But the day before we head home for Thanksgiving, he has a different request, and for the first time, I say no.

“You really don’t think it’ll make you feel better?” he asks, twirling one of my curls around his finger as we lie intertwined in my bed, watching but not watching an episode of Stranger Things on my laptop. My room is slightly more decorated now. Salem got Claire to send him a file of the two of spades art and had it printed and framed; Sabrina gave me the cards from my original tarot reading so I could hang them over my bed; and Isabel picked up the world’s most hideous LIVE, LAUGH, LOVE sign she could find in a clearance bin and presented it to me with a flourish.

“I don’t think talking to my sister has ever made me feel better in my entire life,” I say sourly, fiddling with the soft hem of his flannel. “Why would it start now?”

“Because now you have a dreamy boyfriend.”

I snort into his side. “Great, so she can try to lure you away. And considering her track record, it’ll probably work.”

“Interesting. She hot?”

“Don’t you dare.” I whack him right over his belly button, hoping he’s cursing having no body fat to protect him right about now, but he just laughs.

“One Riley woman’s enough to handle, thanks very much.” He tilts my face up for a kiss, and as I melt into him, I can’t help but think that maybe he has a point. I have to see her tomorrow when I go home anyway. Maybe it’s best to break the ice from here, where I feel good about my friends and boyfriend and the space I’ve created for myself, rather than waiting until we’re both back on what, let’s face it, has somehow always been her turf, even while being my home.

I’d kill to have a sister like Sabrina; for all that she and Salem torture each other, I know they’d take a bullet for each other. Hell, that’s basically what Salem did, coming here. And I thought she’d kick my ass for getting with him, but the only thing she said about it when she saw me at lunch that first day was “So you’re screwing my brother. Gross. But at least that’ll keep my parents’ heat off me for a while. Welcome to the fam.”

“What would I even say?” I ask when we part. “‘Hey, how was rehab? Wanna talk about why you banged my ex?’”

“How about you start with ‘Hi’? Chatting about banging the ex is more of a ‘five minutes in’ conversation topic.”

“It all sounds terrible. Why exactly are you making me do this?”