Page 1 of Our Sadie
ONE: Panic
SADIE: DECEMBER—FIVE YEARS AGO
When I catch sight of the big red Cadillac Escalade pulled up in my dorm’s parking area, I inwardly cringe. Not that there aren’t plenty of rich kids who attend Harvard—it is goddamn Harvard—but the giant news station emblem plastered everywhere strikes me as ostentatious.
Dad works at the ABC affiliate here in Boston as one of the main primetime anchors. So I do understand why he requested one of the drivers take him from the station to the airport, with a brief stop at the university to pick me up. But I’m not a fan of everyone’s stares.
Guess I’m just lucky he didn’t choose one with his picture affixed to the side. Or the one with him and Mom together.
Speaking of Mom, she’s the one who pokes her head out the passenger side window. “Come on, Sadie. We need to get to the airport.”
I wave to let her know I’ve heard her, but I don’t verbally respond. Hers is another familiar face nationwide since she’s the chief meteorologist for the same station. Bridget Keaton-Vincent and Craig Vincent, power couple of the local weather and journalism scene. Then, there’s me, their introverted daughter who’d rather be in front of a computer keyboard than a television screen.
Sometimes I wonder if I was switched as a newborn with their real child at the hospital.
Yet physically, there’s no denying that I’m theirs. I have Dad’s hair and eyes and Mom’s everything else. Personality-wise, I’m not much like either of them, though. Except for my penchant for overachieving.
Like each of them, I graduated high school a year early with a perfect GPA. But the choice to attend this prestigious university on an accelerated five-year plan to achieve a simultaneous bachelor’s and master’s degree is all me. I’ve finished my first semester with flying colors. It makes them proud, I think.
That’s what they keep telling everyone, anyway.
Once I reach that monstrosity of an SUV, Mom snaps, “You’re too young to move this slow. Throw your suitcase in the back so we can go.”
She never has been the patient type, so I do as she says. Dad ignores her, as he often does. Their marriage has been more for the sake of public appearances than affection. It’s been like that for years.
Besides, we’ll make our flight regardless since we have our own private jet. What’s Jasper—our pilot—going to do? Take off without us?
I keep this snide remark to myself. It’ll only make my mother snippier than she already is. It’s an irony that has always confounded me, but something about going on vacation puts her in the nastiest of moods. You’d think traveling to some novel or exotic locale for a week or two of R & R would chill her out, but no.
She’s been like this for as long as I can remember.
Truth be told, I’m not overly excited for this getaway to Aspen, either. Unlike my parents, I’m not much of a skier, and while I do snowboard, I’m not as in love with careening down snowy mountains as they are.
But if I don’t go on this trip with them, they might just kill each other. I’ve been their buffer for a long time, and without me stepping in to play peacemaker, their arguments could switch over to wounding blows.
Okay, okay. I’m exaggerating a little. They probably wouldn’t do anything legitimately violent. They’ve never gotten rough with each other beyond the viciousness of their tones. They could very easily divorce, though. And how would that look for their power couple optics?
Not good.
So, I’ll be their net as they send volley after volley back and forth.
Happy eighteenth birthday to me.
Guess I shouldn’t complain. I do have more than most.
Finances have never been a struggle for my family. Maxine, our house manager, is already waiting for us in Colorado, so I’ll have her to talk to. My BFF is there for me no matter what, even if Winter Corsair lives in Iceland. And thanks to my ex-boyfriend Wood—his full name is Woodruff Franklin Astor, yikes—I’m no longer a virgin. Even if the sex with him was... meh.
You’d think with a name like Wood, he’d do a better job at maintaining his erection.
Maybe once I graduate and have my career in place, all the other adult stuff will come together like I want it to. A romantic relationship that’s nothing like my mom and dad’s or like the dull one I had with my ex.
One where my man will greet me when I stroll through the door—or I greet him—with a kiss rather than barbed insults. Because I’m hoping for that. I’m hoping for everything. Love, fulfillment, and happiness.
Doesn’t everyone?
Once we’re aboard, Natalie, our flight attendant, brings me a cupcake with lavender whipped frosting. My dad grins at me, his gray eyes crinkling along the corners as he squeezes my shoulder.
“Thought I... we...” He flicks a glance at Mom. “Forgot, didn’t you?”