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“Dramatic much?” I tease back, making her laugh. The sound of it warms my heart and I reach for her, locking her in a hug. She struggles to get out of it, but I won’t let her go. I’m a touchy-feely Lancaster and she is most decidedly not. “Come on, let me hug you.”
“Ew no. Hugs are for wimps.” She starts to run ahead of me, those vaguely annoying—but very cute—shoes smacking on the cold marble floor. “Better hurry or you might miss breakfast. Marta starts clearing plates at nine-thirty!”
Ugh, she’s such a liar. Marta’s not the one clearing plates from the buffet table in the dining room. There are servants for that task and Marta is the one who manages them.
My steps slow at the thought and I sort of hate myself for having it. Being away from my family for the school year showed me how the other half lives—the term my mother used when I was first accepted to the exchange program and my father was dead set against letting me leave. I had to beg and plead and cry for him to finally give in and let me go.
I’m a self-admitted daddy’s girl, which means I know how to get my way with him almost always, but convincing him to let me leave the country and live with another family for a school year? That was difficult. He didn’t want me away from them for that long. He also thought I was too young, too sheltered, too … I don’t know. Too naïve? He never said those words out loud, but I’m fairly certain that’s what he was implying.
I am my mother’s daughter in many, many ways, but I would never consider myself as naïve as she was. He would’ve been proud to see me hold my own while I was away, which I did. I learned a lot, and I pushed myself out of my comfort zone just by going there, and I’m proud that I lasted the entire school year. It would’ve been so easy to give up. To go home, but I refused. I wanted to have an experience on my own, without all of those Lancaster expectations attached to it.
It’s really good to be back home though.
Eventually I end up in the dining room—all the breakfast food is still out, shocker—and I’m behind Iris as we fill our plates with fluffy scrambled eggs and colorful pieces of fruit. I also add one slice of bacon and a chocolate croissant while Iris ignores both items and we settle in at the table with a few of our cousins. Not a single parent is in sight. They all get up far earlier than we do and I’m sure the majority of them are outside already. The men are probably golfing at the nearby country club and Iris’s mom is tending to the garden because that’s her new favorite thing.
“Where’s Row?” Iris asks me as she pops a square of honeydew melon into her mouth.
“He’s heading back to campus today, remember?” My younger brother brought a friend along with him to the house, and from what I can tell they’ve had a great time swimming and hanging out together, but they’re both on the football team and have to go back to school early for practice.
It’s still unbelievable to me that Row plays football. That he actually wants to do it. Our family has never really been into competitive sports before, but I guess there’s a first for everything.
“Oh right. Because of football.” She digs into her food, practically shoveling endless pieces of melon into her mouth while I nibble on my single piece of bacon, mulling over my younger brother’s choice to leave early. “He’s really good at it, Willow. They’ve made him the quarterback and everything.”
“I know—I’ve heard all about it,” I murmur, still a little stupefied over the fact that Lancaster Prep now has a winning football team.
Look, our school is known for a lot of things. Only the elite of the elite have attended the private high school for hundreds of years, but the new headmaster has made a lot of changes since he took over, and he implemented those changes in a rapidly short amount of time. Like our sports department. We always had one, but it wasn’t necessarily award-winning. Our lacrosse team did well years ago. Oh, and the girls’ volleyball team always wins division championships.
But never football.
“The team is going to kill it this season.” At my amused look, Iris huffs out a sigh and rolls her eyes. “You’re such a snob. There’s nothing wrong with going to a football game on a Friday night and screaming your guts out because you’re so excited that we’re winning.”
“We’re winning?” I repeat. “We had nothing to do with it.”
“It’s called school spirit.” She smiles. “And the entire campus has it. Trust me, you’re going to love the vibe when you come back. I know you will.”
She’s just trying to reassure me because as she already pointed out, I don’t like change. I should’ve known some things would be different when I came back from Italy, but it turns out nothing is the same. My little brothers both grew like three feet—okay a total exaggeration, but they are both so tall now—and from what I’ve heard so far, my school has changed a lot. Even Iris seems to be different. More mysterious. Which makes me wonder if she might be holding on to something that she doesn’t want to tell me …
Or maybe that’s just me being paranoid. I’ve definitely not brought up a certain someone because I’m worried over what she might say. Mom told me a long time ago when I was having trouble with a friend back in middle school that the truth hurts but sometimes, we need to hear it.
She’s right. The problem? Sometimes I don’t want to hear the truth, especially if it doesn’t align with my secret wishes.
I remain quiet as we finish our breakfast, listening to the nonstop chatter from our younger cousins and siblings. Our family likes to get together for almost every holiday, Labor Day being no exception. Both Iris and I have brothers that are the same age, and Vaughn and Beau are talking about video games and a Marvel movie they went and saw yesterday afternoon. Then there’s Prudence and Paris, Aunt Carolina’s twin girls, who also went to the movie yesterday and keep trying to interject their opinions. The four of them won’t stop talking and when Iris finally sends me a look, I know she’s telling me she wants out of here.
August strides into the room just as we’re pushing back our chairs, a look of complete disdain on his face when he sees the younger cousins sitting at the table. “You’re leaving?” he asks his sister.
Iris nods. “You can hang out with them. I’m sure you’ll have so much fun.”
She knows her brother can barely tolerate anyone, even relatives.
“Fucking Christ,” he mutters as he heads for the side table to grab some breakfast, his irritation coming off of him in palpable waves.
“He’s so grumpy,” Iris says to me. “I thought college would put him in a better mood but apparently he hasn’t changed a single bit.”
“Apparently,” I agree, shaking my head.
We promptly exit the house, the younger cousins’ laughter still ringing as we make our way outside, and the moment that I pull the door shut, there’s nothing but blessed silence, save for the occasional seagull squawking as one of them flies overhead.
“God, our little brothers are annoyingly loud,” Iris mutters as she heads toward the closest table. The bright white and navy striped umbrella is open above it, leaving plenty of shade, and there’s a warm breeze blowing, making the ends of my hair dance. “Never any peace and quiet when they’re around.”
