Page 35 of Cabin Fever

“Shhh.” She's already scrolling, holding the phone above her head with the reach advantage she's abused since 2003. Her eyebrows climb. “The cantilever⁠—“

“Give it—“ I climb her arm like it’s a tree.

“I'm well stocked?” She whirls on me. “Harper. You're sexting⁠—“

“Umm, keep your voice down, and that is NOT sexting!”

Dahlia laughs and hands me the phone. “I’m about to be married tomorrow, which basically makes me a wise elder, and that, my dear sister, is totally sexting. Or at least foreplay.”

My phone lights up, and we both see the message.

Finn

You look good in green

Dahlia points at me with a “Ha!” and I shove the phone in my dress that I only bought because it had pockets.

She grabs my arm and pulls me so close, I can smell her vanilla body spray. “You love him.”

“You're drunk.”

“I'm right. Those are different things that are both happening.” She grabs my face with both hands. “Harper. Harp. Light of my life. Do you know how I know?”

I laugh, my lips smooshed. “Enlighten me.”

“Because you've never stopped.” She says it so easily. A total ambush. “You think I didn't know? I shared a wall with you. You used to watch for his window light before you'd close your curtains. You cried for two days after the whole Melanie Fisher thing. You told me and Mom it was about a math test, but you've never cried about math in your life.”

My eyes burn.

“And every time Theo and I bring him up, you get so uncomfortable.”

“What?” I try to pull away, but she holds me tight.

“Don’t even!” She holds me tighter.

“Okay, but it’s completely unfair! You tell me things about him all the time when I’m just trying to live my regular life, and then you’re telling him things that I didn’t⁠—”

“Babe, I never volunteer information about you to Finn.”

“But he said⁠—”

“I only answer questions that he asks.”

That strikes me dumb. Dahlia grins, knowing exactly what she just did. She drops her hands, gives me one last pointed look, then slips back into the group.

* * *

By eleven, the party is losing steam. Predictable since half the attendees are over fifty or lightweights like me.

When Dahlia slings an arm over my shoulders and says, “Take me home, Harp,” I gladly say my goodbyes and make an exit.

It's 11:04. My sister, who has closed down every party she's ever attended, who once talked a DJ into “one more song” nine consecutive times, is done at 11:04. And under the glow, the exhaustion that’s been gathering all week bleeds through.

“Best bachelorette ever,” she says. “Priya should run countries.”

“Maybe small ones, to start.”

“Ones that don’t care about whether everything is penis-shaped.”