Chapter 7

7

"So, how's it all going?" my dad wants to know on Saturday afternoon, eyes shining with excitement through the phone screen as we FaceTime. "First week done! Are you settling in okay? Getting on all right with the others? Your new roommates can't be any worse than the last lot—the state of that kitchen sink in your college halls when we visited to pick you up for summer, honestly…Are they being nice to you? Inviting you to things, including you? What about your team—is your new manager giving you enough guidance?"

"Dad, breathe. "

He does, taking an exaggerated, melodramatic breath so big it makes his cheeks puff out like a chipmunk's and then comes sputtering back out of him in a laugh that's warm and familiar. I'm exhausted, but that laugh revives me a little. I readjust my hold on the phone, tucking my knees up to my chest, and answer his questions in order.

Summer is creeping in lazily, filtering in at the very edges: a too-brief golden hour, and sudden and vibrant splashes of lush green leaves appearing on trees where they hadn't been the day before, pale but bright dawns breaking earlier and earlier into the morning.

I've made an escape to St.James's Park for a little while. As I explain to my dad now, it's not that I don't like the other interns. But between seeing each other at work and sharing commutes and accommodation, it's nice to have a little breathing space for a while.

Plus, I've been on edge all day, frazzled from a sleepless night replaying my confrontation with Lloyd and cursing myself for falling for his act last week and believing he could have genuinely liked me, when he obviously doesn't want much to do with me at all. Which I must be making obvious because Elaine keeps asking if I'm okay, and I think if she does it one more time, I might break down and tell her everything. She seems lovely, but I've only known her a week—what if she blabs to everyone else?

Besides, I have to be better than this. I promised myself I'd get through this summer and not fall at the first hurdle—I just didn't expect that hurdle to be a cute guy.

Obviously, I don't mention the boy drama to my dad. Instead, I focus on work stuff, pleased that I can give a good report there. I've started to get to work reviewing some projects alongside Laurie as a bit of a "practice run" before I take the reins myself next week. So far, it's been like learning to ride a bike with the stabilizers on.

When I say that, Dad laughs again. "And knowing you, you're itching to get them off already. I'm sure you'll have found your footing there before you know it, Anna, I wouldn't stress too much."

"I know. I'm trying."

Although what I actually want to tell him is that it's not as easy as he seems to think. Sure, the project development team has taken on four interns over the past couple of summers, so they must be used to having an amateur around, and sure, they gave me a thirty-nine-slide PowerPoint with step-by-step flow diagrams explaining the sorts of tasks I'll be doing…. But they're also currently down a team member, run off their feet, and so used to having an intern around that the novelty has apparently worn off. I've noticed more than a couple of eye rolls when I ask them to explain something they deem obvious and basic. I want to prove that I'm useful, that I can handle it—not sit around asking silly questions, a total inconvenience to everybody.

Plus, none of their previous interns made the cut for a graduate job. My manager, Michaela, joked to me that maybe I'll be the first.

I may have taken it as a challenge.

I do tell Dad something that's made it a little tricky to settle in—that, at random intervals throughout the week, we're all corralled back into a single group and introduced to various teams or managers. It's supposed to help us build a better understanding of all the cogs in the machine that is Arrowmile.

"Let me guess," Dad tells me, his bushy eyebrows twisting upward. "You'd rather just keep your head down with a list of tasks."

He's not wrong, but I say, "Some of it's been quite interesting. Like, the senior partner of the marketing department was an intern five years ago. Five years ago! And now she's leading the department! That's amazing. Her name's Molly, and she's agreed to get lunch with me next week so I can pick her brain, and—"

"And see how that can be you next?"

I don't deny it, and Dad gives a small, affectionate chuckle as he shakes his head. My stomach knots at the thought that he's about to make another comment about how like my mom I am, but all he says is, "There'll be no stopping you, Annalise. Watch out, world."

I smile, but I should've known it was too good to be true.

"Your mom would be so proud of you," he says, and it takes all my willpower not to hang up the phone there and then.

Like I want her to be proud of me. Like it matters. Like I care.

She forfeited any right to be proud of me when she picked her career over us and walked out of our lives almost thirteen years ago. Who needs to be there for their daughter when they have a shiny, impressive, high-flying job that's much more interesting to spend time with?

"Have you told her about the internship?" Dad presses, in a way that suggests he already knows the answer.

"So that we finally have some common ground to talk about? No thanks."

Dad inclines his head in surrender and, thankfully, lets the matter drop.

He doesn't need to know that part of me secretly hopes Mom might see the update on my LinkedIn profile about how I'm doing a prestigious internship this summer. I'm aware how pathetic it sounds that the only communication I might have with my own mother would be via LinkedIn, of all things.

We chat a little while longer. I tell him a bit more about my week, then ask how my brothers are doing. Dad flips the camera around and takes me to the dining table, where my half brothers, Oliver and Christian, are doing homework, so they can say hi.

They're supposed to be doing homework, anyway. Oliver, who's slightly older at nine, shoves a red Nintendo Switch under a sheaf of papers hastily. As I try to smother a laugh, I hear Dad sigh. He rummages for the console under some half-filled-in math worksheets, prompting Oliver to mutter, "Thanks a lot, Annie," because apparently it's my fault (it usually is, but I know he never really means it).

Christian throws a plastic ruler at his brother. "I told you you'd get caught. Dad, can I play on the Switch later?"

"We'll see." Which usually means yes.

Christian pokes his tongue out and Oliver throws the ruler back at him, reluctantly returning to his homework.

"So, everything's normal and nobody's missing me too much yet?" I ask Dad.

"Everything's normal and we're all missing you plenty," he says. He takes me into the kitchen next, where Gina's in the middle of sorting out dinner, holding the phone out so my stepmom can say hi and get a rundown of my week before they have to go. I say goodbye, stomach grumbling like I can smell the casserole Gina is cooking, and I feel a pang that I'm not with them.

At college, home was only an hour's train ride away, so I had my fair share of weekends back there, enjoying some proper home-cooked meals and a washing machine I didn't have to pay to use…And with everybody politely not mentioning that I was only home because once again, I didn't have plans with either old friends from school or the girls in my halls. After the failed midterm and breaking up with my boyfriend, I abandoned the social clubs I'd joined purely in an attempt to make some friends, unwilling to risk my future just so I could look back and say, "Sure, I didn't get the grades I wanted and missed out on those jobs, but you know what? I played a ton of netball."

I didn't get homesick. I visited too often, and if I stayed at college it was because I was so busy studying, focused only on the day when all of this would be behind me and I'd be a successful, independent grown-up. Then, I wouldn't waste time worrying over why the girls suddenly went quiet when I came into the kitchen or burst out giggling as I left. I'd be capable, and put-together, and unfazed by such things.

Also, I guess I haven't had the chance to feel homesick since coming for the internship—not until now, when it hits hard. I think about spending the next three months here, far away and probably hardly going home at all. Will my brothers look all grown-up by the time I can visit next? Will they miss me over summer, or forget all about me? I'll miss them when they go to Spain next month—the first family vacation I won't be part of.

A shiver runs through me, and I hug my knees to me a little tighter. But it's not from the chill of an early summer breeze; it's the uneasy realization that this is what growing up means, and all of a sudden I'm barreling toward it with the brakes cut. I've been so focused on what my future is going to look like that I forgot some of what I'm leaving behind.

It's all for the best, though.

It has to be.