“What’s the new job?” my dad inquires, and his unexpected interest leaves me a little uneasy about this entire conversation. I really shouldn’t have said anything until the offer is official.
“Executive pastry chef,” I mumble.
It all sounds so terribly glamorous.” Angela gives me a wink. “I’ll look out for you to judge Top Chef someday.”
“There might even be a publishing deal for a recipe book,” my mom announces, and truly, who is this woman bragging about me? If I had the job and book deal in hand, I’d be thrilled by her sudden interest in my career, but instead, my stomach churns.
“Well, it’s not official or anything.”
My dad’s eyebrows raise as he takes it all in. “Keep us updated,” he instructs.
“Yeah. Sure.” Grasping for a subject change, I shamelessly throw my brother under the bus. “So, Owen, how’s Nora? Are you two still dating?”
My mom stops with the coffeepot in hand, her gaze swinging to my brother. “Owen, you have a girlfriend?”
“Who’s Nora?” my dad chimes in.
Owen glares at me over his THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE PEMBERLEY coffee mug. “She’s just a friend.”
“Friend with benefits,” I mouth at him across the table. Out loud, I say, “She’s super pretty and really, really into Owen. And so nice, too.”
“Shut up,” Owen mouths back.
Most mothers would be happy to hear that their thirty-year-old son has met a nice girl, but not mine. No woman will ever be good enough for her baby. “Well, don’t let her distract you from your work,” my mom advises.
“But,” I chime in innocently, “isn’t it a thing in your circles that a man with a big pile of money must be looking for a wife… or something like that?”
My mom’s graduate student slaps her hands on the table. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife!”
I’ve been around the block enough times to know she’s quoting Austen. “See?” I nod and point in agreement. “Owen’s on the marriage track.”
“Are you serious about this girl?” my father asks.
Lucky for my brother, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it!” Owen jumps up, intentionally knocking into me as he rounds the table and makes a break for the foyer. “Jacob’s here!” he announces when he returns a minute later.
I sit up straight, and my head swings to the dining room entrance where Jacob is standing. He always stops by on holidays, of course Jacob’s here. And, oh look… Paige came, too. She’s leaning really, really close to him, and… Wow. That doorway is narrower than I remember.
Jacob and Paige move into the room, and my dad pulls up two more chairs. Somehow, Jacob ends up next to me, with Paige across the table.
“Thanks for letting me tag along with Jacob.” Paige smiles at my parents. “He was raving about Sadie’s pies over dinner. I had a chance to try a few of her pastries at Owen’s birthday party, and they were amazing.”
I shoot her a grateful look.
“Where are you from, Paige?” my dad asks.
“I grew up in California and came to the East Coast for grad school a few years ago. I love it, but it’s hard this time of year without any family nearby.” She flashes Jacob a smile. “I appreciate Jacob’s parents welcoming me. And now your family, too.”
“Which grad program?” my dad asks, because of course he does.
“I did my PhD at Johns Hopkins,” Paige says. “Then I moved to New York for a job at the Institute for Public Health Policy.”
“That sounds very prestigious.”
My dad and Paige launch into a conversation about her work. I try to follow along, but Jacob’s cinnamony scent drifts toward me, and the tender, spiced apples in my pie smell canned in comparison.
“So,” I murmur in his direction. “Paige seems really great.”
“Yeah, we’ve been hanging out recently.” Jacob shifts in his seat so he’s facing me. “I lived next to her for a few years, but we really never said more than hi in the elevator until I sent her that wine and chocolate like you suggested.”
Oh, lovely. A reminder that Paige and Jacob’s relationship is all my doing. Just what I needed. “Well, I’m really happy for you.”
“Are you?” He gives me an odd look.
Of course not.
“Of course.” I smile broadly. “She’s lovely. Smart, obviously. And really pretty, and super-fun. Very outgoing.” I can’t seem to stop babbling. “I really like her. She seems great.” Pretty sure I already said that. “And if you’re happy, I’m…” I’m what? I have no idea. I wave my hand in the air. “… you know.”
“Happy?” Jacob prompts.
“Exactly.” I give him a friendly little punch on the arm, and God, if someone could please stop me before I humiliate myself further, that would be super. My only consolation is that I didn’t call him “buddy.”
Yet.
He definitely looks like he’s trying not to laugh at me.
“Okay, well. Nice chatting with you.” I pick up an empty pan and head for the door.
In the kitchen, I put away the leftover food and scrub the pots and pans until Martha Stewart herself couldn’t find anything to criticize. But once the kitchen is sparkling, something holds me back from going out into the dining room. Maybe it’s my dad’s admiration of Paige’s degrees that leaves me a little depressed. For once, my parents seem vaguely interested in my career, but it’s not like the promotion is official or anything. And now I really need it to happen, or I don’t know what I’ll tell them.
Maybe I’m bothered by the fact that Jacob brought Paige. I can’t seem to stop thinking about that night in my apartment. And he can’t seem to stop showing up with his pretty, smart, and outgoing neighbor, proving that he’s absolutely not thinking about that night in my apartment.
I grab my dad’s old coat from the hook by the back door and head out into the November chill. Maybe a walk will clear my head. I circle the neighborhood a couple of times, but when an icy rain begins to fall, I head back. As I turn the corner onto my parents’ block, I slow my steps. There’s a man standing alone in the driveway. He’s just outside the dim pool of the streetlamp, and from this angle, he doesn’t resemble my dad or Owen, or—as far as I can tell—any of our Thanksgiving guests. I can’t decide if he looks menacing. Either way, it’s late, and dark, and I’m alone. I reach in my pocket for my pepper spray, but my hand comes up empty except for a crumpled tissue and an ancient Halls Mentho-lyptus. I’m not in the city and this is my dad’s coat.
I take a deep breath. My family is right inside the house, and this is a nice, safe neighborhood. Surely, freaking out over a strange man lurking in the rainy darkness is totally an overreaction, right? I inch closer, trying to peer over the shrubbery to see if I can get a better look at him. He looks tall and lean, but that tells me exactly nothing about whether or not he intends to murder me and bury my body in the woods behind the New Brunswick mall.