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“You suck, you know that?” Her mom shook her head with a grin.

Mack needed to focus on anything but her parents’ faces. She shuffled through the fridge drawers looking for something resembling a snack.

“You’re almost done with the book, right?” her mom asked.

“Yep.”Lies.“Should be done with my first draft by the end of the week.”More lies.

“When does the movie deal come in?” her dad asked as he slapped his flexed biceps. “I need to up my game at the gym so I can be camera-ready for the premiere.”

Mack shut the fridge door with a heavy thud and rolled her eyes. If her dad spent any more time at the gym, he’d need custom-fitted shirts. “I don’t even thinkI’dget to go to the premiere. A comped ticket is probably all. Besides, it’s never going to happen, so let’s forget it.” She licked the yogurt lid and scanned the room for a garbage can.

He opened a cabinet under the kitchen island and pointed. “Not true. Look how close you got to a movie deal on your last book. Keep applying yourself, kid. Work hard, and it’ll happen.”

The bite from the studio passing on adapting her book into a screenplay still stung. With everything that happened these last six months, the very last thing she wanted to do was relive that moment. “Doesn’t really work like that. But I appreciate the optimism.”

“Optimism? It’s fact.” His proud smile sucker-punched her. “My daughter. Best-selling author. About to have another bestseller.”

If they only knew.Mack struggled to swallow the yogurt that now tasted dry.

Her mom popped bread in the toaster. “Drew, leave her alone. She hasn’t even been here a full day yet.”

Her dad grabbed her mom by the waist and kissed the top of her head. “Have I told you that your mom is the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Her father. Master deflector.Thank God.

“You realize I’m a woman, too, right?” Mack grinned.

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Hey, not sure how many days you plan on being here, but you might want to grab some headphones for the night. Or I’ll leave a sock on the door handle for fair warning if you’re out.”

“Andrew!” Her mom pushed at his arm.

Mack shook her head. “You’re seriously so disgusting.”

“I better shower up. I’m filthy as hell. Here, give me your arm.” He grabbed Mack’s wrist and pretended to swipe it across his sweaty forehead.

“Eww, no,” she squealed like a twelve-year-old, and yanked her arm back. “God, you’re gross.”

Once her dad left, the silence turned heavy as Mack concentrated on avoiding an awkward conversation. “I really like your new condo,” she said after too many moments passed of nothing but breathing.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here for almost a year, and this is the first time you’ve seen the condo.” Her mom’s voice was flat as she scraped her forefinger across the crust, clearly more interested in picking at her food than eating it. “Your dad really misses you.”

Mack raised an eyebrow. “Just Dad?”

“Oh, stop. You already know I miss you.” Her mom exhaled her usualI’m-done-talking-about-thisbreath and scooped Mack in for a hug.

Her mom’s body was still a bit frail, but she’d at least bulked up a bit from when Mack visited last year. Her grip was tighter, her signature pink soap and apple shampoo scent had returned.

Thank God.

Three years ago when Mack flew in after the diagnosis—the week chemo started—the smell threw her off. Did cancer actually have an odor? Or had she made it up? A sharp, acidic, maybe even metallic scent evaporated off her mom, and imbedded in Mack’s nose for weeks after she’d returned to NYC. Like a pharmacy, plastic facility, and bleach mated.

“I can’t wait until your next book releases so I can finish decorating.” Her mom waved towards the living room with multiple copies of Mack’s book prominently displayed, including a framed cover that hung above the fireplace.

“You know it’s tacky to have my book in the guest bathroom, right?”

“I have one in every room. Why would I leave out the bathroom?” She grinned and bit into the corner of the toast. “You’re always so secretive about your projects, but I’m dying to know something. Anything.”

“Hopefully, it’ll do better than the last one.”