him, flicking my wrist to send a magical gust of air toward the flour on the counter that sent the dust sailing into the sink. The rest, I’d have to come back and clean up later.
I grabbed the spare key off the hook, pressing it into my palm until it hurt. Avoiding conflict was straight out of Old Sage’s playbook. New Sage was casting emotional blizzards and wanted an explanation.
“You know what? I’m not leaving until you answer my question. What are you doing here?”
Before he could speak, the front door to the tea shop opened with a jingle, and I heard my parents' laughter as they came inside. Leo’s gaze held mine in a standoff as he pushed the swinging door open and shouted, “We’re in here, Suzanne and David!”
Suzanne and David?Since when did Leo call my parents by their first names? Things were getting weirder by the minute.
“Look who’s finally home!” my mother cried as she entered the kitchen. “Get over here and give me a hug.”
My father walked in behind her, and as my mother pulled me into a perfume-drenched hug, he clapped Leo on the back and gave me a wide grin. “There’s our big city girl!”
“Hey, Dad.” Wasn’t anyone concerned about Leo’s intrusion? Apparently not. My mother ended the hug and held me at arm's length. Her brows drew together as she plucked the hat off my head.
“Oh, sweetie, what did you do to your hair?”
“What do you mean?” I self-consciously touched the smooth strands that ended near my collarbone. It was a new style, and I’d woken up extra early before my flight to make sure it was perfect.
My mother clucked her tongue with disappointment. “Your hair used to be full of life. Now it just hangs there.”
I reached for my hat and resisted the urge to put it back on. I twisted the wool between my fingers and swallowed hard. “What you call life was frizz, Mom. This is better.”
“I guess that’s how you gals wear it in the city,” she said, pressing her lips together in a thin line.
“It’s how anyone who knows how to work a hot iron wears it,” I mumbled, glancing at Leo.
My cheeks burned. When I was younger, my long, frizzy hair was the bane of my existence. Nothing seemed to tame it. Sage the Frizzy Mage became a schoolwide nickname and my classmates would toss crumpled paper at me in the halls to see if they could make the pieces stick.
All I saw was pity in Leo’s eyes. I looked away, trying to re-bottle my emotions. Unfortunately, that’s when I spotted the wall.
I extracted myself from my mother’s scrutiny and walked in horror toward the large corkboard of photos hanging near the pantry.
“What is this?” I asked, grazing a finger over a picture of myself sipping a fruity cocktail under a palm tree on the beach. A photo I’d cropped super close to hide the fact the beach was actually a mural at a Caribbean Fusion restaurant in the city. Next to it was a series of shots from the luxury condo Delia and I had toured during an open house. We’d taken turns photographing each other as if we owned the place.
My actual apartment was the size of a shoebox and rumbled daily thanks to its proximity to the transit station.
So much for location, location, location!
There wereso manyphotos. Travel shots. Plates of food. Me with the reindeer I rescued.
“Did you print out my Instagram feed?” My mouth fell open as I scanned the corkboard.
Most people’s feeds were notoriously embellished. Mine was practically fiction with a warm-toned filter. Even the one with the reindeer—I really did save it!—but they took the picture right before the reindeer sneezed on me and ruined my favorite ugly Christmas sweater. One that oddly featured its long-lost brother with a big red pom-pom.
“We did!” my father crowed. “Isn’t technology amazing?” He pointed to an empty spot near the center of the corkboard. “And we saved a space to immortalize your award. We can’t wait to get a photo of you holding it. Your mom and I are proud of how much you’ve achieved at the agency.”
“I’ve already told all my friends at bookclub,” my mother chimed in. “Oh, and Susan, who works over at the Cold Spell Gazette, said to send her the photo and she’ll feature it in the business section. Can you believe it? A feature! This is the biggest news to hit our town since Mary Higgens’ daughter won a walk-on role in a sitcom! I had to hear about it every time I went out to collect the paper. When Mary reads the feature, she’ll be green with envy.”
“My award?” I choked.
That was the thing about small towns. Everyone knew everyone, and even the smallest news spread faster than icing melting on a hot cookie. The agency might have informed my parents I was coming home, but they hadn’t revealed the reason. My parents probably assumed I was on a celebratory vacation.
Hearing the surprise in my voice, my mother’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You won, Agent of the Year, didn’t you? Because in your last email, you said it was a sure thing.”
I withered under her critical gaze, and a knot of self-doubt tightened under my rib cage. The truth was a block of ice inside my chest, and I was frozen by the fear of disappointment. I’d worked so hard, but anything other than returning home a success would be considered a failure. I couldn’t face those knowing looks.
