“Mm.”
“And Salem! Can you imagine? He’s already met people from the governor’s office—”
“Mom.”
She pauses, glancing over her shoulder. “What?”
“I don’t really want to talk about Nick’s career.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Her voice softens the way it always does when she’s trying to smooth something over. “He’s doing well for himself. You should be proud.”
I stare down into my tea. “Yeah. Sure.”
I can feel her wanting to say something else—something about how I should be doing more, or maybe about how she worries I’m wasting my potential fixing up bikes instead of people. But she doesn’t. Maybe she’s finally learned that lecture doesn’t land.
Instead, she sighs and changes the subject. “I told him Edie’s coming. I thought that was nice. You three used to be so close.”
My grip tightens on the mug. “Yeah,” I say carefully. “Real close.”
“Poor thing,” Mom continues, not noticing. “I felt terrible about how things ended with her. Such a sweet girl. Always helping at those school events. Heck, always helping out around here, no requests asked! I don’t know what happened.”
“Neither do I.”
But I know how it looked, from the outside. Perfect son, golden boy, pillar of the community—dumping his girlfriend because she was, what, too loud? Too curvy? Toomuch?
He always did care about appearances more than sense. It’s like he stared at that ‘90s entertainment system and huffed some of that classic lemon cleaner for so long that he couldn’t take it anymore.“I must have more than this.”I can practically hear it in his voice. He saw how our parents peaked before we were born, with their large middle-class house that is now way behind the times, and stroked out.
“Anyway,” Mom says, wiping her hands. “I’m heading to bed. Try not to stay up too late tinkering on that phone. Big day tomorrow.” She leans over and kisses the top of my head before shuffling out of the kitchen.
The moment she’s gone, I attempt to enjoy the silence in this old, familiar kitchen where I still have dinner once or twice a week. The house creaks like it’s alive. Water rushes through the pipes, which at least have been updated fromcopper,and wind rattles against the windows. Somewhere upstairs, a door opens.
Can I enjoy this silence a little while longer? I didn’t mean to stay long. Honestly, I dropped by because I needed to hear Mom’s voice before I went to sleep tonight. Maybe bring up Edie, if I thought she could handle it. Out of the whole family, my mom’s the one most accepting of who I’ve turned out to be. Dad’s oblivious, and Nick…
Well, Nick has descended from the guest room, because of course he came a day early to beat the holiday traffic from the valley. “You still drink that cheap tea?”
I don’t bother looking up. “You still a smug asshole?”
He laughs like a news anchor and steps into the doorway. He’s wearing a crisp button-down and slacks like he’s on his way to a fundraiser, not standing in his mom’s kitchen at nine o’clock at night. His hair’s slicked back, his tie loose, and his smile as white as a politician’s… well, you know. It’s Oregon, after all.
“Nice to see you too, sis.”
“Can’t say the same.”
He leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “You’re coming to dinner tomorrow?”
“Apparently.”
“Good. Mom likes that.”
“Don’t pretend you care what Mom likes.”
His eyes flicker, but he doesn’t take the bait. Damn. “You look good,” he says, instead. “Still working at the garage?”
“Still pretending you’re better than everyone?”
There it is—a crack in his polished composure. “Jesus, Wren. Can’t you go one night without being combative? ‘Tis the season of holiday cheer and goodwill towardmen.”
“Can’t you go one night without being fake?”
