“You can’t row away from me,” I call out. “We were talking.”
“Youwere talking.”
“You had a lot to say about me too, if you recall.” Frustratedbreaths expel from my throat with each stroke. “Can you stop? I’ve already lost one person this year over a particularly revelatory rowing incident and it’s not happening again.”
“This is a kayak.”
She turns herself around to better berate me, paddling backward without missing a stroke, leading me to wonder if this is something she does recreationally. Does my sister like to kayak now? Why didn’t she tell me about it? Or did she tell me and I wasn’t listening?
“Why can’t you be happy for me?” Her question skitters across the water.
“Happy for what? Ijustgot divorced. The ink is barely dry, and you wanted to get married without me. You thought I’d be like ‘Cool, Laur. Good for you’?” I gesture with my paddle. The resulting movement sends my boat a little sideways, cutting into its overall effect.
“Oh my god.” Her mouth shakes with quiet rage, and she finally stops paddling. “Who cares about your stupid divorce? Thank god you’re not still married to that boat shoe of a human. No onewantedyou to marry Rich.”
I now understand what it means to feel your blood boil. Not so much at what she’s saying (I’d assumed as much) but thewayshe’s saying it. Reducing my year of heartache and pain to something silly. I set my paddle on my lap, looking absurd in this giant red boat. I might as well be arguing about the dissolution of my marriage in a plastic clown shoe.
“But I respected you enough to let you make your own choices,” she continues, ignoring the way my face is turning red. “But you couldn’t respect me enough to let me make mine. And the worst part is, Iknewyou wouldn’t. I knew from thesecond you showed up you were angling for something, but I got caught up in nostalgia and hope like an idiot.”
Her pointed words jab me between the ribs, one after another.
“The only reason we didn’t immediately elope in the first place wasbecauseof the timing with your divorce, but if I could do it all over again, I would’ve married Peter that day without ever telling you!”
“You wouldn’t have!”
“I would so,” she spits. “I would’ve married the crap out of him!”
What can only be described as a feral howl releases itself from my throat. At Laurel, the lake, my stupid paddle. I must look petty and childish. I may as well be calling out for our mom and crying about how unfair it all is. “You’re so self-centered, Laurel.”
“I get it.” She punches her paddle into the air. “I was a horrible sister and you hate me.”
Despite it all, I somehow manage a laugh. “Laurel, IwishI could hate you.” I practically beat my chest with my palm. “It would be wonderful to write you off—but I can’t because I love you and you’re the only person I’ll ever have.”
It’s so simple and primal, it decimates me.
She’s my rock.
Our parents took off at the first opportunity. My husband left. It’s only a matter of time before Ethan leaves. Laurel’s the only person who’s ever felt permanent. She’s all I’ve ever had. But I’m not all she has. She’s ready to dispose of me. She’s leaving me behind for something better. For more.
My love for her pricks at my insides. I love Laurel with suchuntamed vehemence I have to keep it close. Otherwise, it’ll explode from my heart like a defective box of thumbtacks.
I want to let her in, but she’s not saying anything back. It’s dangerous, the way fear can corrode, and I feel my defenses going back up in real time. “God, you’re so desperate to leave me behind, aren’t you? You can’t wait to twist yourself into a pretzel so someone will keep loving you. You’re no better than our parents. It’s so pathetic.”
She flinches like I’ve slapped her. I might as well have, because I know at this moment, even if we find a way past this, I’ll never undo that flinch. I’ve struck her once, and now she knows I’m capable of it.
She considers for a moment but then says, “If you think any of that is true, you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”
My eyes burn with unshed tears. I have no words, and that’s the worst part, because Ihatethat. I hate feeling my emotions seep out of my body like sweat and having nothing to say. Nothing to do but sit in my own awful feelings.
I stand up, not sure what I’m about to say but desperate to saysomething. “Laurel—”
But I don’t get to whatever I was ramping up to because my kayak flips over, and I topple into the water with a percussive flop.
My ankle catches and knocks against the boat on my way to the water’s surface. The cold water stings against my shins, my belly, and the side of my face as though I’ve walked into a sliding glass door. The only difference is that shattered glass doesn’t shoot up your nose the way lake water does.
I see the paddle bobbing in front of me when I come up for air and grab on to it. I dart my head around, but the kayak isn’t anywhere.
“It’s in the tree,” Laurel tells me before I have to ask. She’s headed for me at an impressive speed. Is she, like,reallygood at kayaking?
