I nod. “It can be. There’s not exactly a shortage of English PhDs, so general wisdom says you go where the job is.”

Mom wrings her hands. “But who wouldn’t want you? I thought Chicago or Indianapolis—Ann Arbor, maybe? But L.A.?”

She thought I’d stay within a weekend’s drive. Oh, God. Wouldn’t that be nice? I wouldn’t have to miss Sunday brunch. I wouldn’t have to miss watching my nieces growing up. “I don’t know how I feel about it.” Maybe honesty’s my best bet here. “I’ve worked really hard to get this degree, and it only makes sense to follow the job. That was always the plan. But I can’t pretend I’m excited about living on the other side of the country and only coming home a couple of times a year.”

Mom pales. “A couple of times?”

My heart squeezes. I always assumed she’d thought this through. “I haven’t made any decisions yet, but . . .” I stare at my bare feet, too aware of all the eyes in the room focused on me. “I’m beginning to realize the first decision I need to make is whether I even want to keep working in academia.”

“You don’t have to take a job right away, do you?” Teagan asks. “Maybe you need a break so you can decide. A buffer year.”

“I need a catering manager at the banquet center,” Molly says. “I mean, obviously you’re ridiculously overqualified, but if you just wanted to step away for a while, the job is yours.”

“I love that idea,” Mom says, clasping her hands together. And it’s official. Now Molly is definitely her favorite. She spins to me. “You could work for Molly until you find something closer, Shayleigh.”

The idea pulls me in two directions. On one hand, I don’t want to leave home. On the other hand, finishing my PhD and abandoning it feels like a degree of failure. “Maybe I’ll put my application in,” I tell Molly. “I’m just not sure yet.”

“No pressure.” She grins. “Just options.”

I nod. “Options are good.” My phone buzzes, and I stoop to grab it from my purse in the corner.

Easton: I’m coming back from Chicago early. We need to talk. And before you say no, it’s not about you and me. It’s about something else.

“Is everything okay?” Mom asks. She’s got this sixth sense when it comes to her kids. She always knows when there’s something wrong. I swear, even though I’ve never breathed a word about my relationship with Easton to anyone in my family, I wouldn’t be totally shocked if my mom suspected something had happened between us. That’s just the way she is.