Leo bursts out onto the front porch a few feet away. He catches sight of us, raises his fists in the air and shouts, “Who’s ready?” just as his brother leaps out of the car, whooping and carrying on like we really are at a sporting event. Ren grins back at me, something so boyish in it I’m dropped right back into so many similar moments when we were kids up here and he was excited to boogie board with Thad or fly a kite on the beach with Sasha, then he runs over to greet the band. He’s the one who signed them to Sublimity, and I know through Stevie’s grapevine that he’s become good friends with them over the last couple years. It’s been a sore spot, the continuation of this world I was no longer a part of. I wanted, more than anything, for Ren to be happy, to get everything he deserved. But now there’s a whole world I’m only tangentially connected to, as Stevie’s sister.
“Seems like you two made up.” I jump, my hand flying to my chest, and turn to find Stevie, who’s crept up behind me. She’s holding a grocery bag, her eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, we had a lot of time to talk aftersomeoneleft us to set up tables for a hundred wedding guests,” I say.
“Sorry about that.” She bumps her hip against mine before leaning her head on my shoulder, watching as Ren and Leo laugh with the band, all of them huddled together and bouncing around like a group of overgrown teenagers. I feel the pinch again, of how much I’ve missed.
“It’s just because we all live in Portland,” Stevie says, reading my mind.
“Yeah, I know,” I say. Location isn’t the only thing that matters to a friendship, but I know she’s trying to make me feel better.“Hey.” I jostle my shoulder. Something has been nagging at me since I learned about Ren and Amanda’s breakup. That Stevie, in all likelihood, had to have known, and didn’t tell me. But when she looks up at me, eyes the same green as mine, I can’t bring myself to ask. Can’t open a can of worms that could make her wedding week anything less than perfect.
I loop an arm around her instead, draw her in closer, like if I hang on tight enough, I might prolong all the good of this week. “Never mind.”
* * *
“The rules are simple,” Leo says.
We’ve all convened around the firepit my dad had installed on the back patio a few years ago. It’s unlit, and Leo stands on the concrete edge, hands on his hips. The sun has finally dipped below the horizon, the last stretches of light across the sky making it seem like we’re about to embark on someGoonies-style adventure where anything is possible.
“I think we’ve all played capture the flag before,” Sasha says. “Can we just choose teams?”
“I want to hear the rules!” I call. Deep down, despite everyone treating me normally, I can still feel myself searching for that opportunity to be part of things like before, to establish myself in this group.
Leo grins and proceeds to explain rules that, yes, we all probably know. But his energy is infectious, and even Sasha is smiling by the time he’s done.
“First team to get the other team’s flag and make it back to their base camp wins. If you get tagged by someone on the opposite team, you’re sent to jail, and have to be tagged out by your own team member. Blue team’s camp and jail is here,” Leo says, waving a hand at the patio. “Red team’s is the old swing set at the top of the yard.Blue’s flag is on a tree at the bottom edge of the side yard. Red’s is at the top.”
Stevie holds out her bag, filled with red and blue bandanas. “You can use the forest for cover,” she says as we all reach in to grab one, Leo hopping down from his post to make sure no one tries to choose a specific color. “But no one goes farther than where the path turns toward the lighthouse. We don’t want anyone tumbling into the ocean.”
“One more thing,” Leo says. “Losing team covers the tab at Clyde’s tomorrow night.” Clyde’s is Stevie’s favorite bar in town and our last stop on their joint bachelor/bachelorette party.
We split into groups, red heading toward one side of the firepit and blue staying on this one. I bounce on my toes, the sound of the ocean crashing invisibly below racing into my veins. I’ve never been one for organized competition, hate when people offer me tips for sports I’m already well aware I’m bad at. But something about the fading light, the anticipation emanating off the others, being back in thisplace, has me excited.
Ren wanders over with the concentration he used to display before his soccer games in high school.
“Hey, teammate,” I say, holding up my blue bandana as he knots one around his neck.
“No way,” Sasha says, tying her red bandana around her arm like she’s headed into battle. I stop bouncing as she waves a finger between Ren and me. “These two can’t be on a team together.”
“Why not?” Leo asks.
“You weren’t around for the great charades debacle of 2014,” Stevie explains.
“I was not mouthing the answers to Joni,” Ren argues. He’s always been offended by the suggestion we cheated.
“What about the poker fiasco the summer after they graduated high school?” Thad adds. “You hid cards for each other.”
“Or—”
“We get it,” I say, knowing this could go on all night. We didn’t cheat, but they’ll never listen. “Who’s trading?”
“I’ll be on red,” Ren says, reaching up to undo his bandana.
“Hold on,” Thad says. “How do we know that isn’t already the plan?”
Ren narrows his eyes at his brother. “Whatplan?” he asks.
“I want Joni,” Stevie interjects. I throw her a confused look. No one ever picks me for games like this. She rolls her eyes. “Unless you’d like to keep discussing this.”
