“Dad,” Henry says, “you remember Piper? This is her sister, Tati.”
They stare at one another, wearing matching expressions of stupefaction. I sense that they’d like to pretend this is their first encounter, except Tati knows I’ve met Davis, and Davis, of course, remembers me. There’s no way to create a convincingnice to meet younarrative.
“Davis,” Tati says in the same intrigued but wary way someone might sayviper.
“Nice to see you again, Tati.”
“Hang on,” Henry says with contrived—thoughconvincing—disbelief. “You two know each other?”
“We’re acquainted,” Tati says.
I grin. “Small world.”
“Sure is,” Davis says, making eyes at my sister.
Tati glares at me. She’s on to our plan.
Oh well.
“You guys really should sit,” I say. “You know, since we’re all friendly.” I push the chair next to me out, and Henry slides into it, leaving his dad to round the table and take the seat beside Tati.
We’re silent for a few minutes, scrutinizing our menus, until a server drops by to take our orders. Davis and Henry have already had dinner, apparently, so they choose desserts, and Davis asks for a beer. I begrudgingly agree to share a crab cake sandwich with my calorie-conscious sister. I’d prefer my own entree, as I’d like to eat my feelings; so far, this setup isn’t going great. Our table is a melancholy island in the otherwise exuberant ocean of the sports bar. But Henry seems unflustered, so I try to chill.
“Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Davis says, twisting in his seat to look at Tati.
“Yes, well. I haven’t had a lot to say.”
“Funny. That wasn’t the case last time we were together.”
Whoa—I’ve never seen a man contradict my sister. They usually fall all over themselves to win her good graces.
She’s got no response, so he must have a point.
“Where’d you guys meet?” Henry asks.
Davis smiles wistfully. “The beach. We were both out for a walk. Ended up walking together.”
“Piper and I met at the pool,” Henry volunteers. “Twice. This last time, she fell in.”
“Had she been drinking?” my sister asks.
He’s caught off guard. “I, uh, don’t think—”
“No,” I interject. “Jeez, Tati.”
“If she was with my boy,” Davis says, “she wasn’t getting into any trouble. He’s the most responsible kid on the planet.”
“I’d take responsible over reckless any day,” Tati says.
A reckless drunk—how wonderful to know that’s how she sees me.
“I don’t know,” Davis says after a swig of beer. “Sometimes responsible gets boring. I’d like to see Henry live a little. Make some mischief once in a while.”
Tati huffs. “And I’d like Piper to stop seeking mischief out.”
I find myself leaning closer to Henry, my ally in this agony. He smells soapy and crisp. For a second, I let myself imagine what it’d be like to cocoon under his arm. The phantom sensations—warmth, safety, comfort—surprise me. I haven’t felt the urge to touch anyone or be touched since before that night with Damon. When I’m with Henry, though, I don’t feel on edge. If I were to ask him to slow down or back off or leave altogether, I’m confident he would.
Across the table, Tati’s shoulders are starting to relax, even as she goes on about what a piece of work I am. Davis appears amused.
