The Second Chance Year(66)

My brother squints at me. “Seriously, what’s the matter?”

I shrug, looking over his shoulder at the family photos lining the wall that my mom used to insist we take every year. I’ll never tell anyone what really happened at Xavier’s. It’s the most mortifying thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’d love to erase the memory from my own head. What a complete idiot I was, staying late, cheerfully organizing ingredients in the pantry, and making an extra-special effort to earn a promotion Xavier never intended to give me.

I really was nothing but a nice face and a perky pair of tits after all.

“I didn’t get the promotion.” I try it out on Owen, practicing for my parents tomorrow.

“Shit. I’m sorry. What happened?”

Maybe I’m just being sensitive, maybe it’s my parents’ voices humming in my head, accompanied by a rousing chorus of my own insecurities, but what I hear is: What did you do?

“I don’t know. He just gave the promotion to someone else.” I move into the living room and flop onto the couch.

Owen follows, sitting on the chair opposite of me. “I really thought you had it.”

I did, too. But looking back, Xavier never said the job was mine. He said he had his eye on me, that I’d be happy with his choice, and I was doing a great job. But it was how he said those things. I know I didn’t read into them.

Did I?

Somehow, Xavier is still gaslighting me, and he’s not even here.

“Well, you deserved that fucking job,” Owen says, and I feel bad for all my unkind thoughts about him earlier.

“Well, now I have to tell Mom and Dad.” I prop my feet up on the coffee table and accidently kick over a pile of books. Sophocles and Euripides tumble to the floor, but I don’t have the energy to rescue them. “And they’re already devastated that I turned down Alex’s proposal, so they can add this to the list of ways I disappointed them.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”

“What is?”

“That not agreeing to spend the rest of your life with someone who was incredibly wrong for you means you’re disappointing Mom and Dad.”

I look up. “Alex was incredibly wrong for me?”

“Yes? Obviously? I mean—” He holds up a hand like he’s about to count off the ways on his fingers, but then he hesitates. “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

“Well, are you one hundred percent sure you’re done with him?” He leans forward in his chair. “I’m only asking because I don’t want to shit-talk him and then have you turn around and get back with him later. That never ends well.”

I wave my hand in a have-at-it gesture. “Shit-talk away.”

Owen opens his mouth and then closes it. He frowns. “Well, now that I know I’m allowed, I don’t really feel like it. I mean, he was incredibly wrong for you, but he was an okay dude.”

I sit up straight. “If you thought he was wrong for me, why didn’t you say something when we were dating?”

“Seriously?” Owen shakes his head. “Please refer back to it never ends well.”

“Well, you’re right. Alex was incredibly wrong for me.” I slump back against the couch cushions. “But Mom and Dad are still devastated.”

“Are you devastated? What do you care if they are?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Says the son who literally never devastates them.”

He gets up out of his chair and goes into the kitchen. I hear the refrigerator door open and glass clinking around. A minute later, Owen is back holding two bottles of beer. He hands me one and takes a long swig of the other.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, you know.” Owen drops back into his chair.

“What are you talking about?”

“Being the good son. I realize it’s obnoxious to be like, Woe is me, my parents love me too much, but… you’ve met them. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“Really?” I squint at him across the room. “It never seemed like a lot of pressure. They’ve always been thrilled to support you to do all the computer-y stuff you like.”

Owen takes another gulp of his beer and sets it on the side table on top of a hardback copy of Middlemarch. “Well, that’s only because I did the computer-y things they approved of.”

“Wait.” I blink at him. “So, you don’t want to be doing… whatever it is that you do? I thought you loved AstRoBot.”

“I mean, I like it. It’s good. It’s fine. But…” He sighs. “When I was a kid, I wanted to design video games.”

“Yeah… I figured that was something you grew out of. Or…” I trail off. Or what? I remember how he was always inventing games on that old basement Mac. And how his eyes lit up with excitement when he described a new idea to me and Jacob over brunch that one day. Gaming has always been a passion for Owen, but I guess it never occurred to me that he might like to do it as a career. His ascension to CTO of AstRoBot has been so meteoric that it’s all anyone ever focused on. “Do Mom and Dad know?”

“Do they know I’d prefer to be designing video games? Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Do they acknowledge or care that this is something that would make me happy?”