The conversation shifts, but my mind remains stuck on the date, circling it like a shark around prey. Three hundred and sixty-five days. That's how long it's been since we gathered in black instead of summer colors. Looking across the table at the people I've loved my whole life, I feel like an actress in a play.

Smiling. Nodding. Pretending that celebrating my birthday won't feel like dancing on his grave.

"Damn Lyds, I missed your cooking," Ollie says before immediately looking at Mom apologetically. "I mean, I love your cooking too Mom."

"Sure," mom says with a playful eye roll.

This time, everyone laughs, and the moment passes. But the knot in my stomach remains, tight and insistent, a physical manifestation of the dread building for that day. The first anniversary of goodbye.

We're all finding ourselves in our own conversations, when footsteps thunder down the stairs. Nate rushes past the dining room without a glance our way.

"Excuse me, where are you off to?" Lydia's voice carries a particular mom-tone that usually stops kids in their tracks.

"Out," Nate snaps back.

"We have guests, Nate," she reminds him, gentler now.

"They'll be here tomorrow, won't they?" The door slams behind him, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

"Told you not to get your hopes up," Jake murmurs, earning a sharp look from Lydia.

The chatter eventually resumes, but there's a new tension threading through it. After dinner, we fall into our old routine—adults cook, kids clean, a rule Mom's enforced since we could reach the sink. The familiar rhythm of it feels like stepping back in time.

It's Jake who brings up the party Nate disappeared to, casually suggesting we all drop by. My stomach knots itself. After this morning's awkward encounter, the last thing I want is another round with Nate, especially not at a party. Ollie's enthusiasm doesn't help, but I opt for the safety of a book and early bedtime.

"You sure you don't want to come? It's your first night back, and it could be fun." Jake leans against my door frame, that boyish charm of his in full effect—dimples and all.

"As tempting as that sounds," I gesture to my comfy clothes, "someone sentenced me to an ungodly wake-up call tomorrow. I need all the sleep I can get."

His laugh fills the room like summer light. "It'll be worth it, I promise," he says, eyes sparking with barely contained excitement.

"Go have fun. I'll see you at the crack of dawn," I say, settling the matter.

"Okay, but if you change your mind⁠⁠—"

"Jake, I'm good," I cut him off gently, softening it with a smile. "My book and I have a date."

"Fine, guess I do need you rested for tomorrow.” He steps forward, wrapping me in a hug that smells like clean laundry and something uniquely Jake. "Missed you, Nor."

"Missed you, too."

"Sweet dreams."

"Always."