Chapter 1: The Graduation Party
The living room hummed. It was that thick, sticky warmth that only a Midwest summer could conjure, pressing against the windows and seeping into the furniture. Half-eaten pizza boxes formed a greasy archipelago on the coffee table, surrounded by a sea of sweating soda cans. The air smelled of pepperoni, sugary syrup, and the faint, stale ghost of popcorn from a movie they’d watched days ago.
In the corner, the TV flickered on mute, some late-night sitcom playing out a pantomime of laughter. The real sounds were Lily’s voice, bright and carrying, and the dull murmur of relatives who had already said their goodbyes and were lingering in the hallway.
Jess perched on the arm of the sofa, a warm bottle of root beer held between her knees. She was laughing at something Lily’s uncle had said, the sound easy and familiar, but her eyes kept skirting the room. They always landed on the same point.
Soren stood by the fireplace, one shoulder leaning against the mantel. She’d been there for twenty minutes, a silent monument in the chaos. She was taller than Jess remembered, or maybe it was just the way she held herself now—all straight lines and coiled stillness. Her dark hair was tied back in a severe knot that sharpened her already stark features. She wasn’t smiling. She was just watching, a half-empty glass of something amber held loosely in her long fingers. Her thumb traced the rim, around and around, a slow, hypnotic circuit.
“Okay, but you have to promise,” Lily was saying, grabbing Jess’s wrist. Her round face was flushed with happiness and heat. “The whole summer. No jobs. No serious talk. Just the lake, and the stupid pontoon boat, and staying up until sunrise.”
“You’ll last a week,” Jess said, grinning. “You’ll get bored and sign up for, like, voluntary litter-picking.”
“Never! I am a creature of pure leisure now. A graduate!” Lily declared, throwing her arms wide and nearly knocking over a can. Her laughter filled the space, sunny and uncomplicated.
From across the room, Jess felt the weight of a gaze. She didn’t need to look to know it was Soren’s. It was a physical sensation, a cool spot on her skin amidst the heat. She took a swig of her root beer just to have something to do.
“Lily,” Soren’s voice cut through the humid air. It wasn’t loud, but it had a carrying quality, flat and clear. “Mom’s looking for the photo albums. The embarrassing baby ones.”
Lily groaned, flopping back against the cushions. “Ugh, why? Can’t we preserve some dignity?”
“Go stall her. Distract her with the one where you’re covered in spaghetti.” A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched Soren’s lips. It didn’t reach her eyes.
With a sigh, Lily hauled herself up. “Duty calls. Save my spot.” She padded out of the room, her energy trailing behind her like a ribbon.
The space on the sofa arm felt suddenly exposed. Jess focused on the TV screen, where a man was gesturing wildly with no sound. The silence from the fireplace was a different quality now, focused and complete.
She heard the soft clink of ice as Soren pushed off from the mantel. Jess watched her approach in peripheral vision—the quiet stride, the deliberate movement. Soren didn’t sit. She stopped beside the sofa, looking down at the messy table.
“Three years,” Soren said, not looking at her.
“What?” Jess’s voice came out a little thin.
“You’ve been coming over for pizza and mediocre movies for three years while I was gone.” Finally, Soren’s eyes landed on her. They were a pale, piercing grey, the color of a winter sky just before snow. “You got tall.”
Jess shrugged, tucking a strand of honey-colored hair behind her ear. “That happens.”
“It does.” Soren took a slow sip from her glass.
Then Soren does look at her. Really looks, the way she's been doing across the room all night, except now there's no distance to blame it on. Up close, it's different. Up close it is, somehow, worse.
"You cut your hair," Soren says.
Jess blinks. "Sorry?"
"Since the last time." A small, considering pause. "It suits you. I suppose."
There is no reasonable explanation for what those two words do. I suppose. They are not an insult. They are barely even a qualifier. And yet Jess feels them like a dropped stone — right in the middle of her chest, before she can organise herself against it
“Lily’s still the same, though. Just louder," Soren broke the silence.
“She’s happy,” Jess said, a hint of defensiveness slipping in.
“I can see that.” Soren’s eyes lingered. “And you? You happy, Jess?”
The question was a trap. Jess could feel its edges. It wasn’t the casual kind you toss off at a party. It was a probe, deliberate and cool. “It’s a party. It’s Lily’s night. Of course.”
Soren nodded slowly, as if Jess had confirmed something. “Of course.” She shifted her weight, her shadow falling across Jess’s lap. “You used to have braces. And you’d laugh so hard you’d snort, then get furious about it.”
A hot flush crept up Jess’s neck. “I was fourteen.”
“You’re not fourteen now.” Soren stated it plainly, a fact stripped of nostalgia. She finally moved, sinking into the space Lily had vacated on the sofa. Not right next to Jess, but close enough that the displaced air felt cooler. She set her glass down and leaned back, stretching her arm along the back of the cushions. Her fingers came to rest a mere inch from Jess’s shoulder blade. Jess didn’t move. She could smell Soren’s scent now—something clean and sharp, like gin and lime, cutting through the food smells.
They sat in silence for a minute, watching the silent TV. The man on screen was now pretending to cry.
“College graduate,” Jess said, just to break the quiet. “Congrats.”
Soren made a soft, dismissive sound in her throat. “A piece of paper.”
Lily reappears in a small chaos of enthusiasm.
"What were you two talking about?" Lily asks, delighted, already suspicious the way she gets suspicious when things happen without her.
"Nothing," Jess says.
"Nothing," Soren says, at the same time.
Lily beams. She looks between them like they've given her a gift.
Soren excuses herself not long after. Tired, she tells Lily, which is probably true — she's just graduated, she's just come home, she has been social for four hours in a house full of people who love her and love is sometimes exhausting even when you want it. Lily hugs her and lets her go and the party continues and Jess watches her leave the room.
She does not think about I suppose for the rest of the night.
She thinks about it constantly for the rest of the night.
She doesn't know what to do with that, so she does what she always does: she goes back to Lily, where things are easy, where she knows exactly who she is and what she's for. She stays until the last aunts leave and helps stack plates and laughs at Mr Ashford attempting to fold the banner. She is good company. She is easy.
It suits you, she thinks, on the drive home. She doesn't know she's thinking it until she's already halfway through it.