“Peter’s nota guy,” she argues.
“No, he’s justtheguy you were reeling from when I drove eight hours to rescue you from a Petco in Winnipeg.”
My sister’s jaw clenches. “You couldn’twaitto throw Petco in my face.”
“I was searched at the border at two in the morning. That’s not when thenicecustoms agents are on shift, in case you were curious.”
Harlow moves her lips but ultimately deserts our battleground without a word.
“That was eight years ago,” Laurel yells, throwing up her hands as thoughI’mthe ridiculous one in this situation. “Move on!”
“Oh, I get it.” Blood boils up into my ears. I’m absolutely seething. “Because you gave me a Target gift card with thirty-three dollars left on it, I’m supposed to be over that by now?”
This is the scorched-earth way Laurel and I always fight each other. Nothing’s off-limits. Every artifact of our childhood is primed to be excavated. Every argument is abouteverything, which meanseverythingcan hinge on the smallest bit of nothing. When you share a life with someone, it’s impossible to let go of all the tiny little nothings when it counts.
“I’m not that person anymore. People change, Charley. Maybeyoudon’t change, but other people do. I see it every time you look at me. You’re waiting for me to—”
“To do something crazy and dramatic like marry your high school boyfriend in the woods?” My question is rhetorical. And cold-blooded. But I can’t help myself. Fighting with my family always throws me into a fugue state of immature, unbridled bitchiness.
“No. You’re waiting for me to be a mess. I think you’rehopingfor it. If I’m the mess and you’re not, then we all fit into the same neat little piles we have since we were kids and you never have to question anything about your life.”
I look around for someone to jump in and referee, but everyone’s very busy pretending to be very busy. “I’m not…That’s not…” I breathe in deep. I need to de-escalate this if I’m going to have any shot of getting through to her. “I don’t think you’re a mess, Laur. I thinkthisis a mess. It’s messy.”
“You think Peter and I are messy? You and Ethanjustrebuilt your friendship, and last night you were screwing each other in the back of a van! Nowthat’smessy.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I fire back, swallowing the scream attempting to break free from my throat. She’s so off base. She’s deflecting. She always does this. It’s why fighting with her is infuriating.She’sinfuriating. How did this flip-turn into a dressing-down ofmeand my life choices?
“Oh, so you’re not going to cut him off again when he starts being honest with you?”
“That’s not…” Her accusation leaves me speechless. My fingers tingle with a mixture of white-hot rage and panic. I’m terrified, I’m rabid, and she’s calm in the most maddening way. “This isn’t about me and Ethan. This is about you and—”
“Do you seriously think I don’t know Ethan’s side of everything? Your bachelorette party? The wedding?”
Ethan’s side of everything.The fragment worms its way inside my brain and burrows through all rational thought. The world pulses. My eyes dart to Ethan, but he’s glaring at Laurel.
“Lo,” he cautions her, coming around from the other side of the tent. He and Petey have been right there this whole time, within earshot. The whole Superior National Forest is within earshot the way we’re shouting. “Stop. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I don’t? You really think this time she’s going to give up her life and move into your van with you?” She’s refusing to let up, unrelenting, as each question presses against my breastbone like a forty-pound weight.
“That’s enough, Lo.” Ethan holds up a hand.
“Babe,” Petey starts, seeming to recognize his fiancé at risk of going too far.
She throws up her arms. “Forget it. I need to clear my head.” I watch Laurel march to the edge of the lake and plop herself into a kayak.
“Seriously?” My hands find my hips as we continue to devolve into our teenage selves. This argument might as well be a time machine. “Very mature, Laurel.”
I look frantically between Ethan and Laurel, not sure where the most immediate damage lies. “I’m sorry. She just—”
He pulls his arms across his chest. “It’s okay. Go. We can talk later.” His voice isn’t remotely reassuring, but for now, it’s enough encouragement for me to do what I need to do.
I grab an empty kayak and paddle after my sister.
—
“Where are you going?” I yell once I’m finally within shouting distance. My shoulders are burning from the water’s resistance and we’ve barely been at this for a few minutes.
Her gaze shoots over her shoulder. The paddle she’s wielding almost drops into the water. “Jesus! You scared me.”
