Page 6 of Dreams and Desires

“Make it flawless, Zade. Patterson flawless.”

I nod once. “I will.” Because there’s no version of this where I don’t.

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Lunch is a salad in a plastic container, eaten at my desk. My fork keeps scraping the bottom of the bowl while I answer emails. The contractors in Cody want new timelines. Finance wants guarantees. I give them both—clear numbers, short answers. The kind that shut people up for a while.

Meetings blur together after that. One after the other until the lights in my office go off by themselves. I don’t even realize it’s dark outside until I stand up.

On the drive home, I keep the radio low. There’s some podcast playing about eco-resorts. I half listen. Maybe I’ll remember something useful later.

When the elevator opens into my apartment, the smell hits right away—tomato, garlic, cheese. It’s strong. Feels like someone threw a memory at me. My mom is in my kitchen, standing over the stove in an apron covered in flowers. She looks way too proud of herself.

“Mom,” I say, somewhere between annoyed and kind of amused, “you broke in again.”

She waves me off like I’m being dramatic. “You changed the door code. But I still remembered your soccer jersey number from middle school. You’re easy.”

Before I can even try to argue, my dad walks out of the wine fridge holding a bottle. “She took over,” he says, smiling like he’s enjoying everysecond of it. “I just followed orders.”

We eat sitting at the counter, legs swinging like we’re kids again. My mom starts doing her usual thing, working the conversation toward relationships.

“You need someone who’ll cook for you,” she says, scooping lasagna onto my plate. “Someone who makes sure you eat more than takeout.”

I roll my eyes. “Please don’t start the wedding talk.”

“You let Meredith go,” she says, pointing her fork at me. “Five years and no ring. She was a good one.”

“She wanted timelines,” I say. “I needed space.”

My dad sets his wine glass down gently. “We just want you happy. That’s all. No pressure.”

My mom reaches for my hand and squeezes. “You’re moving all the time, but that’s not living, mijo.”

I don’t say anything. I stare at the window instead. The lights outside blur against the glass. I think about everything I’ve built—and how shaky it still feels.

We finish dinner, clean up, and sit in the lounge for a while. Dad asks about work. Mom reminds me about vitamins. I pretend everything’s fine. Promise I’ll call. Tell them not to worry.

They leave around ten. My mom kisses the air toward me on her way out. Then the door clicks shut. It’s quiet again.

I pour myself a little whiskey and walk to the windows. The city is lit up like it’s trying to impress me, but it doesn’t.

And just like that, the memories come rushing back. My biological dad, drunk and angry, calling me names. The smell of bleach in the group home. Axel punching a kid in the face when I couldn’t. My adoption papers still fresh when Mom hugged me like I’d always been hers.

Axel teaches art now. He’s married to Cora. They’ve got a blended family—two teens and a baby. It works. Mom keeps hoping I’ll end up with something like that. But I don’t think she sees the parts of me that are still cracked.

Still, tomorrow I’ll get the team together. I’ll book the flight. Bring in PR. Make sure every piece of the plan is locked. Cody is going to get its resort. People will stop whispering when they say my name. I’ll earn that respect. Even if I have to do it alone.

I finish the whiskey. Set the glass down. No speeches. No drama. Just a decision.

I look at myself in the window, say it out loud so I believe it: “I’m not backing down.”

Chapter Three

Juniper

I am in my flannel pajamas, with an eyeliner wand frozen mid-stroke like I’m filming a disastrously low-budget makeup tutorial. Usually, I’m so perfect with my eyeliner, but today I can’t nail the ultra-thin cat flick I do. Instead, it’s getting thicker and thicker, trying to match both sides.

“Ughh!” I say, grabbing another wipe to clean the extra thick eyeliner, and attempt again with shaky fingers. The truth is, I’m nervous as butter icing in the sun. Because… well… I’ve been holed up at home for the past two weeks. It’s not like I had friends here waiting to welcome me. Also, my parents are the least interested in me. I haven’t had a single breakfast, lunch, or dinner with them. Every time I go downstairs, my mom acts like I don’t exist, and my dad either buries his face in the newspaper or turns the volume of the TV up so high he’s in his own world.

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