“Thanks.” My mouth is suddenly dry, and it comes out like a whisper.
He lowers his arms but doesn’t back up. “Is this another diversion?”
“A diversion from what?” But I know exactly what. From the way he makes me feel cold and then hot, solid and then liquid, like chocolate melting on the stove.
“Sadie,” he says in a low voice. “Can we talk about what happened that night at your apartment? I don’t think I did a very good job of explaining myself.”
I stare at the buttons on his shirt, so I don’t have to look him in the eye. “I think you explained yourself pretty well.” We might have a physical attraction, but he made it clear, not once but twice, that he’s not into me. “That night was a mistake. I’m not really sure why we need to rehash it.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.” He blows out a frustrated breath. “That I’m sorry—”
“God, please stop.” I press my hands to my burning cheeks. “If you apologize for kissing me one more time, I’m going to scream.” Pushing past him, I head for the door.
“Sadie.” He whirls around and grabs my arm before I can escape. “I’m not saying I’m sorry I kissed you. I’m saying I’m sorry I stopped kissing you.”
I freeze, and he slides his hand up to my shoulder, gently turning me so I face him. “Can we please talk about this?”
Before I can answer, the distant voices of Owen and his friends grow closer out in the café. Jacob lets go of me, and I hurry to the other side of the kitchen just as Owen pushes open the door with a handful of dishes.
He pauses, looking back and forth between me and Jacob. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No.” I lift an innocent shoulder. “Of course not.”
Owen’s brow furrows like he knows I’m lying. “Right, well, everyone’s heading out.” He glances in Jacob’s direction. “You coming? Paige is waiting for you.”
“Uh…” Jacob clears his throat. “I should stay and help clean up.”
“It’s fine,” José Luis says, breezing in from the back alley. “We’re almost done here. Sadie and I can finish up, and I’ll walk her home.”
“Great,” Owen says, his voice buoyant. “Thanks, man.” I’m not sure if he’s extra-chipper from the alcohol or because he’s trying to shut down whatever’s going on between me and Jacob. Maybe Jacob wasn’t wrong to consider how Owen would feel about the two of us getting involved. This could get as sticky as toffee pudding, and my brother would be stuck right in the middle.
I put on a bright smile. “Yeah, thanks, José Luis.”
Owen crosses the room to give me a hug. “This was great, Sadie. You’re the best.”
“Happy birthday.” I give him a squeeze in return. “Have fun with Nora,” I add in a sing-song voice, because as his sister, I’m contractually obligated to take every opportunity to tease him. “You’d better call me tomorrow and tell me if there’s anything serious going on between you two.”
“No call necessary, then.” Owen gives me a cocky grin. “This is purely friends with benefits.”
“Ew!” I cover my ears. “Don’t say another word about the benefits.”
The kitchen door swings open, and Paige and Nora walk in.
“You guys ready to go?” Paige asks, sidling up next to Jacob. “So convenient that our apartments are in exactly the same direction.” She gives him a flirty smile.
Jacob pauses and, even though I’m looking anywhere but at him, I feel his gaze on me. “You sure you don’t need help cleaning up?”
For a second, I’m tempted to ask him to stay. But most of the dishes are in the dishwasher, José Luis has already taken the bottles out to the alley, and Paige is clinging to him like caramel on an apple. What would be the point?
“I’m sure.” I meet his eyes now.
“Okay.” He pauses for another moment before turning and following Paige through the kitchen door.
Chapter 28
November
I arrive for Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’ house with homemade pies, and Owen arrives moments later with store-bought chocolates. Naturally, my mom swoons over the chocolates so wildly you’d think Godiva stuffed those truffles with opium. On the subject of my pies, she gives me a distracted “oh, thanks,” and heads to her office to finish up some emails.
I leave the desserts in the kitchen where my dad is rushing around swearing at whatever’s burning in the oven while green beans boil over on the stove. He’s always enjoyed cooking as a break from the wretchedness of Oedipus and Antigone, but to be honest, his dried-out Thanksgiving turkey is always a bit of its own tragedy. I’d offer to help, but he doesn’t like my method of mashing potatoes with the mixer because it’s not traditional. Instead of pointing out that the ancient Greeks wrote on parchment scrolls but that doesn’t mean my dad has any plans to ditch his laptop, I wander to the living room to watch football with Owen. On the way, my mom calls to me from her office off the hallway.
“Sadie, can you stop in here for a minute?”
I take slow steps, feeling like I’ve been caught sneaking in after curfew. I’ve only been home for ten minutes; what could I have possibly done to warrant being summoned to my mom’s office?
“How was your train ride?” my mom asks after she’s sat on the opposite end of her office couch from me.
“Uh, fine.” Did she call me in to chitchat?
“No problems with the connection?”
“Nope.”
“And—” She examines her nails without looking at me. “How’s Alex?”
I flinch. Oh, here we go. “How would I know? We broke up.”
“Of course.” My mom turns to arrange the pile of books on the coffee table. “I just thought maybe you still talked once in a while.”
“No.” I don’t tell her he’s called a couple of times and I stared at the screen, debating whether to answer until the phone eventually stopped ringing. “We don’t talk.”
She does a headshake-shrug combination like, I’m just asking, why are you getting so defensive? “Okay.”
We both stare at the opposite wall. Is Alex the only reason she called me in here? Am I dismissed now? I should make a run for it before she pulls out the college brochures, but something holds me back. We never sit on the couch and talk. “So, uh. How’s work?”
My mom blinks like she’s surprised I asked. “It’s fine. I’m spending most of my time prepping my presentation for the National Conference of Language and Literature.” She feigns a shiver. “It’s in Minnesota. In January.”
“Oh wow. That sounds… unpleasant. Is Dad going with you?”
“These days, your father prefers to hole up in his office writing textbooks. He doesn’t present much at conferences anymore. And you know.” She rolls her eyes. “He can get away with it.”
“He can? Why?”
“He’s a full professor with three decades at the university.”