Mom glances at me, brows pulling together. “You expecting somebody?”
“No.”
Too fast. Too thin.
We both freeze.
Dad wouldn’t drive up here.
He wouldn’t show up without warning.
He…
No.
He doesn’t know I’m here. He can’t. We were careful.
The knock comes a third time, more insistent.
Mom presses a hand to my arm. “Stay here.”
The rolling pin is suddenly slick in my hands. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The room feels too small, the walls are inching in. I focus on breathing.In. Out. Don’t pass out into the cookie dough. That would really ruin the aesthetic.
Mom pads down the hall and peeks through the curtain.
Her breath hitches.
“Mom?” My voice comes out in a whisper. “Who is it?”
She unlatches the door and swings it open. “Charlotte?”
My baby sister barrels inside as a winter tornado, dragging a massive tote bag that looks like it weighs more than she does. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her black coat is dusted with snow, and her gaze snaps to mine in an instant.
“You really are here.”
For a beat, I can’t move. Then she launches herself at me.
Her arms lock around my shoulders so tight it nearly knocks the breath out of me. I bury my face in her hair and squeeze her back, my chest cracking in a way that hurts and soothes at the same time.
I haven’t seen her since Thanksgiving. The version of me she hugged then was smaller, quieter, more obedient. A decorative daughter, carefully arranged.
This version is cracked and singed, smelling of cookie dough and mild panic.
When she pulls away, her eyes are already shiny.
“You scared the hell out of me,” she says. “You scared everyone.”
“I’m sorry.”
It comes out brittle, sharper than I mean it to.
She shakes her head hard. “Don’t apologize. Just… wow, I needed to see you with my own eyes. Dad is making me crazy.”
Mom closes the door and starts rubbing her hands up and down Charlotte’s arms like she’s still eight and coming in from sledding. “Come in, sweetheart. You’ll freeze standing there.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask softly. “Aren’t your midterms coming up? I thought you were swamped.”
“I am. I was.” She lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “But Dad keeps calling me. Over and over. He thinks you’ve ‘run off to embarrass him.’ His words.” Her mouth twists. “He’s furious, Faith. He’s convinced you’re hiding somewhere in the city, or with one of your ‘flaky friends,’ also his words. He definitely didn’t think to look here.”
