The backyard glows gold in the late afternoon sun. Smoke curls up from the grill. Someone’s playlist crackles through a tinny Bluetooth speaker—throwback pop and early 2000s hits we all pretend we don’t still know every word to.
Everyone’s loose.
Laughing.
Happy.
Normal.
Which makes me feel even more out of place.
Sage doesn’t leave my side.
At first I think it’s strategic. Territorial.
But then… it isn’t.
She drags me into a ping-pong game on the folding table out back, trash-talks Tony with a grin, high-fives me when I accidentally score. She lets me pick the next three songs. We line up paper plates and cutlery together like we’re hosting Thanksgiving.
It’s easy.
Too easy.
She bumps my hip with hers. “You’re actually fun, you know.”
“Thanks… I think?”
“No, seriously. Why don’t we hang out more?”
I don’t know how to answer that.
Because you’ve never wanted to?
Because you always looked at me like I was Ethan’s annoying intern?
Because I never knew if you liked me or tolerated me?
Instead, I just smile.
Guard still up.
Always up.
Later, when we sneak inside to refill drinks, the house is cooler, quieter. The hum of the party muffled behind the door.
Sage leans against the counter while pouring vodka into a glass.
“You know,” she says casually, like she’s talking about the weather, “it’s kinda hard being Ethan’s girlfriend sometimes.”
I glance up.
She doesn’t look at me. She watches the ice instead.
“You guys all work together. You’ve known each other forever. Inside jokes, stories, history.” She shrugs lightly. “I’m kind of the outsider.”
Something in her voice softens.
Real soft.
