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She sits on one of the stools at the counter, Molly propping her chin on her knee.

The oven dings. Wren looks at me.

“Test turkey’s ready.” I grin. “I tried a brine. And something called a spatchcock.”

Her face twists. “How many turkeys did you buy?”

“Five.”

“Five turkeys?!” she asks, incredulous. “Who’s going to eat all that?”

I grab potholders out of a drawer and open the oven, pulling the turkey out with a grunt. “So far? Mostly Molly.” I set the turkey on the stove, peeking under the foil to see the golden-brown skin. Looks done. “If I ruin this turkey, June will never let me live it down. I have two weeks to get this shit right.”

“Judging by the backsplash . . .”

“Ha. Ha.” I lean on the counter. “So what’s new?”

She shrugs. “Luke asked me to Homecoming.”

Do not react. Do not react. Do not react.

I shriek and clap; she groans. “I knew you’d do that.”

“No you didn’t. What are you going to wear?”

Her eyes drop down, fingers pinch the sleeves of her sweater, and she shrugs. My heart wobbles.

I lift my chin. “Let me see.”

Reluctantly, she pulls her sleeves up. No new marks, only fading white lines going up her forearms. If I didn’t know, I wouldn’t notice, but she’ll never believe that. “Wanda has some makeup that might cover it up,” I offer.

Herhell nolook tells me that won’t work.

“What about a long-sleeved dress? I’ll take you shopping if you want.”

She perks up slightly. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” I say. “It’s one of my five skills.”

“You have other skills?”

I look at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Ask your dad.”

She groans, and I grin, dropping the oven mitts on the counter.

“You still hanging out with the Letts girl?”

A familiar eyeroll. “She’s not bad, Scotty. She’s nice. I told her about my mom, and she like, listened. Like, asked me questions about her. Cared.”

“You what?!” I viscerally hate this news.

“What? You act like you don’t want me to have any other friends.”

I scoff. “Of course I want you to have other friends, Wren. Just not her.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you,” she mutters, a coldness filling her eyes as we glare at each other. If I didn’t likeher so much, I’d hate her.Fucking kids. I jerk open a drawer and drop two knives on the counter. She blinks.

“Let’s carve pumpkins. I bought some for decorations and they need faces.”