Riley pushes past her. “Come on, don’t stand there in the doorway like that, you loser. Get in here.”
I’m swept past Vera and into the house without even getting a chance to properly scent her. She just watches me from over her shoulder as she closes the door, and I can’t tell what to make of the closed-off expression on her face. Does she still hate me? She probably stopped thinking about that night years ago. Unlike me.
Probably moved on. She’s probably been up at college enjoying her newfound freedom and living her best life. Why does that thought send all the hairs on the back of my head on end?
We enter the living room, and suddenly I’m fighting down a bitter taste in my mouth, despite the mouthwatering smells coming from the kitchen and the warm glow from the fire.
Tilly looks up from her chair with a bright smile. “Sebastien. It’s so lovely to see you again. Congratulations, neighbor. It’ll be good to have you back in number twelve.”
I bend down to hug her and notice the way her hand trembles as she pats me on the back. She quickly tucks in under the blanket on her lap again, though, and resumes the conversation, asking about my parents and offering me a drink.
Jamie is just as enthusiastic, wrapping me in another big hug and fetching me a beer, and soon it almost feels like I’m home, surrounded by so many familiar things and people.
I cast a furtive look around at Vera, who sits on the sofa chair by the fire, but she won’t meet my eye. And though I try to ignoreit, the guilty feeling tugs at me all the way through the delicious lunch, despite the warm, easy conversation with everyone else.
Vera is quiet. Way too quiet. Even when I work up the courage to ask a few direct questions about her life, she deflects and the conversation flows on.
I hate the tension between us. I shouldn’t, but I’d really like a chance to speak with her alone and see if I can set things right. We might not ever be able to be as close as we once were, but I can’t stand not seeing her smile and laugh like normal.
THREE
Bastien
Tilly pushes the mashed potatoes toward me, and I help myself to my third serving. I forgot how good Jamie’s cooking is.
She turns to her daughter at the other side of the table. “When does your internship start, Vera?”
I cast a glance at Vera, who stuffs her last spoonful of ham and beans into her mouth and sits back in her seat with a satisfied sigh. “Soon,” she says around her mouthful. I laugh to myself remembering the way she used to stuff so much lasagna into her mouth when she was eight that she could hardly chew it. She’s always been determined.
Tilly lets out a sigh. “Good to see you can ignore me just as well in person as you do over messages.”
“Mom! I’m not ignoring you, I just haven’t heard back from the ranger who is supposed to be my mentor. It’s Christmas. I probably won’t hear for another couple days.”
Jamie stands to take the plates, but Tilly stops him with a wave of her hand. “Let me.”
The conversation stops, and in the silence around the table we all try hard not to notice the way her hands shake as she gathers the plates and stacks them into a pile. She drops the last one with a crash, and I jump to my feet. “Surely that’s my job. You have to let me do the washing up to say thank you for having me.”
Tilly gives me a tired smile. “It’s just a plate, but I won’t say no to some help, Bastien, if you’re offering. I’ll clean up out here.”
Riley leans back in his chair. “I won’t fight you or Mom for it.”
Tilly sighs. “You’d think I didn’t raise either of them right, wouldn’t you?”
Vera jumps to her feet too and helps me gather the plates. “Alright, message received.”
Riley is typing something on his phone. “Be there in a sec.”
Tilly gathers the pieces of broken crockery while Jamie fetches a trash bag. “Make it quick, kids. Pictionary starts in twenty minutes.”
Funny to hear myself referred to as a kid again at almost twenty-six, but if there’s anyone in the world who has the right, it’s Mr Ballard. He basically raised me.
We groan at the promise—or threat—of Pictionary, but secretly I can’t wait. Family game night at the Ballards felt like the ultimate VIP invite when I was a kid. It’ll be good to relive that memory. Maybe it will help Vera and me relax in each other’s company too.
I’m conscious of her behind me as we take the dishes to the kitchen and place them by the sink.
“Thanks, Bas. I don’t think Mom has let anyone help her without a fight in weeks. She’s always had a soft spot for you.”
“Aw, I’m glad to help.” I dump the dishes and start running the hot water when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and turn. Vera lifts off the oversized sweater, dropping it onto a hook on the wall, and I have to concentrate real hard on not letting my jaw drop. Turns out that sweater was coveringa figure that’s very different than I remember. She’s no longer the scrawny kid who used to follow me and Riley around. The woman standing in front of me is full and curved in places my hands itch to touch, and she’s strong. When her t-shirt lifts, revealing a few inches of belly above the waistband of her leggings, I’m sure I catch sight of tight abs, and beneath the stretchy fabric her thighs are thick. For half a second I imagine what they’d feel like wrapped around my ears, until I snap out of it and realize what a goddam inappropriate thought that is to be having about my best friend’s little sister.
