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I close my screen because I can’t breathe. Focusing, I think about what I can see, hear, smell, feel. This is fine, people go viral every day, and they move on, and the world forgets. Just because I have one viral song doesn’t mean my life will change.

My heart slows.

“This is fine,” I say out loud. “I’m going to go get coffee and breakfast now.”

My phone pings. I swipe the screen, and it goes to my email. For the second time, my entire body tingles. At the top is an email from MET Records, which I’m not familiar with, but looks official. I open the email and skim it twice before I can absorb it.

Hello,

I’m reaching out because MET is interested in speaking with representation for Serena Maxwell. We think her original work could be a great fit for us. We’d love to discuss details further and set up a meeting if she is open to it.

Regards,

Jenna Holland.

Is this real? I copy and paste the email address, and it brings up a LinkedIn account. It’s the right email address, but I don’t believe it.

I close my phone and go downstairs. Coen is washing dishes, humming. Sabrina is crouched in one of the kitchen chairs painting her toenails. Leftover breakfast food sits in a covered dish.

“What’s everyone’s plan for the day?” I ask calmly, taking down a plate.

“Not much,” Coen says. “Think I’ll get some writing done and ride out to the west pasture with some of the guys.”

“The snow’s not too deep?”

He shakes his head, drying his hands on a towel as he turns around. His gaze falls on me, and he frowns.

“You good?” he asks.

Sabrina looks up, and her brows furrows. “You look kind of pale.”

“I’m still tired,” I say firmly, stacking sausages and pancakes that I’m too nervous to eat. “But I’m fine.”

They exchange a glance. Coen crosses his arms and leans back.

“You gonna stay here for the winter?” he asks.

I shrug, plopping down at the table. “Why? You trying to get rid of me?”

My phone goes off. I ignore it.

“No, you just seem happier when you’re headed to New York,” he says.

“You did,” Sabrina agrees.

“Now I really do think you’re trying to get rid of me.”

Coen lifts his hands. “You know you can come and go as you please. I know Sabrina likes having you here, but you should go where you’re happy.”

They won’t stop looking at me, and it’s stifling.

“Alright, I’ll go back,” I say. “I just wanted to visit before Christmas. I assume you are both coming to New York for that. What’s Dad doing?”

“We’ll be in New York for part of it, then back here when Dad and Aunt Eugenia come in from Portland,” Sabrina says.

In my chest, there’s a little twinge. Dad and I get along fine, but I’ve been so busy lately, I’ve barely texted him. Last summer, when he flipped his shit over Sabrina and Coen, it definitely changed our relationship. That might have something to do with it too. Seeing him so upset and not willing to listen to reason made me pretty upset. We’re fine now, just not as close as we were.

I’m glad he’s coming for Christmas. I want to see him, despite everything.