“Providedcampingis being good for you,” Margot adds. “If it’s not, I will murder camping without a moment’s hesitation.”
That was definitely aimed at me.
Daph wiggles her butt back into my crotch like she knows it too. “Margot?”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t how I expected you to respond to me…camping. Because I’m kind of…doing something very different than I thought I would…when I decided to go camping. And I don’t want to have regrets about camping. Camping is…good.”
I bury my face in Daphne’s shoulder while Margot sighs again. “When you’re home, there are a lot of things I need to tell you that I should’ve told you a long time ago.”
“About…camping?”
“No. I mean, yes, but no. About you. And me. And our family. And projects I’m working on that aren’t exactly what they look like. Everything’s almost in place, and I—I can’t say any more right now. Know that I love you and I want you to be happy, and if anyone ever makes me have to pick sides, I’m picking yours over anyone else’s. Overanyoneelse’s. No matter what.”
“Don’t make me cry,” Daphne whispers.
“You’d look good as a flaming redhead. And get some long-sleeved shirts.”
“Love you, Margot.”
“Love you too. Go have fun…camping. We’ll talk more soon.Call me if you need me. Day or night. For anything. I know how…camping…can get.”
“Erm, yes. Understood.”
They disconnect, and Daphne lets out the longest, loudest, most shuddery breath I’ve ever heard or felt.
Relatable.
I’ve been holding my own breath.
“Wearecamping,” I murmur into her shoulder.
“Oh my god, Oliver, she knows everything,” she says on a laugh.
A mildly panicked laugh, but a laugh.
“I wasn’t sure she was picking up on everything,” she says, “but now—if she’s not, she’s not as smart as I’ve always thought she was.”
I shift under the light sleeping bag and tug her until she’s on her back so I can see her face. After brushing away the tears that have managed to leak out of her eyeballs, I watch her until I know I have her full attention.
“Your sister is a cutthroat badass, and I could never do what she’s doing.”
“Forgiving us for this?” she whispers.
I start to smile.
Could I do what I think Margot’s doing after hearing that whole conversation?
Absolutely not. The past few years proved to me that I don’t have it in me.
But I respect the hell out of anyone else who can pull it off.
“She’s playing the long game,” I tell Daphne.
Her brow wrinkles. “The long game?”
“She has always—always—loved you more than anything.”
