Saylor

by Kelsie Rae

“Coming?”

  “To movie night this weekend.”

  “Oh. Um,”––I lick my lips.––“I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it. I’m sorry.”

  “Why not?” Grady and Turner ask, their tiny voices showcasing their outrage.

  Man, they really are two peas in a pod.

  I squeeze my eyes shut to stave off a headache, but it doesn’t do me any good.

  “Miss Swenson?” Grady prods.

  “Um, it just…isn’t a good time for me. I’m sorry, buddy.”

  With a frown, Grady rests his elbows on his desk and stares up at me intently while Turner rushes off to grab something from his backpack.

  “We can do Saturday instead,” Grady offers. “I think my dad said that’s okay.”

  On the verge of tears, I squat down closer to his eye level and choke out, “That’s really sweet of you, but I don’t think I can come to Star Wars night anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s…complicated. I’m sorry, though.”

  “Oh.” His tiny mouth pulls into a thin white line as the little boy I’ve fallen in love with turns into a shell of himself and stares blankly at the wall in front of him.

  What the hell just happened?

  “Grady, what’s wrong?” I ask.

  “A-are you mad at me?” he whispers, still refusing to look at me.

  “What? No, of course not––”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Not at all, Grady.” My heart splinters before I point to my chest and tap my finger against my sternum. “I did something wrong.”

  Confused, he peeks over at me. “What did you do?”

  My smile is tight as I tilt my head to one side and give him the truth. “I did something stupid. And then I yelled at someone because of it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Emotions are hard,” he tells me, a sense of camaraderie blossoming between us. “That’s what Dad says.”

  With a weak laugh, I wipe away a bit of the moisture that’d collected in the corner of my eye. “He’s right. Emotions are very hard sometimes.”

  “Did you say you’re sorry?”

  Another weak laugh escapes me. “Not yet. I’m too mad to say I’m sorry.”

  “I do that too,” he admits with a sheepish grin that looks too much like his father’s. “Is that why you can’t come to Star Wars? Because you’re in time out until you can say sorry?”

  “I guess so.”

  “I do that too. But don’t say sorry unless you mean it.”

  “I won’t,” I promise.

  He smiles back at me. “Okay.”

  “Hey, Grady?” I ask.

  “Yeah?”

  “What does your dad tell you to do when you’re not the only one who needs to apologize?”

  Grady shrugs then drops his voice an octave and mimics his father. “We can only control ourselves. We can’t control the people around us, so it doesn’t matter what they do. What matters is how we react, and that’s on you.” With the surety he gives his speech, I can tell he’s just regurgitating previous conversations and teaching moments with his dad, but I appreciate it nonetheless.

  “You’re right,” I decide before pushing myself up to my full height.

  I can’t control Owen. And yes, he screwed up, and that’s on him. But I screwed up too, and I need to accept the blame for that. I shouldn’t have ever created the Slytherin4ever profile. But it was also kind of nice to have a fresh start with him, even though it wasn’t real. I need to remember that. I did learn one thing, though. I missed Owen. I missed our conversations. The connection we have. All of it. And it hurts to feel used all over again. But the idea of letting him go a second time hurts too. Does it mean I want to open up the can of worms labeled Owen Daniels? After everything we’ve been through, I’m not sure I can handle it. So, where the hell does that leave me?

  The desk behind me squeaks with Turner’s weight, bringing me back to the present as I glance over my shoulder and smile at him.

  Tapping my knuckles against Grady’s desk, I murmur, “Thanks for the chat.”

  “You’re welcome. Will you say sorry soon so we can watch Star Wars, though?”

  I sigh. “Why don’t you keep the tradition alive without me, but you can give me all the details on Monday mornings, okay?”

  He nods. “Okay.”

  “Thanks, bud.” I rub my hands together, then raise my voice so everyone else in the room can hear me. “Alright, guys. Let’s get started, shall we?”

  15

  Saylor

  The next few weeks go by in a blur of numbing chaos. The Boo Bash was great. Owen and I didn’t say more than ten words to each other, but he was there to chaperone, holding up his end of the deal. Though I’m a little ashamed that I was actually surprised he decided to show up.

  Principal Wells gushed about how smoothly everything went, promising that he’d remember this when it came time for choosing a vice-principal. And even though that should’ve made me happy, all I felt was a familiar numb acceptance of the future I’m trying to build. Alone.

  And now, I get to pretend everything’s great, grand, and wonderful at a Thanksgiving dinner that I want no part of.

  Lucky me.

  “Hey, everyone!” I call out to no one in particular as I let myself into my childhood home. The scent of gravy and mashed potatoes tickles my senses, making me smile before I slip off my thick coat and hang it near the door.

  “In the kitchen,” my mom’s voice echoes down the hall. It’s mingled with the floors creaking from my father’s weight as he appears a few seconds later, his arms open wide.

  “Hey, Sweet Pea,” he greets me.

  “Hey, Dad.” I melt into his hug before he places a quick peck against my forehead.

  “Have you been avoiding me, Say?”

  “What?” I pull away and peek up at him. “No hello first? Just going to dive right into the interrogation? And why would you say that?”

  “You haven’t been around lately. Not even for Sunday dinners,” he scolds.

  “I know. Life’s been…busy.”

  “Busy?” Dad challenges, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The guy’s always been in pretty good shape, but his age is slowly catching up with him. It breaks me any time he's holed up on the couch from tweaking his back or pauses to catch his breath when he’s shoveling the driveway. Thankfully, today he seems as impenetrable as possible. Though I’m not sure how great I feel about it, considering all that brooding alpha is directed at me.

  “I’ve been planning a Boo Bash––”

  “That was last month.”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” I mutter before giving him a scowl that would make a lesser man cower in fear.

  My dad only grins and cocks his head to the side. “Go on.”

  “I’ve also been helping Principal Wells with a few other odds and ends too,” I huff.

  “I was lucky enough to raise busy girls who know how to balance their crazy lives with what’s most important. Family. Therefore, I call bullshit, Say.”

  My shoulders sag. “Dad….”

  “Would your disappearance have anything to do with a certain someone moving back to town?”

  “I, uh, well….” I shake my head. “You know about that?”

  “Of course, I know about that, Say,” he returns. “I might not be one for town gossip, but I pay attention to my daughters’ lives, and he was a big part of yours. None of us wanted to bring it up because of your history, but now, it seems like you’re hardly talking to anyone. Period. So, why should we keep walking on eggshells around you?”

  “I never asked any of you to walk around on eggshells––”

  “You didn’t have to. He hurt you, baby girl. And don’t think that I don’t remember what I told you when he left the first time.”

  “Dad––”

  “Don’t change the subject––”

  “Dad––”

 
; “Brock! Skye! Sway! Anthony! Saylor!” my mom’s voice interrupts us from the kitchen. “Get your butts in the dining room! Everything’s on the table!”

  I cringe. “She’s already finished cooking?”

  “Your mom’s on top of things this Thanksgiving.” He drops his voice low and adds, “It’s a modern-day miracle. You can help with clean-up.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry I showed up late. I just figured….”

  “That it would be like every other holiday?” He laughs before tossing his arm around my shoulder and guides me to the dining room. “Nah. She’s been stressed about her girls. Between Sway getting married, Skye’s pending divorce, and your…,” he pauses to search for the right words.

  “My what, Dad?” I challenge.

  “Your blast from the past. It’s been a lot of stress on the family. Especially when you’ve kept us in the dark.”

  “Dad…,” I repeat for what feels like the hundredth time since I walked in here.

  “Don’t Dad me. We’re going to talk after dinner. It’s time.”

  I blow out all the pent-up oxygen in my lungs but nod my agreement. “Fine.”

  “Good girl.” With another quick kiss to the crown of my head, he adds, “Now, go say hi to your mama and see if she needs help carrying anything else from the kitchen. I’m going to round up Sway and Anthony.”

  “Where are they?”

  “They took the snowmobiles out for a quick ride.”

  “Aw, I’m jealous.”

  “The field’s big enough for all of you to tear up plenty of powder. Maybe after dinner, you and Skye can take them out.”

  With a smile, I murmur, “Okay.”

  I watch him disappear down the hall toward the garage, then head into the kitchen to find my mom juggling a bowl of mashed potatoes in one hand and a platter of freshly baked rolls in the other.

  “Hey, Mama,” I lean in and press a quick kiss to her cheek before grabbing the rolls from her.

  “Hey, baby girl. Glad you could make it.”

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Don’t apologize. You’re totally fine, despite whatever crap your dad gave you in the entryway.”

  My nose scrunches with a combination of embarrassment and amusement. “How’d you know?”

  “Because I’ve been his therapist for the past few weeks,” she informs me with a smirk.

  “Way to take one for the team,” I compliment.

  She laughs. “He’s just worried about you. And then with everything else going on, it’s been rough. And you know how your father gets.”

  “He’s a fixer.”

  “Exactly. And therefore, he’s been tinkering away, sticking his nose in everyone else’s business in hopes that it’ll fix things that are out of his control.”

  “Even Anthony’s business? The perfect future son-in-law?”

  She laughs a little harder before correcting herself. “Okay, maybe not Anthony. But he did mention the fact that Sway’s pink hair is a shade darker than it used to be, and he wouldn’t mind seeing her natural locks every once in a while.”

  I snort. He’s always been our biggest fan when it comes to hairstyles, outfits, and everything in between. As long as we didn’t walk out the door looking like prostitutes, then he was cheering us on.

  “And what’s Skye’s crime?” I ask.

  “Skye’s the youngest––”

  “So she can do no wrong,” I finish with a grin. “Lucky little brat.”

  “Who’s a brat?” Skye calls, approaching us with empty hands.

  “You are.”

  She sticks her tongue out at me but doesn’t deny it. Skye has always gotten away with murder, but I assume it’s because our parents were too busy mending my broken heart while trying to help their second-born come to terms with the fact that she would never be able to have children of her own. It was probably refreshing to have a relatively normal caboose to raise during the tough high school years. Until she became the scapegoat for her pending ex, anyway.

  “Good to see you too,” Skye returns before rocking back on her heels to assess the messy kitchen. “How can I help?”

  “Grab the cranberry sauce from the fridge,” Mama orders while scanning the kitchen from a chef’s perspective and mentally checking off random tasks from her imaginary to-do list. “Other than that, I think we’re ready.”

  “It smells amazing, Mama,” I compliment.

  She waves me off. “Let’s enjoy it before it gets cold.”

  We all head to the dining room with our arms full of a mouth-watering feast, then take a seat and say grace before dishing ourselves up.

  “So, how’s the wedding planning going?” Skye asks Sway.

  Anthony plops a large scoop of mashed potatoes onto Sway’s plate as she answers, “Good, I guess. We want to keep everything low key and just get married at the courthouse or something, then go to dinner as a family. But it probably won’t be until next summer or something. I don’t want to be all bundled up for pictures. Who knows, though? Maybe I’ll change my mind.” She lifts her chin toward the gravy. “Hey, Mr. Wright, wanna be my hero and ladle me some gravy too?”

  He scoops a generous portion of brown gravy onto her mashed potatoes while I surmise, “So…you’re not really planning at all then.”

  “You know me.” Sway shrugs. “I’m all about spontaneity. Hell, maybe one of you can get registered online, and we can just do it here for Sunday dinner or something.”

  With a grin, Anthony shakes his head but doesn’t argue. The boy used to plan out what he was wearing the night before, and now, he’s stuck with a girl who flies by the seat of her pants, happy to just go with the flow like a flower child.

  “I think that whatever you decide to do will be great. When I do it all again, it’ll be very different from my first marriage,” Skye informs us as she scoops up some green beans.

  “Like what?” I ask before taking a bite of juicy turkey.

  “I dunno.” Her expression turns wistful but is laced with a deep sadness that weighs heavy on her shoulders. Setting her fork aside, she sighs. “A church, maybe? And a ring of my choice instead of the biggest one Liam could find. And you already know about the dress I’m going to use. Just those kinds of things.”

  “Have you heard from him, honey?” Dad asks gently.

  Skye shakes her head, her tone turning bitter. “Nope. It’s been…six months-ish since we got back from our honeymoon and not a peep. So, ya know, that’s just lovely.”

  With a tight smile, I bump my shoulder to hers. “You got this, Skye. It’ll be okay.”

  As if she’s tasted something sour, her lips pucker, but she bites back her rebuttal and says, “I think that’s enough about me and my pathetic love life. Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

  “I saw a certain someone again at the grocery store,” Sway announces, her gaze turning to me.

  My dad crosses his arms. “And?”

  “And he had a Granite Elementary teacher’s badge pinned to his shirt.”

  “He works with you?” my dad practically screeches.

  I cringe. “Maybe?”

  “Since when?” he demands.

  “Since we were looking for a gym teacher a couple of months ago,” I mumble, shoving another bite of turkey into my mouth.

  Sway interrupts, “So how’s it going? The last I’d heard is that you and Skye went over to his house for a Star Wars marathon.”

  “You’ve been hanging out with him?” Dad interrupts, his face reddening. Although, whether it’s from shock or frustration, I’m not entirely sure.

  I drop my gaze to my plate and push the potatoes around it.

  “Not really.”

  “But kind of,” Sway clarifies. “And yes, I know it’s been a while since Skye informed me about that little tidbit, but you’ll have to forgive me for being behind on the latest gossip. I’ve been a crappy sister lately. Things have been crazy at the cat sanctuary, and we’ve barely been keeping our heads above water
with all the new kittens, and surgeries, and finding them homes, and yeah. You get the picture. So…tell me everything.”

  “Yeah. Fill us in,” Dad demands.

  “There’s not much to tell.” Some water splashes out of my glass as I bring it to my lips and chug almost half of it in one go.

  “Oh, baloney.” Sway turns to Skye. “Skye, you live with her. Tell the vault to open up and give us all the details, will ya?”

  Skye shrugs. “The ball’s in Saylor’s court. So…she pretty much summed it up for you guys. There’s not much to tell.”

  “Well that’s…anticlimactic,” Sway decides.

  “Yup,” I return, popping the ‘p’ at the end.

  And with that, my mom talks about the latest basting techniques while I breathe a sigh of relief for being out of the spotlight for the moment.

  After dinner is cleared, we play a few board games, eat pumpkin pie, then Sway and Anthony head home to their cats before Skye and my mom get caught up in The Bachelor.

  “Hey, Say––” my dad starts, but I cut him off.

  “Let me go to the bathroom first.”

  His gaze narrows, but he motions to the hall. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  Smartass.

  Sneaking past him, he rumbles, “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Of course, you will.”

  I lock the door behind me, then get comfortable on the porcelain throne, desperate for a bit of privacy while feeding the procrastination that dwells inside my soul with the knowledge that I’ll have to face my dad sooner or later.

  Though I choose later.

  My phone lights up with a notification from earlier today as I unlock it to scroll through TikTok and waste a few more minutes. But the name that flashes across the screen acts like a shot of adrenaline.

  It’s a text. Not a message through the Birds and Bees app.

  And it’s for me––Saylor.

  He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named: Happy Thanksgiving, Say. Thinking of you.

  I bite my lower lip, rereading the message as my stomach tightens with regret. I’ve been thinking of him too. Too much, if I’m being honest. And it isn’t because of my family bringing him up over and over again. Nope. The bastard has consumed my every thought for almost a decade, no matter how hard I’ve tried to deny it. Now, it’s just worse.