Page 27 of All Our Nevers

“Look, I don’t really care what we do as long as they like it,” he says. “I’ll follow your lead. Just tell me how to make it happen.”

And that’s the second time I’m pleasantly surprised by him today.

He’s good at following directions, too. I guess that makes sense, Mr. Columbia Law. And it really is much quicker with his help. Twisting the streamers exactly the right number of times (not too crowded and not too loose), putting a perfectly tacky amount of penis-shaped confetti across the main table, and hanging the balloon letters exactly where they should go.

“Can you tell me when it’s aligned?” he asks, holding the final G in Nerd Wedding against the living room wall.

I hand him a new piece of tape, then back up a few steps. “Up. Up more. There, stop!”

He fixes it in place, then steps back to evaluate our work, nodding in approval.

I wonder if he’s just a perfectionist in general, or if this level of attention is specifically about Andy. Some kind of penance for all the ways he’s been a shit brother. All the texts that were never sent and family reunions that were skipped and years of echoing, aching silence between them.

Maybe it’s a bit of both.

“Where do you think the photo backdrop should go?” I ask him in a gesture of good will. “Just on that wall by the couch?”

“Mmm no. The furniture will be in the pictures there. What if we do it by the back door? Then even if it’s a wide angle it’ll have that whole hallway in the shot and still look clean.”

“Okay yes.”

I start to walk that way, but Owen says, “Here, let me do it. I can reach higher.”

But he’s got maybe four inches on me—if that—so I still say, “I’ve got it.”

I reach the hallway at the same time as him. We bob and weave a bit, a physical joke about who’s going to go down the hallway first. He fakes left, then right, and I mirror him, and it’s almost fun until he grabs me around the waist and lifts me clean off the ground and my body and brain react on instinct.

“STOP! Put me down!”

The room is a blur. My arm strikes out, but the angle’s bad—elbow knocking face, knees hitting ribs. My feet hit the floor and I’m pushing away, desperate for space. My body feels overhot, breaths ragged, and he’s still just there—chuckling like it’s all some fucking joke. So I shove his shoulders, as hard as I can. He stumbles a step.

I spit, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His expression morphs into disbelief. “It… it was a joke, Amelia. We’re messing around.”

“It’s not a joke to me. I don’t like being grabbed. Never fucking touch me again.”

A furrow appears between his brows. “Woah… hey, are you okay? I thought… I’m sorry. I thought we were cool now.”

“Well we’re not. I’m putting up with you for Sophie and Andy and that’s it. Get away from me.”

I shove past him, knocking his shoulder with mine.

And that’s when the front door to the house bursts open.

“PARTY TIME!”

Nolan is a pack mule with about seven million bags hanging from his shoulders and back. Andy and Sophie each carry one of their own behind him.

I paste on my showtime smile.

“Welcome to your bachelor/ette party!” I squeal, charging them and grabbing Sophie and Andy around the neck with each arm. Focus on this. Focus on them.

“Yay!” Sophie is immediately jumping up and down. “I’m so excited!”

“Hey guys,” Owen says, turning the corner from the hall where we just fought. “Hope you like… confetti!” He throws a handful into the air over our group and the happy couple laughs. One tiny hot pink penis sticks to Andy’s cheek. No one tells him.

And Owen’s good at this—faking it. There’s a warm smile on his face that makes it seem like the last two minutes didn’t happen at all. Meanwhile I’m still reeling, my fingertips are freezing, my adrenaline is cresting.