Page 55 of Ladybirds

Sara’s not convinced (not even a little) but at this point she’s got nothing left to lose.

Her heart is in her throat, pulse drowning in her ears and sweat lining her palms. The computer screen stares back at her, a click away from knowing if the last month of Seth’s lectures were a waste of time or a saving grace.

Sara swallows down her nerves, wipes her hands on her jeans, and forces herself to click the link.

She passes her classes. All of them.

A strangled sound escapes her—the sheer amount of relief she feels is enough to make her cry. Her last semester would be the last two classes she needs to fulfill her bachelor of photography. No more math and no more literature.

She feels Seth hovering behind her, reading the posted results over her shoulder. When she looks, his lips quirk into a smile. “Well done, Princess.”

Sara beams, leaning back in her chair to stare up at him. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

His grin turns teasing. “That, I believe, we can safely agree on. Still, your efforts were commendable. Particularly when considering your complete lack of talent in the subject.”

Sara’s eyes narrow, trying (and failing) to look offended. “I think there was a compliment in there.”

“Perhaps if you squint.”

She laughs, her day bright, despite the gunmetal clouds gathering outside her window. For the first time in months, it feels like she’s outrun her problems. She curls up on the couch, Oma’s blanket draped over her lap and a mug of hot chocolate warming her hands as she rewatches The Princess Bride.

Silently, Seth’s lips move in time with the dialogue. But if he’s seen the movie enough times to be sick of it, he says nothing.

The next day she looks at the calendar, registers that Christmas is only five days away, and feels her mood sour.

“I really don’t want to go,” she gripes, shoving a set of pajamas into a duffle bag.

Seth hums, distractedly staring out the window at something she can’t see. He’s felt distant the last two days—quiet in ways that she might find worrisome if it wasn’t for the imminent holiday disaster she was facing. “Then don’t.”

“He’s my father. And it’s Christmas.”

“More’s the pity.”

She could throttle him. “Are you even listening?”

Rolling his eyes, he gives her his full attention. “You realize we have had this exact conversation more times than I care to count? If you’re truly that worried about your father’s feelings, then just get in the blasted car and go.”

She stares at him, momentarily thrown by his abrasiveness. Snarky, she’s used to, but the abrupt way he dismissed her... “What’s wrong?”

His jaw works, the way it always does when she’s asked a question he wishes to avoid. “I have… some concerns,” he admits, scowling. “It’s nothing I wish to worry you with.”

Sara doesn’t miss the fact that he doesn’t meet her eyes as he says it. “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”

“Perhaps because you have a penchant for worrying excessively over things in general.”

She glares, arms folding across her chest. “Ok, seriously. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not if I can help it,” he grumbles, shooting her a dry look. “And I would appreciate it if you’d refrain from asking.”

Lips pursing, she regards him carefully. He meets her eyes unflinchingly, but there’s a pleading edge in his gaze. Sara sighs, arms dropping limply to her sides. “You’d tell me, right? If it was something I should worry about?”

His expression softens. “Only once I’m sure it’s worth worrying over.”

“You know, somehow that’s not all that comforting.”

He doesn’t answer and Sara doesn’t push, even though she knows she could.

Sara goes home for Christmas. Mostly because she can’t find a good enough excuse not to. She’s ashamed to admit she half-wished for a snowstorm, but only got an inch for her trouble. Hardly enough to excuse her.

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