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I refill my cup before heading toward the smoking grill. Everyone is either grabbing dinner or already seated around the fire pit.
I focus on the spread of food set out on the folding table next to the grill. A bowl of salad, bags of potato chips, and an array of condiments. More impressive of a meal than I was expecting, honestly. Holden never shared details of what they ate on these trips.
Finn is the one manning the grill, rubbing the dirty grates with an oversized brush that makes a horrible, nails-on-a-chalkboard screech.
“One sec, Cassia,” he tells me. “I’ll put another burger on for you.”
I read between the lines.
I’m an interloper. No one expected me to show up.
Finn is being nice. But it doesn’t erase the sliver of insecurity or the voice in the back of my head that whispersoutsider. That makes me feel like an awkward add-on.
“Okay. Thanks,” I say, picking up a plate and taking a pinch of salad.
My insecurities aren’t Finn’s fault. Holden didn’t mention I might be coming, clearly.
A steaming burger lands on my plate. I glance over at Holden, but he’s not looking at me. He’s piling toppings onto the burger still sitting on his plate beside an empty bun.
“I can wait.”
“Take it,” he tells me, not looking over.
It’s not worth arguing about, not when my stomach is rumbling with hunger and there are so many other things we could fight about.
So I silently add ketchup and mustard, pretending not to notice the way Finn keeps glancing between me and Holden.
The scrutiny doesn’t really bother me, for once.
Maybe it’s the vodka dulling my self-consciousness. Or maybe I’ve finally reached the point where I really don’t care what other people think. Whatthesepeople think, in particular.
I finish making up my food and walk toward the fire, balancing my plate carefully as I cross the uneven ground. There’s more scrutiny aimed my way when I take an open spot on one of the logs, particularly from Grace’s seat across from me. McKenzie is right next to her, giggling at something Jordan is whispering to her.
They look happy and carefree, and I briefly wonder if that’s how Holden and I would appear right now if I’d never said anything about taking a break.
He’s good at making me feel like a priority when we’re together.
It’s stretches of time apart that have always made me second-guess us. How we attend the same university yet hardly see each other on campus. How our separate social circles never overlapped, even after years as a couple. How he never seemed to resent the distance, just enjoyed the reunion.
“I didn’t know you were coming, Cassia.”
Mark takes the open spot beside me, his plate balanced on one knee as he cracks open a can of beer.
“Was kinda a surprise to me too,” I comment dryly, then take a bite of burger.
“Glad you were able to make it,” he says. “Holden said you’re super busy.”
I read way too much into that comment.
Was it a slight against me? An excuse? An explanation?
“I wasn’t the one in Michigan all summer.”
I half-regret the hasty words as soon as they’re out of my mouth, but it’s also oddly freeing to say exactly what I’m thinking. I can’t spend this weekend pretending things are good between us, not when that’s been one of our problems all along. It feels amazing to remove the filter of always second-guessing, to let whatever I want spew out of my mouth without weighing each individual word.
Mark obviously isn’t experiencing the same sense of relief regarding my response. Based on his unsure expression, he has no clue what to say.
He’s Holden’s friend, I remind myself.
