I’m grateful she’s here now, for our parents’ wedding anniversary this weekend.
My smile falters through her venting spiel when I realize something.
Vi knew about the partyweeksin advance. I only found out after a casual remark from my mother last week. And now, I’m worried Levi won’t be available, given the short notice.
I sent him the digital invite a week ago. He hasn’t mentioned it yet. But then again, we’ve barely spoken.
I swallow the rising panic in my throat. It can’t be because ofher—
“Are you even listening?Lord, Cece! Why do you always drift off mid-sentence?” Vivienne tosses a grape at me from across the kitchen island, and it bounces off my forearm.
I blink, startled, then force a smile. “Sorry. I was just—uh, going over some figures in my head.”
She raises a skeptical brow, the same one she inherited from our mother. But on her, it’s less scripted andneverscheming. “You’re always going over figures in your head. I’m starting to think they live there permanently.”
I reach for the grape, toss it back. “That’s capitalism for you. You’ll get there.
She laughs, the sharp sound brightening the room. “Fuck, no. I’m okay with where I am.”
I smirk, but I’m already shifting slightly in my seat. The pressure in my chest is quiet but present. Like static before a storm. I’d learned to mask it well over the years—this constant hum of nervous energy that flares whenever the unknown is involved.
Maybe I’m overthinking again. Maybe his ex has nothing to do with—
“I don’t like when you disappear like this,” Vi says more softly this time, studying me. “You’ve been really… distracted since I got here.”
I wave her off, but her tone hardens. “I mean it, Cece. If something’s wrong—”
“There’s nothing wrong,” I interrupt, more sharply than intended. Then softer, “I’m okay. I promise.”
She looks unconvinced. I try again. “It’s just thismerger, you know? And the wedding. I need it all to go smoothly.”
She squints at me. “Why do I feel like there’s something else this time?”
God, why is she always able to read between the lines?Mylines.
Probably because she knows, Cece.
I reach out, tucking a lock of her dark hair behind her ear like I used to when we were kids. “There’s nothing, alright? Don’t worry about me. Just focus on making it through that assignment of yours without rage-quitting.”
She rolls her eyes but softens. “I swear if one more teammate starts talking about ‘daily alignment calls’, I’m going to tattoo ‘fuck you’ on my forehead so they see it first thing.”
I grin. “I’d help pay for it.”
“Ugh.” She shakes her head but sobers up just as quickly. “Have you resumed it?”
I know exactly what she’s asking. I still can’t recall why I stopped my bi-weekly therapy sessions. The timing is dangerously close to two months ago. That first time Levi uttered those three wonderful words.
“Yeah, I’m… planning to. Soon.”
She nods, seemingly satisfied, and launches into yet another rant of her classmates.
As I glance at the time on my phone—7:13 p.m.—a familiar worry claws back into my gut.
Will he even show tonight?
He said he would.
But Levi’s canceled on me thrice these past two weeks. One time because of some board call. Another because his parents had called him for a family emergency. I could’ve been okay with it—consideringit isn’t the first time he’s done that. But it’s the first time his messages seem more terse.
