Chapter 9
SADIE
I pull up to my parents’ house, a smidge of remorse beginning to press down on my shoulders as I look over at the partly eaten pie, but then I wiggle my bum against my seat so I can feel the sharp edges of the list, and I smile. I get to mark something else off now.
There’s a sudden knock on my window that startles me.
I look over and there’s Milo.
I don’t say anything.
He grins. “Hey.” His voice is a bit muffled, but I can hear his jovial tone. He opens my car door. “Your parents invited me for supper.”
I inhale sharply, lean over, and unbuckle the pie, handing it over to him so I can get out.
He studies the pie and arches a brow. “Get hungry on the drive over?”
“I forgot to eat lunch,” I say quietly before I take the pie back.
He puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Well, was it good?”
“Delicious.”
I stare at the house I grew up in—the one where Milo used to toss tiny pebbles at my window, the faint tapping sound something I sometimes still hear when the world finally settles into a soft quietness.
The one where my parents argued over whether it should be painted classic white or yellow—Mom won but the yellow turned out much brighter than she had wanted, more school bus yellow than soft buttercream.
The one where there is now a ramp up to the front porch beside the steps.
“Listen, I can leave.” He practically sighs, his grin beginning to fade from his face.
It’s not that I want him to leave. I’m just not sure I want him here. Not until I figure a few things out—like why eating pie and speeding on a back road made me feel more alive than I’ve felt in years.
“Milo, I just—”
“Sadie!” Sophie’s voice is bright and loud as she runs toward us, her long brown hair swinging back and forth. “You did bring a plus one!”
“I’m not—”
“He’s not—”
Sophie smirks, crossing her arms. “It’s good to see you, Coach Carter.”
Milo huffs a laugh. “We’ll see if I can earn that title.”
“You’ll be great,” Sophie says with confidence. Then her eyes snag on the pie. “Sadie! Did you eat the pie already?”
Somehow the whipped topping has turned to cement, and the pie feels heavy in my hands.
“It wasn’t her,” Milo interjects. “I couldn’t help it. Sadie does make the best, and it’s been so long.”
I look over at him, half grateful, half offended.
After all, I’m the one who ate dessert first. It’s my list . . .
“She’s the best,” Sophie says, her green eyes sparking. “She looks good, doesn’t she?”
My cheeks warm. “Soph,” I whisper.
“She does,” Milo replies softly.
I attempt to shoot laser beams out of my eyes at my sister.
My sister, who is already tanned and glowing like she’s been sunning herself at some luxury resort instead of working three jobs at the mall in Dallas while she’s “between” life plans.
Granted, one of those jobs is at a place called Sun-Kissed Sea, so after earning her paycheck helping other people get their summer glow, she’s probably spending it on securing her own.
Sophie’s smirk stretches out into something more devious. “She’s not seeing anyone.”
The words seem loud and unfair. I open my mouth to scold her, but something else entirely comes out. “Grant Williams asked me out.”
The words feel like I threw a match just to see who would flinch.
Sophie’s eyes widen. “Did you say yes?”
I swallow hard. “Not yet.”
“You should. It’s good to keep your options open,” she says as she side-eyes Milo.
I gaze at my sandals, but I can feel the way Milo’s eyes weigh heavy on my shoulders, like a wet blanket drenching me in guilt even though I have nothing to feel guilty about. Or maybe it’s not my guilt I’m feeling?
“Supper’s ready!” Emma calls from the front porch.
I snap my head up and charge forward with my pie, but not before I hear Sophie say to Milo, “Better suit up, Carter. Looks like you might have a game to win . . . or lose.”
When I step inside the house, Emma wraps me in a tender hug, her wisps of blonde hair tickling my nose. “I’ve missed you, Sadie.”
Emma lives in Austin. Works as a financial advisor for a rapidly growing dog-wellness subscription startup that offers organic treat boxes and “canine mindfulness retreats.” According to Emma, the dogs are better off financially than most humans.
I summon my best classical tone. “Indeed, my dear! The days felt quite empty without your company.”
Her arms tighten around me. “And your bookish humor.”
“The Summers sisters are back together!” Sophie squeals as she throws her arms around us.
The Summers sisters. We’re all two years apart, almost to the day—our birthdays growing up were one big town-wide party with bouncy houses and creepy clowns.
I feel Milo enter before I hear him. I glance from the group hug and catch him smiling at the family photos that hang from ceiling to floor. A large collage of life lived. He’s in many of them.
“Milo Carter!” Mom smiles as she joins us in the foyer.
Her long brown hair is pulled back in a clip, showing her roots that are a gleaming silver, and her feet are bare on the hardwood.
She’s wearing her signature black leggings and colorful tank top—today it’s turquoise—her arms toned from a determination to be the strongest she can be to help Dad.
“Benji and everyone else in this town told me you were back. You’re a little late in coming to see me, don’t you think? ”
Milo’s smile widens before he walks over and hugs my mom. “Sorry, Mrs. Summers.”
“Mrs. Summers?” she questions, dark brows arching as she pulls back from his embrace.
“Marge,” Milo corrects himself.
“I made your favorite. Meat loaf and potatoes,” she says.
It’s the meal my mom always made on Thursday night for Milo before a big game.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
“Well, I figured you’ve missed it since it’s been about ten years since you’ve had it.”
Milo’s grin falters, just for a second, and his voice softens. “I have missed it.”
“Benji is already at the table. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
We all follow her into the dining room, where Dad is sitting patiently, scrolling on his phone.
“Did you know,” he says without looking up, “there’s a man in Oklahoma who built a grill out of a washing machine? Says it holds heat better.”
“A washing machine?” Mom repeats with a tone of surprise.
“That’s what it says,” he replies, turning his phone around for all of us to see.
“That doesn’t make any sense, Benji.” Mom grabs her readers perched on top of her head and snatches his phone. “This has got to be AI. Sadie, is this AI?”
She hands the phone out to me, and I take it reluctantly, glancing at the post of a shirtless man grilling steaks in what appears to be a washing machine. “I don’t know, Mom. You can’t trust most things on the internet.”
I give the phone back to my dad and press a kiss to his temple. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, cutie,” he replies with a smile as he puts his phone away.
Milo walks over to Dad, this time bending over and giving him a warm hug. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“You don’t need an invitation to sit at our table, Milo. You’re family.”
I swallow down acid. Probably indigestion from having dessert before dinner.
My sisters take their usual seats across the table, but before I get to mine beside my dad, Milo pulls out my chair.
“Sorry. Habit,” he murmurs as his large hands grip the wooden back.
I nod, sitting down. He pushes my chair in before taking the seat next to me.
I pick up my glass of water to take a sip.
“So,” Mom begins, “Sophie says you’re on TikTok.”
I almost spit out my water. Milo’s head swivels in my direction with an amused look.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a creative outlet. I like sharing about my classroom,” he says, eyes lighting up. “The kids, the debates we have, those moments when history clicks for them—it’s something I didn’t expect to enjoy.”
He shrugs, grinning at me. “And it’s funny . . . somehow people actually enjoy watching it. I guess nerdy history teacher meets TikTok works better than you’d think.”
“I enjoy it,” Sophie says energetically. “Although, I wouldn’t exactly call you a nerd.”
Milo laughs. “I guess not around here.”
“You’ve been teaching for . . . ?” My mom trails off.
“This will be my third year,” he answers.
“Well, I’m sure the kids at Dusty Hollow High will love you. We need more teachers excited about what they’re doing,” Mom says before her eyes land on my dad. “Benji, do you mind saying grace before we eat?”
He nods.
I watch as everyone grabs for each other’s hands, then I look over at the space between Milo and me. His large palm is upward, fingers relaxed and waiting for mine to interlock.
I’m an adult. It’s not holding hands, not in the way we once did.
I place mine in his, feeling warmth engulf not just my hand but my whole body. I close my eyes, trying to focus on the words my dad is saying.
“Dear Lord, thank you for bringing us all together around this table, for keeping us safe and guiding our steps—”
Milo’s thumb begins to lightly circle against my skin, and behind my eyelids I see two kids who once thought when they held each other, they held the world. Until shiny things were offered outside of Dusty Hollow, and how I do love a little glitter. Or at least, used to.
“Amen,” Dad says.
I quickly withdraw my hand, putting it in my lap.
Dinner continues with Sophie commanding most of the attention. Her latest idea? Buy a van and live in it for a year, traveling. My parents hate it, and Milo seems to have enough good sense to remain neutral on the subject.
“Sadie?”
I look up, realizing I’ve missed something. Everyone is looking at me.
“Did Grant Williams ask you out?” Emma asks.
I clench my jaw, directing my gaze at Sophie. “Yes, he did.”
“Grant’s a good guy. I always liked that kid,” Dad adds.
“He is,” I reply before scooting my chair back, legs dragging against the floor.
“Are you going to go out with him?” Emma asks, her green eyes gleaming with curiosity and something else I can’t quite name.
“I’m going to go get your Crocs from my car before I forget about them,” I say.
I leave the table without another word, breathing fully only after I step outside into the humid summer night. I stand there for a few seconds on my parents’ front porch.
It’s all too much. My family. Milo. Grant. Life . . .
The door opens behind me.
“Hey,” Milo says softly.
I draw in a breath. “What?”
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I shrug, my back a quiet wall between us.
“I don’t care if you go out with—” He pauses, and that’s when I feel it . . . the list being removed from my back pocket.
“Hey!” I say as I quickly turn around. “Give that back!”
“What is this?” He unfolds the paper.
I do some ridiculous jumping and dancing trying to snatch the paper, but Milo’s taller than me, and when he holds the letter up high, it might as well be a star in the sky.
“Try something you’ve never done,” he reads.
“Speed on a back road. Order dessert first . . . is that why part of the pie was gone?” He pauses, grinning down at me.
I put my hands over my face. “Quit something you’re good at.
Go somewhere without a plan. Wear something just because I like it.
Climb the water tower. Watch an R-rated movie. Get a tattoo. Kiss a stranger . . .”
My ears burn hearing the list read out loud.
He surrenders the paper to me. “Sadie, what is this?”
“It’s nothing,” I mutter as I fold the paper back up.
“It’s not nothing. I know you, Sadie. I know—”
“Stop,” I say gently as I look at him, tears beginning to tug at my unraveling composure. “You don’t know me, Milo. You knew me. And then you left.”
“You left, too.” His words are quiet but true.
But it wasn’t just the leaving. Not for me.
“You didn’t even call, Milo. Or write me a letter. Or anything when—”
I let my words die.
“I know.” His words are gentle against my sharp ones. “I was a stupid kid, Sadie, and I know that’s not an excuse. It’s just the truth. If I could—”
I hold up my hand, steadying the emotion rising in my chest.
Years ago, I had practiced exactly what I would say to Milo Carter when I saw him again. Back when tears were fresh and anger was raw. Now it’s more of a bruise than a wound, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
“Can you give Emma her Crocs?” I say as I start toward my car. “It’s been a long day and I’m ready to go home.”
“Of course,” he replies as he follows me, his shadow falling over me and then his hand resting on the top of my car while he waits.
I open the car door and retrieve Emma’s Crocs, handing them out to Milo. His gaze is heavy on me, but my eyes stay focused on the tree in front of the house with the tire swing where I used to believe if I pumped my legs hard enough, I could launch myself to the moon.
He takes the shoes. “I wish you’d look at me.”
“I wish a lot of things,” I snap as my throat tightens, and I get in my car. I turn the engine, praying it starts quickly, and then drive off only glancing once in the rearview mirror, catching Milo still watching me from the sidewalk.