Текст книги " Bittersweet"

Автор книги: Sarah Ockler

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Five seconds.”

“I’m changing the specials to half-price apps. Then I’m packing up all of the cupcakes and desserts from the pastry case.” I grab my coat from the stool and dig out the keys, dangling them in front of her. “Warm up the Tetanus Taxi and wait for me in the passenger seat. I’ll meet you outside in five minutes.”

“Hud, what are you—”

“I’ll explain on the way. Five minutes!”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dani wipes the fog from the window with her sleeve as we roll out of the parking lot, the entire backseat covered in white bakery boxes and paper plates.

“Mom was really counting on that review tonight,” I say.

“Yeah, thanks for caring, like, three hours ago when we could’ve used the help.”

“Just because I’m mad at Mom doesn’t mean I don’t care. I don’t want her to lose the restaurant.”

“You should’ve been there, Hudson.”

I smack the steering wheel with my fist. “The guy didn’t like the food! He—”

“You still should’ve been there. It’s your family.”

“I know. And this is the only way I could think of to get Hurley’s back on the map.”

“What way? Where are we going?”

I downshift, slowing on an unplowed stretch of road. The wheels slip, but I keep us going in a straight line. “Baylor’s.”

“The Wolves game?”

“Finals. It’s a big-deal game.”

She shakes her head and lets out a half laugh. “Are you really that selfish, or—”

“The whole school’s there tonight, Dani.” Snow falls in big, sideways flakes against the windshield. I turn the wipers to a higher speed and downshift again, the engine whining in response. “Half the town, too.”

“Yeah, and I’d be there with them if I could, but some things are more important—”

“And they’re all probably hungry.” I flip on my turn signal and ease into the right lane. “Mom asked for a cupcake miracle? Well, here comes the freaking holy angel of icing, at your service.”

Dani looks at the white boxes stacked across the backseat. From the corner of my eye, I catch her smiling.

“Angel of icing?” she says. “That’s the craziest, corniest, most whack-ass stuff I ever heard in my life.” She turns away, looking out the window as the Fillmore smokestacks rush by. “Freaking brilliant,” she whispers.

I wasn’t supposed to hear that last part, but I did, and I smile, too.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hudson Avery’s Last-Chance Triple/Triple Combo Cupcakes

Dark chocolate espresso cupcakes topped with cinnamon café au lait icing, white chocolate chips, and chocolate-covered espresso beans

I bribe Marcus, the Baylor’s manager, with two cupcakes in exchange for locating a folding table and setting us up near the rink exit. With only minutes left in the game, Dani and I spread the cupcakes out on plates in a colorful display, chocolate and sugar and mint mascarpone mingling in a wave of sweet air.

“I hope you’re right about this.” Dani licks a smudge of vanilla frosting from her finger. “And I hope they dig your skatetrix getup.”

I drop some plastic forks into a cup at the end of the table and shake my rainbow-sequined ass. “I rock this thing and you know it.”

“Oh no, you did not just say that.” Dani laughs, but we’re both startled by the loud, game-ending buzzer. For a split second time stops, and then the cheers grow louder, a roar pushing out from the rink as the arena doors fly open. The crowd is insane, swarming the ice en masse. Above the center line, the school jazz ensemble flashes its brass horns, ready for a victory song.

Trust me—until you’ve heard Watonka’s future jazz stars blow Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like the Wolf,” you haven’t lived.

“They won!” Dani stands on her toes, trying to catch a glimpse inside.

Seconds later the first wave crashes through the doorway, breaking on our table like an avalanche.

“Get your free Wolves victory cakes here!” I cup my hands in front of my mouth and shout over the roar of the crowd as they surround us, mouths open, hands outstretched. “Free cupcakes, courtesy of Hurley’s Homestyle Diner! Stop by tonight for half-price appetizers with every meal.”

“Free cupcakes!” Dani echoes. “Free Hurley’s gourmet cupcakes! Celebrate a sweet season with a sweet treat!”

“Stop by Hurley’s on Route Five for more great food and great company!” I say it as often as I can, whenever another hand reaches out from the mob to snag a cupcake. Their rabid, mannerless devouring is the highest compliment, and with every cupcake-muddled thank-you, I make a wish that this crazy plan is enough. Enough to save Hurley’s. Enough to mop up the spills. Enough to bring us all back from the abyss.

For the next half an hour we’re engulfed in a sea of blue and silver, but the boys aren’t in it. No way they would’ve spotted us from the ice, and by now they’re in the locker room recapping their epic win and planning a well-earned night out. Papallo’s, maybe, or one of Luke’s or Amir’s infamous parties.

I hand a Razzle Berry Blast Cupcake to another waiting fan, ignoring the burn in my chest. I miss celebrating with them. I’m sure Dani’ll score an invite from Frankie later, but these days, Princess Pink isn’t high on anyone’s A list.

By the time the crowd blows over, we’re completely cleaned out, nothing but cake crumbs and chocolate smudges from table to floor. After we clean up and stash the table with Marcus, I slip into the arena, hoping against logic for a glimpse at Josh. But save for the cleaning crew sweeping up rejected popcorn kernels and other left-behinds, the place is vacant. On the rink the Zamboni machine does its usual circuit, erasing slashes and gouges, the on-ice evidence of tonight’s record-breaking victory march wiped clean.

Back on Route Five, in an unprecedented comeback of its own, Hurley’s diner is slammed.

Dani and I push our way through a small mob in the front doorway, wading through wall-to-wall bodies to get to Marianne.

“Hudson, you genius little devil!” Marianne calls across the crowd, beaming. “We’re on a forty-five minute wait for a table. Get in here!”

Dani throws her coat under the hostess stand and jumps back onto the floor while I zoom to the back, digging my reserve cupcakes out of the cooler. Dani delivers them as fast as I can thaw and frost, no time for a nonsmoke break, no time to explain this half-baked plan to Mom. Out in the dining room Earl’s got the Sassy Seniors Knitting Club taking orders and refilling coffees. Even Bug has a job, writing down names for the wait list in his notebook, Mr. Napkins tucked secretly and securely in the backpack on his shoulders.

From my usual spot at the prep counter, surrounded as always by cupcakes and mixing bowls and white rubber spatulas, I look out through the window over the grill, right into the dining room. The joint’s so rowdy, I can’t pick out a single conversation. Underneath all that laughter and togetherness, bright circles of red and orange and yellow and white dot every table, some half-eaten, some still untouched. Only a true cupcake connoisseur knows the rules—you wait for when the conversation pauses, the moment you can devote your entire mouth to the all-important task of snarfing down the goods.

Mom catches my eye from across the dining room, and my stomach bubbles. I steady myself and wait for the glare, the portent of oh-honey-red-alert troubles to come. But she just tilts her head and smiles, looking at me over the entire city of Watonka. Most of it, anyway.

Body aching and sequined dress splattered with icing, I smile back at my mother, and her eyes sparkle like they haven’t in years.

Me and my bright ideas.

As Trick’s radio hums those sad, familiar notes, I lean against the bricks outside, enjoying a long white puff on my noncigarette. I must’ve been on my feet for two hours straight, running between bowls of cupcake batter, the ovens, and the dining room before we finally got off that wait.

My friend the seagull is still hanging around the Dumpster, scratching at the ground for crumbs. He pretends not to notice me and I close my eyes, loosening the tangle of thoughts and images I haven’t had time to sort out this winter. Walking away from the Capriani Cup. My father and his blog. My brief stint with the Wolves. My briefer stint with number seventy-seven. Everything that almost happened with Josh, but didn’t. Finally apologizing to Kara. All the arguments with Dani, still unresolved. My mother. The diner. My future, even less certain now. That old Erie Atlantic whistling on the track, still calling me to run as Trick’s radio sings into the night.

I been downhearted baby, ever since the day we met …

Guitar.

Horns.

Bass.

Cue those smoldering—

“You really are brilliant, you know.” Dani bangs her way out the door, startling the seagull into a shadowed corner. “What you did tonight? That was pretty rock star, Hudson. We’re still taking tables. And a bunch of people asked about catering and stuff. Your mom is, like, perma-smile. I don’t think she even remembers about the food review guy.”

Guilt pinches my stomach again, prickling up my spine. If I’d stayed here tonight, maybe we could’ve been more attentive to him. Maybe I would’ve recommended a different dish, something he’d like better. Maybe …

“Maybe no one else will remember him, either,” I say.

“Eh, no one around here reads anything but the sports page, anyway.” Dani smiles and looks at me for a long time, silent. Waiting. It’s my turn to talk. My turn to undo the knot of our troubles, to save us like the angel of icing stunt saved the night. One chilly winter doesn’t seem long enough to kill a friendship, but I guess all it takes is one bad day, leading into another and another and another, excuses endlessly regurgitated. Do it often enough and intention stops mattering, too.

I think again of Kara, all the times I could’ve said something to explain, to apologize, to try, but didn’t. I let our entire friendship die because I was too embarrassed about what I’d done, too eager to go into hiding. I still don’t know if Kara and I are on true speaking terms, let alone friend terms. And I have to accept that. It was my choice, after all—three years ago and every day after.

But now, faced with the same opportunity to let it all go? To let another friendship fade into memory while I hide out behind an apron and a mixing bowl?

“Dani, we really need to talk. Not over lunch, not next weekend, but right now.”

She lets out her breath, a big white sigh. “I’m so glad you said that. I have so much to tell you.”

I flash her a devious grin. “Yeah, you and Frankie Torres, huh?”

She nods and looks at the ground. “We’ve been hanging out since that night at the movies. It started just as friends, but then he was calling me all the time, inviting me to the games, sitting next to me at lunch. He’s a really sweet guy, Hudson.”

“I know. You should’ve seen him on New Year’s—when I told him you were in Canada, it was like his puppy died.”

“Seriously?”

“Dude, he spent the entire chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ staring out the windows, pining away. Totally gross.”

Dani returns my smile. “I wanted to tell you that I liked him, but every time I tried to bring it up, you either changed the subject or just … drifted off.” Her smile fades as she meets my eyes, her face crinkled and sad. “It’s like you weren’t even around anymore, Hud. Like you already left Watonka.”

“I’ve been a crap friend, and I’m really sorry. I screwed up. And I totally miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” She steps closer, letting the door close behind her as she stomps her feet against the cold.

“I know I made mistakes this winter, but I’m pissed at you, too. I thought you had my back on the skating thing. But the closer I got to the scholarship, the more you clammed up. I felt like you couldn’t be happy for me—not because you were jealous, but because you didn’t want me to leave Watonka.”

“But I was jealous,” she says. “All of a sudden my best friend had all these new hockey friends and plans that didn’t involve me. We didn’t even get to hang out at work because you kept giving away your shifts. I knew how much skating meant to you, but after a while, it wasn’t about skating. It was all about the guys, then all about getting out of here.”

“You know I want out. That’s how I feel.”

Dani frowns, shoulders sagging. “Okay. Watonka isn’t the most cosmopolitan place in the world, I get it. But it’s still home—at least for me. So not only was I never seeing my best friend, the few times we hung out, she was trash-talking my home. It was crappy, Hudson. And then today, when you said you didn’t want me at your skating event … It was like I didn’t even know you anymore. Like you were already a million miles away from here.”

I look out past the lot behind Hurley’s, the lights on the highway blurring into two bright ribbons, red and white. For months my single mission was the ice, the competition, winning the scholarship and my one-way ticket out. A hundred, a thousand, a million miles away—nothing seemed far enough. I was so focused on that point in the distance that I didn’t bother looking back, didn’t consider what I’d be leaving behind.

All the people I love, my family and the friends like Trick and Dani who’ve become family. All the little quirks that make even the most barren, frigid places beautiful, that make a tiny gray dot on the map the one place you’ll always call home, no matter where your glamorous, boring, adventurous, average, ridiculous, impossible, epic, romantic, bacon-infused life leads you.

“I’m sorry, Dani. I was a million miles away. But not now. Listen … you’re my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without you in it, no matter how much we fight or who we’re with or where we live. None of that stuff matters. We’re sisters, you know?”

She nods, wiping her eyes on the edge of her apron. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Do-over?” I whisper.

“Do-over.” Dani reaches out and squeezes my hand. She leans in for a hug, but I pull back.

“Wait. There’s one more issue to discuss. Probably the most important one of all.”

“What?” she asks, eyebrows crinkling.

“I’m not sure how to say this.” I put my hand on her shoulder and look deep into her eyes. “Dani, does Frankie … does he know about your obsession with pirates?”

“Are you kidding me? Pirates are soo last month. I’m on to ninja spies now. Bedroom Assassin, by Ella Drake? Very sexy.”

“Naked ninja hotties? I dig it.” I smile, and Dani finally gets her hug. Inside, the opening chords of Van Morrisson’s “Brown Eyed Girl” spill out of the old radio, muffled through the door.

“Listen.” I make my voice man-deep. “I think they’re playing our song.”

“Well?” She tilts her head and holds out her hand, corkscrew curls shining under the silver moon. “What do you think?”

“You asking me to dance?”

“In that outfit? Hell yeah, I’m asking you to dance, mama. Shake that fine, sequin-covered ass!” She grabs my hands and we jump and twirl behind the diner, the seagull squawking in vain protest as Dani tries desperately to carry the tune. I keep my hands locked on hers and close my eyes, and my off-key, vocally underdeveloped best friend sings it long and loud into the wintry night, snowflakes falling softly on my tongue.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Not-So-Impossible Orange Dreams

Vanilla cupcakes iced in swirled vanilla and orange buttercream, garnished with an orange slice and shaved dark chocolate

When Dani and I get back inside, only a handful of people dot the dining room, families waiting for their to-go boxes, kids licking cupcake crumbs from their plates. As I refill the salt and pepper shakers on the counter, I keep my eyes on the front door, betting against the odds on one final customer. One last chance.

But he doesn’t show.

“Hudson?” Mom leans out the kitchen door, hair slipping out of her ponytail, eyes puffy and tired. She nods toward the booth near the counter. On one side, Bug’s curled up on the bench with his backpack, a shoeless foot dangling off the seat. “He asleep?”

“Totally zonked.”

Mom smiles. “He was quite a trouper tonight.”

“No kidding.” I replace the big jars of salt and pepper under the counter and line up the shakers against the sugar dispensers. “A few more years and you can give him his own Hurley Girl dress.”

“I think he’d prefer a Hurley Man space suit.” Mom reties her ponytail and sighs. “Okay, Hudson. Now that we’re out of the weeds, we need to have a little chat.”

“Start by telling me where you went tonight.” Mom closes the office door behind me and takes the seat at her desk. “Before the cupcake free-for-all.”

I sit in the small swivel chair across from her, smoothing my hands over the silky skirt of my competition dress. All winter I’ve kept this from her. Now that I have no choice but to tell her, everything I thought I’d be confessing is different. The scholarship, the competition, all those months on the ice at Fillmore—it all means something else now.

I take a steadying breath. Whatever it means, it’s time for the truth. And if I’m finally being honest about my dreams, I have to start by yanking them out of the closet.

“I’ve been skating again, Ma. Training.”

Mom doesn’t say a word as I tell her the entire story: work breaks at Fillmore, the foundation letter, Baylor’s, the Wolves gig, Kara, my guilt about Empire, all the secrets and lies, everything I thought I wanted to achieve this winter. For the first time since my father left, I don’t hide behind my apron and a mixing bowl. I don’t shy away from honesty just because it’s hard and uncomfortable for both of us. I tell her the truth. The real deal about me, about what I want. About who I am. Who I’m not.

My father was the one who bought me my first pair of skates and set me on the ice so long ago. He made sure there was money for private lessons with Lola and all of the equipment I needed. He came to every event, home and away. And he took me skating when I just needed to run around the rink and be silly, no choreography, no moves, no routine. He rented skates and chased me in circles and bought us hot chocolate when we got tired. Skating was ours, mine and his, and in that moment on the ice at the Empire Games, I knew that my mother could no more fill his empty place in the stands than she could fill his empty place in my life. For all the dreams my father and I shared, nothing was strong enough to keep him here with us. And in his absence, I thought I wasn’t strong enough to carry those dreams on my own.

But I was wrong. I’m strong enough to carry any dream on my own. I was just trying to carry the wrong one.

“Dad’s gone,” I say, “and I let him take skating with him. For three years I told myself he ruined it. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. I miss it, Ma. I miss being on the ice. And I’m tired of sneaking around to do it.”

Mom leans back in her chair, eyes glazed with tears. “Baby, I had no idea you were skating again. No idea you wanted any of this. You could’ve told me and saved us both a lot of grief. Not to mention money—how much extra cash have you been floating Mrs. Ferris?”

My face goes hot. “Enough to cover a few months of gas bills.”

“Oh, Hudson …”

“I felt like I couldn’t talk about it because you’d get upset, either about the cost of everything, or just remembering stuff with Dad. So when I got that letter, I thought if I could find a way to skate and earn a scholarship, I could tell you after. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about paying for college, and I could still do something I love.”

“Hudson, your father and I have a college savings for you.”

“You—what?”

Mom reaches for a tissue. “It’s not fifty grand—not even close—but it’s a start. Enough for in-state tuition, anyway.”

“But …” I close my eyes, memories resurfacing. “You guys had the lump sum thing. I remember the lawyer explaining it when we sold the old house. Dad didn’t have to pay anything else.”

“That was for alimony and child support, hon. He’s still putting up for part of your education. He makes a deposit every other month. As much as it pains me to say this—and trust me, it does—he’s not a total heartless jerk.”

I fold my arms over my sequins, images of Dad and Shelvis flickering through my head. “I don’t want anything from him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s your father, even if he’s not around. Helping with college is the least he can do. Believe me.”

I stand up and shove my chair back. “No. He bailed on us, Ma. Divorce is one thing, but he totally bailed. He never calls, he barely ever e-mails, and even then it’s just to talk about himself.”

“I know, and it tears me up that he does that to you kids. But college is expensive, and it’s his responsibility as a father to—”

“He’s not allowed to feel like a good father just for writing a check. I’d rather have a mountain of student loans than let him buy me a single textbook.” I slump back into the chair.

Mom reaches for my hands across the desk. “You don’t have to decide about that right now, and I’m not trying to turn this into a conversation about your father’s issues. The point is, you could’ve been honest with me. All this time you’ve been training for another competition, and I was in the dark. I didn’t even know you still had skates. Are you signed up for anything else? More competitions? Scholarships? Lessons?”

I shake my head. “No competitions. But I do want to keep skating. Maybe just at a club or coaching little kids or whatever.”

“What about work?” Mom releases my hands and shuffles through the mound of papers on her desk. “You’re still on the schedule this month, and you’ve got a ton of Valentine’s orders coming up, and—”

“I know. And I want to do them. All of them. I like baking cupcakes. I like being here with Trick and Dani in the mornings, hanging out in the kitchen, inventing new flavors.”

“You do?”

I nod. “I just don’t want to work at Hurley’s forever. Not as a waitress and not as the future owner. Who knows what’ll happen down the line, but right now, I don’t want the same things you did. I want my own life.”

Mom straightens the papers on her desk, flipping through the stacks with her thumb. I pick at a loose sequin from my dress, pulling it off and rolling it between my fingers. Mom opens her desk drawer and shoves a stack of inventory sheets inside. Closes it. Taps a pencil on the arm of her chair. I roll and unroll my leg warmers, stretch them out, pull them up over my knees.

“So the diner’s not your big dream,” Mom finally says, dropping her pencil into the abyss on her desk. “I can accept that. It’s my dream—always was. The thing is, right now, it’s also our family’s only source of income. And I really can’t make it work without your help.”

I lean back in my chair and let out a long sigh, remembering Ms. Fanny Pack and her viable income models. “I know.”

“I kept telling you the waitressing gig was only temporary, but I guess it didn’t work out that way.”

I shrug. “I understand, Ma. I know I didn’t make it easy, and I know you do a lot for me and Bug. I want to help. Just, maybe in a different way.”

“What way? We got a huge boost tonight, sure. But that review comes out next week, and it could really break us. If that happens, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this place open. This isn’t a guilt trip. It’s a fact.”

“Let’s just see what he says. Maybe it won’t be that bad. Besides, Dani made a good point—people around here only care about the sports page.”

Mom laughs. “True.”

“Anyway, I’m not ditching again—keep me on the schedule for now. Tonight was good. Dani said she got a bunch of catering and party requests, so things might turn out fine. In the meantime, I really just have one request.”

“What’s that?”

“Eighty-six the uniforms. The Hurley Girl dresses are a little ridiculous, Ma.”

She smirks. “Says the girl in skintight rainbow sequins and pink leg warmers?”

There’s a knock on the office door, and Dani pokes her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s a table here for Hudson.”

“Mind getting their drinks?” I ask.

“Already done. Now they’re just getting impatient, banging their silverware on the table and everything. Very middle school, if you ask me.”

Bug trails in behind her, rubbing his eyes. “Jeez, your friends are loud. Some of us are trying to sleep!” He crawls into Mom’s lap and rests his head on her shoulder.

“Ooh, there they go again. Listen.” Dani pushes the door all the way open. From the dining room, all through the kitchen, right straight into the office, a silverware-banging chant floats on the air.

“Pink! Pink! Pink! Pink!”

“Pig?” Mom asks as she arranges Bug on another chair. “No, wait … pink? Is that what they’re saying? Dani, why are they saying that?”

Dani shakes her head and laughs. “It’s … a really long story.”

“Those are the best kind.” Mom tightens her ponytail and ushers us out into the kitchen. “I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee. Hudson, see to your table. You won’t have the honor much longer, so make it count.” She winks at me, and I turn toward the dining room, still clad in my skating getup and a frosting-spattered half apron, ready to face the music. Er, chanting. Whatever.

I push through the doors. Crammed together around a long row of pushed-together tables, all nineteen of the Watonka Wolves—plus Ellie, Kara, two of Amir’s cousins, and a handful of other girls from school—whistle and cheer as I make my dazzling appearance.

After the fight on the ice last week, Will’s scandal with Dodd, everything that happened and unhappened between Josh and me, the rise and fall of my big fat skating plans—I didn’t expect to see them again. Not like this.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask.

“Celebrating,” Amir says. “Not sure if you heard, but we’re kind of a big deal around here. Championship contenders and all. Howoooo!”

The other guys join in and pull me into some kind of fumbling group hug, and even Kara gives me a quick squeeze.

“I heard about what you did tonight,” she says quietly into my ear. “I’m proud of you, Hudson. I mean it.”

After the rousing cheers and generally obnoxious ordering process, the group dogs their postgame dinner, along with twelve large loganberries, seven hot chocolates, three coffees, five fake ginger ales, three dozen cupcakes, and anything else they could cram into their mouths.

The team and their entourage are lighthearted and red-faced from celebrating, but Will and Josh are more subdued than the rest, smiling quietly from opposite ends of the table. Neither looks at me fully, but the tension between them seems to have eased, at least for now. So I refill their drinks and congratulate them again on their win, and in the end, they clap and cheer and pull me into another hug. I’m pretty sure Brad palms my ass and tries to play it off like a too-many-hands-in-the-group-fondle-fest accident, but hey, I can’t say I wasn’t warned about sporting events and rowdy customers. I let it slide for now, but next time? Adorable championship varsity hockey boy or not, he’s totally getting a pitcher of ice water in the lap.

We settle up the check and I watch them leave, the girls huddled together against the cold, the boys fist-bumping and fake fighting in the parking lot as they make their way through the slush.

I trace circles on the glass as they disappear, group by group, couple by couple. Will ducks into his car alone and motors out of the lot, and soon the last remaining Wolf is Josh. He opens his car door, the interior light casting a soft glow on the snow. As if he senses me watching, he turns back to the diner, one hand on the car door, hesitating.

But then he slips into the car and pulls the door shut, the light turning black in the space he left behind. As he rolls across the lot to the exit, his tires carve twin black paths in the slush. The car stops. Break lights flash twice. And then he’s gone.

I turn from the window and head to the kitchen for the empty bus bins, ready to tackle the monumental task of clearing their tables.

“I still can’t believe they did it,” I say to Dani as we scrape food and stack dishes into the bins.

“News dude was right,” she says. “Talk about a comeback.”

I smile and arrange a row of chocolate-stained mugs in the bin. After a ten-year losing streak, decades out of the finals, the Watonka Wolves are going to the division championships. “I think they might get a felt banner on the gym wall. Finally.”

“With your name on it, Princess Pink,” she says.

“Hey, stranger things, right?” I heft a full bin onto my hip and lug it into the kitchen, feet aching, shoulders sagging, but heart—at least for now—a little lighter. Even if I can’t be part of the team anymore, even if things got weird with Will and didn’t work out as I’d hoped with Josh, even if I carry the scars of regret for the rest of my life, I know that this winter, for a little while, I was part of something bigger. Something special.

Cheers to that, wolf pack.