Page 108 of Where Roads Lead

“I’m sorry, I know these dinners are important to you,” I said. “But this?” I gestured toward the table. “It doesn’t help me. I know family and being together is how you like to cope with it, but I’m not like you guys. All I wanted was to just be alone.”

“Bullshit,” Ava said. “You didn’t want to be alone. You just didn’t want to be with us.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just funny that your version of ‘being alone’ never seems to apply when it comes to Elsie.”

“Maybe because she doesn’t turn every interaction into a battle,” I countered, agitation rising.

“Because she doesn’t have to fight for you to give her the time of day!”

“For the last time, Ava, I don’t and never have owed you anything. When will you figure that out and leave me the hell alone?”

Guilt crept in before the words were out of my mouth, and I watched Ava wilt before me.

“That’s it,” my father said, a rare moment of authority in the forcefulness of his tone. “This has gone on long enough between the two of you, and it won’t happen anymore in my house.”

“Henry, please,” my mother pleaded.

“Now, I thought we were past the point of treating you like children, but if you act like this, then I have no choice.”

I clenched my fist, already knowing what was coming.

“Ava and Will, the two of you are excused from dinner. You can go into the yard and discuss the matter amongst yourselves. Until you’re able to be around each other without fighting, we don’t want your company.”

“Can I just go home, then?” I said.

“No,” my father’s voice boomed. “Yard. Now.”

Ava, ever obedient, sprang to her feet and out the sliding glass door that led to the backyard.

With heavy footsteps and an even heavier sigh, I followed.

“It’s freezing out here,” Ava said, wrapping her arms around herself and pretending not to be hurt by my earlier abrasiveness.

“Yeah, well, that’s sort of the point, isn’t it?”

This—sending us outside—it was a tactic my parents used when we were kids to get us out of their hair while we were fighting.

By sending us outside to make up, they figured if it was too cold, or too hot, we’d try to get apologizing over with as fast as possible, and if the weather was fine, then they figured we’d wind up playing with each other anyway, ultimately reaching the same end goal.

But we weren’t twelve anymore, and our problems were bigger than not sharing our newest toy.

“So, can we pull it together long enough to get the rest of this night over with?” I asked.

Ava, whose back had been turned against me, whipped her head around to shoot me a scathing look.

“No, I don’t want to ‘get this over with.’ I want us to finally have a real conversation that leads to something other than animosity.”

“Oh, come on, Ava! Do you really want to sit out here in the cold and talk about our feelings?”

“No,” she said, “we’re going to talk up there, like we used to. Until maybe I can find some semblance of the person I used to know.”

And then, she turned toward the treehouse that we hadn’t been inside for well over a decade and started climbing the ladder.

“Ava, come on!” I called, watching her crawl into it. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going up there.”

“Then you’re choosing to let whatever this is fester between us,” she poked her head out of the opening, “until there’s no coming back from it.”