My breath paused as I waited for her to drop the nuke, to rip apart every ounce of denial I clung to. Having a best friend who knew me since childhood was a pain in the ass sometimes. She never let me forget anything or change the script in my head.

“I’m here if you need anything. That’s all,” she finished, and I exhaled.

“Thank you. I might take you up on that. Right now, I have to get down to Mom and Dad’s for another awkward family dinner.”

“Okay. At least your antics will give your sister a break from the Judge Bradley death stare. Give Rosie a kiss for me. Love you.”

“Love you,” I told her and hung up, pausing for a moment to evaluate my reflection. The black was a good, solid choice.

But the red would put a little more of the heat on me and off Charity.

Red it was.

…

As awkward went, it wasn’t naked-without-my-homework-on-the-first-day-of-school, and that was all I could really say for it.

Thank God Rosie kept up a steady stream of conversation with Mom, because Dad was barely looking at Charity or me.

Mom’s usually phenomenal cooking tasted like cardboard, but I just kept chewing, knowing it was more my nerves than her seasoning. Hopefully we could end this super-fun evening with relative quickness. A front had moved in this afternoon, and snow had started falling in a thick blanket as I’d pulled into the driveway.

“Since when did you become persona non grata?” Charity asked under her breath as we sat in the formal dining room. Dad occupied the head of the table and Mom the foot, while Charity and I held down one side and Rose the other. Her multicolored skirt and sequined unicorn top brought desperately needed life to the cherry-wood-and-crystal room.

“Since she decided to choose the Daniels boy over her own family,” Dad answered.

“Supersonic ears,” Charity whispered.

I tossed her a heavy dose of side-eye before facing my father. “Dad, I didn’t choose Cam over you.”

“Cam? Oh man, I bet he was hoping it was at least Xander,” Charity quipped.

“Charity,” Mom warned.

“I like Cam,” Rose added. “He’s nice.”

“You—” Dad’s face turned a mottled red as he struggled for control. “You brought that boy around Rose?”

“Noah,” Mom chided. “I’d hardly call a twenty-eight-year-old a boy. He’s a full-grown man now.”

“All the better to cause even more damage,” Dad shot back. “What were you thinking, Willow?” He stared at me, fork and knife clutched in his hands like he was going to cut into me instead of his turkey.

“About what?” I asked.

“Are you kidding me?” His voice dropped low.