13. Sophie
SOPHIE
I’ve never strung up so many balloons in my life. My fingertips have long gone raw from twisting ribbon, my hair is clinging to my neck from the heat of the fryer in the back, and there’s still confetti stuck to my sweater from when Trent “accidentally” set off one of the party poppers early.
But the Shack looks good, if I say so myself. At least I think it looks like the kind of place sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-olds might even abstain from rolling their eyes at.
Caroline Aisling sweeps around the counter toward me with the air of someone who could orchestrate a White House gala in her sleep. She’s gripping the scotch tape I was looking for ten minutes ago with a triumphant smile on her face.
“You’ve done such an amazing job, sweetheart,” she says as she hands it up to me, “you’ve already won points with these kids.
Becky hasn’t stopped talking about it all week.
If I’d known that free food was the way to get her to concentrate on anything longer than five minutes, I would have hired your catering services months ago. ”
I smile as I bite through the tape to rip off a section. I’ve spent enough time sitting next to Caroline at PTA meetings to know that she’s not trying to be patronizing. Her privilege is held in check by her earnestness on most counts.
Besides, it’s not like I disagree with her exactly. I’ve put a lot of work into this; it’s nice to have that acknowledged. And sure, I put a lot of work into this because I needed a distraction. But it worked, didn’t it?
I’ve not thought once, all afternoon, about June. Or about Meredith worrying about June. Or how she’s barely leaving the house, or the shame that keeps knotting my stomach every time I think about how long it’s been since I even tried to talk to my sister.
Until now, that is.
With a grimace, I tack up the final balloons and climb off the counter to admire my handiwork. Caroline stands beside me, crossing her arms. “I also think it’s absolutely genius that you invited all the parents.”
I glance over to the table in the corner of the Shack, situated a socially acceptable distance away from the teenagers who throw annoyed glances their way every couple of minutes. “I didn’t mean to. I just never specified that they couldn’t stick around.”
“You don’t need to play coy with me, Sophie. We both know why they’re all here,” Caroline leans close, lowering her voice even though no one is listening. “After what Noah did to your poor car? I’m sure he deserves a little bit of unwanted attention. It’s quite cunning, really.”
I let out a little laugh, even though it wasn’t entirely intentional.
Well, maybe a little intentional. Since discovering Danny’s relation to Noah, perhaps I have been a little more doting on the boy in hopes that my stellar reputation might get back to his father.
Throwing the teenager a surprise birthday party had been all Trent’s idea, though.
But if Noah happens to come along tonight and gets harassed by a pack of admirers who won’t let him breathe. Well, it’s no skin off my teeth.
The Shack is humming with the kind of positive energy I haven’t felt since the grand reopening (before June’s arrest, of course), and it’s a welcome feeling.
Round the back, I can just make out Mia Abrams flying between the fryer and the prep station, her high ponytail bouncing like it has its own rhythm.
Davon is somewhere by the grill and out of sight, but humming some old R a teenager’s birthday party isn’t exactly anyone’s first choice for a Friday night. And maybe I’m just grateful not to have another layer of Holloway tension tonight. This party is supposed to be light. Fun. Easy.
I’m smoothing out the edges of the birthday banner one last time when the front door bangs open.
“Danny’s right behind me!” Trent’s voice is too loud, too breathless, too excited, and I spin to see him practically glowing as he skids to a stop.
Everyone instantly springs into action. Caroline waves frantically at the group of teenagers to get into place, and somehow, by some miracle, they all actually listen. I duck behind the counter, my heart hammering as an excited hush falls across the room.
Trent catches my eye and grins that mischievous grin. I know my face is matching his expression.
The bell above the door jingles.
Danny steps inside, his cheeks red from the December cold, his expression shifting from confusion to shock in the space of a heartbeat as twenty voices shout “Surprise!” He freezes as confetti cannons burst all around him and Rebecca Aisling pounces, shoving a party hat onto his head.
For a second, I worry he’ll be embarrassed. But then Danny starts to laugh, loud and genuine, grinning like it’s the best day of his life. And when he finally realizes that Trent was, in fact, the mastermind, the two quickly become entangled in a well-meaning wrestle.
“I can’t believe you managed to pull one over on me!” Danny says as his classmates cheer him on from where they’ve begun to pile back into the booths. The sound of scraping chairs and good-natured well-wishes warms the room just as much as the smell of freshly grilled lobster rolls.
It takes me a moment to even notice the figure still standing frozen at the door.
His tall frame is half-blocking the entrance, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of the mothers clustered near the counter. They’re pretending to sip sodas and rearrange napkins. One of them even reapplies her lip gloss.
Slowly, his gaze shifts until it lands on me.
If looks could kill, I’d be a chalk outline on the Shack’s floor.
I paste on a smile, trying not to shrink under the weight of his glare.
Because this is exactly what I wanted, isn’t it?
A little humbling. A little taste of discomfort.
He dented my car, dismissed me like I was nothing, and drove away without a flicker of guilt.
Not to mention his outright rudeness when he was in the Shack last. Tonight is just a little bit of payback.
Still. There’s something about the way his shoulders tense, the sharp line of his mouth, that makes guilt flicker low in my stomach. He looks angry, of course he does. But he also looks a little… trapped.
It takes half a second for him to stride over to me. So quick, I barely have a chance to register he’s even moving until he’s there, right in my face. Head tilted down to my ear as a hand secures itself around my bicep.
“Did you do this?” Noah’s low, gravelly voice all but hisses. His breath tickles the side of my face.
Over his shoulder, I see Caroline throwing me a concerned look, so I plaster on a smile and hiss right back. “Yes. Trent wanted to surprise your son.”
“You should have told me.”
With a calm hand, I push down on the one gripping onto me. Thankfully, he relinquishes his grasp. “I wasn’t aware you would be here. I was under the impression you weren’t interested in visiting this establishment again.”
Noah’s expression is carefully blank as his eyes dart across my face. It’s unnerving, barely being able to make out his pupils in the darkness of his irises. I can feel my pulse begin to race with an odd sensation of fight or flight.
“Noah! Oh, is that you?”
The moment breaks as the mothers descend on us, Caroline leading the charge and sparing me a quick gesture to slip away. As I turn my back, I can already hear the questions and compliments. I don’t need to look to sense the hands on his arm and the telltale signs of imminent implosion on his face.
My work is done. My erratic heart is merely a side effect of all the excitement.
I force myself to turn back to the task at hand.
Leading an applause as Davon and Mia bring out trays of food, a veritable seafood feast that takes up most of the tables.
The kids cheer as they eagerly become elbow-deep in fries.
I keep my eyes fixed on the chaos of teenagers, on Trent laughing so hard soda nearly comes out his nose, on Danny already threatening someone with a half-open ketchup sachet.
I don’t watch Noah. I’m just… aware of him. I know he’s still by the door, still suffocating under the swarm.
Caroline is practically giddy by the time we duck into the back to light the candles on the cake.
“You’re not going to believe this,” she whispers, eyes sparkling like this is the season’s best entertainment. “Diana Harrington has already slipped him her number.”
“Wow,” I force a smile, the muscles in my cheeks burning. “I hope she’s not too disappointed.”
Caroline laughs. “You never know, he might be into older women.”
The comment sticks with me, even as I straighten my shoulders, cake balanced carefully between my palms, and push through the door.
Even with the Botox, Diana can’t be much more than forty.
I know for a fact Caroline has fifteen years on me, so I’d always assumed the rest of the parents were around the same age.
Noah, with his withering looks, patronizing tone, and graying temples included.
I shake the thought away as the room hushes at my arrival. Then, swiftly bursts into song as I set the cake down in front of Danny. The candles flicker as everyone sings off-key and Danny blows them out in one breath, smoke curling toward the ceiling.
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing at me and Trent.
“Seriously,” he says, his voice wobbling with sincerity. “This is… the best birthday ever. Thanks, Trent. And thank you, Sophie. This place is so sick.”
My throat tightens. “A pleasure, Danny. Now cut the cake before Trent drools all over it.”
The cake quickly devolves into chaos, slices being fought over, frosting smeared.
Davon courageously steps in to try—and fail—to keep order.
I have to step in eventually to rescue the half of it remaining after everyone is distributed a slice.
Batting away protests with promises to give them an extra slice to take home.
We’re halfway through wrapping up chocolate cake in napkins, laughing with Mia and Davon in the kitchen, when the door opens again.
I turn, startled, and find Noah. His face is thundercloud-dark, his eyes drilling into me. It’s not like before, when he looked trapped and wrong-footed. This is pure anger.
I swallow quickly, summoning a smile as I turn back to my employees. “You can clock out if you want, guys. Thanks so much for today.”
They both hesitate, eyes darting between me and Noah, before disappearing through the side door. The air feels heavier without them. I take a steadying breath before turning back to him.
“Can I help you?”
Noah wastes no time. He yanks out his wallet, flipping it open like a weapon. “How much?”
I blink. “What?”
He all but throws the plastic onto the counter. “The party. The food. The whole spectacle.”
My pulse jumps. “You don’t have to?—”
“Don’t,” he snaps.
I fold my arms, matching his glare. “Danny’s Trent’s best friend. You don’t understand how important that is. To both of us. This wasn’t about money.”
Something flickers in his eyes, but it’s not softening. “So, watching me suffocate out there. That was free of charge, was it? Did you really think I was incapable of planning my own son’s birthday?”
Heat rises up my neck. I try to keep my voice steady, but it cracks. “This wasn’t about you. This was about Danny.”
“Everything is about you,” he counters. “You sweep in with your big gestures, your perfect smile, and everyone eats it up. The PTA, Caroline goddamn Aisling. My own son. It’s nauseating to watch.”
That one lands. My chest hollows.
“I’m grateful Danny and Trent found each other,” I bite out, pushing through the sting. “My brother has never had a friend like him before, and he’s never had a perfect attendance record. So forgive me if I don’t care whether your ego takes a hit.”
“So you really are just as selfish and manipulative as the rest of them,” he scoffs as he leans closer. “You can keep playing the saint if you want, making sure everyone adores you. Congratulations. It’s working. Caroline looks about two minutes away from announcing you as her protege.”
“How dare?—”
“But know this, Holloway,” Noah is close enough now for me to notice the rise and fall of his chest. “I’m not going to fall for it.”
My hand tightens on the counter, nails biting into the wood. I want to scream. I want to throw the leftover cake at his stupid, perfect face. Instead, I force myself to breathe, slow and even, because if I lose it now, he wins.
But his words still lodge under my skin like splinters, refusing to let go.
Noah doesn’t wait for me to answer. He snaps his wallet shut, slides it back into his pocket with a sharp motion, and pushes out through the swinging kitchen door. The metal clang reverberates after him.
The echo of his words rattles around my skull: playing the saint. Caroline’s protege. Scheming. Playing the crowd. It’s not true. It can’t be true. It was only a bit of petty revenge; it wasn’t supposed to… well, hurt him. Not like this.
And yet the sting is there, right alongside the heat in my cheeks.
I force a breath, slow and unsteady, trying to scrub his voice out of my head. But instead of calm, all I feel is small. Small and tired.
I stare down at the cake still left to wrap up and help myself to a slice on a paper plate.
The cloying chocolate sticks to the sides of my throat the way it does to the napkin, but the sugar high is enough to take the edge off a little.
It’s been a while since I’ve had cake; Mom’s birthday was months ago, and Trent and I don’t celebrate until the spring. The next of us is…
And just like that, it hits me. A different birthday.
It’s December third.
I set the plate down with a little too much force. I’d completely forgotten.
June’s birthday.
My chest tightens.
I’ve spent weeks pushing her out of my mind, burying myself in the Shack, in Trent, in pretending that anger was easier than anything else. And now, with Noah’s words still ringing in my ears, it feels less like I’ve won some battle of wills and more like I’ve lost something much bigger.
Enough is enough.
She’s still my sister.
And it’s her birthday.
Time to make this right.