Emily tries finding a light, which, when she does, turns out to be pointless, because the light the lamp gives off is practically nonexistent. It’s sunny outside, but that doesn’t matter because the sunlight is not getting past the big trees to reach the inside of the cottage.
Wyatt tries dropping his stuff just inside the front door, but Emily tells him to take it upstairs. “We’re not going to make a mess of the cottage the minute we arrive. And someone close the door, please. We don’t need those mosquitoes getting inside,” she says before going and doing it herself, because none of us is fast enough, because I, for one, am too caught up in grieving last year’s ocean views and private lanais to even think about closing the door.
Beside me, Wyatt groans. Nolan says, “Would you relax, Emily? We’re on vacation.”
“Am I supposed to carry everyone’s luggage upstairs for them?” she asks. “Am I not on vacation too?”
I don’t know much about parenting, but I do know one thing. You should have a united front. You should at least give the appearance of being in agreement when it comes to things like where the luggage goes. Otherwise the kids will walk all over you.
“No,” he says, “of course I don’t expect you to carry everyone’s things upstairs. Just give people a minute to get settled. It was a long drive.”
Wyatt walks away from his backpack. I set my own bags on the floor because if he can, then I can too.
“What’s that smell?” Wyatt asks and I’m glad I’m not the only one who notices.
“It’s just a little musty,” Nolan says, trying to stay upbeat. “We’ll open the windows and air things out.”
Together, we walk up the wooden stairs, where we find three bedrooms and one bathroom on the second floor. “Wyatt, you can sleep here. And Reese and Mae will sleep in this room,” Emily says, and I poke my head into Mae’s and mine, seeing just one small bed, which is not happening.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Absolutely not. I am not sleeping with Mae. She hogs the blankets. She kicks.”
“I do not!” Mae argues, crossing her arms against her chest, sulking.
“Yes, you do,” I tell her before looking at Emily and saying, “I amnotsharing a bed with her. No. I refuse. She can sleep with Wyatt. Why should he get his own room? I’m the oldest.”
“Because he’s a boy,” Emily says, as if that’s not completely sexist.
“So what?”
“I don’t want to sleep with Wyatt,” Mae cries, turning on the waterworks because Emily falls for it every single time.
“It’s only for a few days, Reese,” Emily says, trying to reason with me, but I’ve already tuned her out because, from the top of the stairs, I make out a porch just off the main room of the cottage, with a bed that I see through the glass panes of the door that connects the porch to the rest of the house.
“Never mind,” I say. “Mae can have the room all to herself. I’ll sleep down there.” I turn and make my way down the stairs, because the idea of being an entire floor away from the rest of them is actually amazing.
Emily sees what I see and decides. “No. You can’t sleep on the porch, Reese. It’s not safe. What if someone breaks in?”
“Good. They’d put me out of my misery then,” I say, bounding down the stairs, not looking back.
“Don’t say things like that, Reese. You are not sleeping down there. You’re sleeping up here with—”
“Just leave her alone,” Nolan says, cutting her off. “Just let her sleep on the porch if she wants to. Who really cares where she sleeps? It’s not like anything’s going to happen to her.”
Emily’s attention shifts to him. “You know how much I hate it when you do that,” she says, raging as I open the door and slip out onto the porch, into a world of my own, which is basic—just a small bed pushed up against one side of the room with a white quilt and one flat pillow, a tiny nightstand, wooden floorboards with a braided wool rug and slack, flimsy screens that overlook the woods. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“You always contradict me in front of the kids. You let them do anything they want. They will never respect me because of you.Shewill never respect me because of you. It’s your fault she doesn’t listen to me. I already told her she can’t sleep down there.”
“You can’t control everything she does. Let her sleep on the porch if she wants to. What do you possibly think is going to happen? She’ll be fine,” he says, and I hate that they do this. I hate when they talk about me like I’m not here, like I can’t hear them. Like I’m deaf. I tug on the porch door so hard that it slams, and then I drop down on the bed, pulling my legs into me, wrapping my arms around them, wishing I was anywhere but here.
I go on my phone to distract myself, to see if Skylar ever texted back. There is no Wi-Fi in the cottages, though there’s free Wi-Fi in the lodge.You’vegotto be kidding me, I said when the lady at the lodge told us. Emily said I should be glad, that this was my chance to disconnect from technology and enjoy nature, as if that’s something I’d actually like.
Nolan, however, appeased me, saying cellular might work, which it does. Sort of. It takes forever to load so that I don’t think it’s ever going to. But then it does and I wish it hadn’t because, while there is no text from Skylar, I go to Instagram and see that she’s posted pictures of herself and another girl, Gracie, in Chicago, at Oak Street Beach, doing things she and I were supposed to do together, like lying out, playing beach volleyball and eating hot dogs from the concessions stand. There are stupid little Insta stickers that say shit likeFriendship VibesandBFF Love, and I wonder if it’s for me, if it’s for my sake, if she’s trying to hurt me because she’s still mad at me.
If so, it’s working. Because I do feel hurt. Jealous. I can’t stand to look at them together and think of all the things I’m missing out on while I’m stuck here. I get even angrier, thinking that I’ve been replaced—that Gracie is now Skylar’s best friend instead of me, and I realize Skylar never responded to my text from before because she’s been with Gracie all day. I wonder if she and Gracie saw my text come in together and if, when they did, they laughed, Gracie throwing her pretty blond hair back,rolling her eyes and saying something likeHer again? You should just block herbecause it’s the kind of thing Gracie would say. Anger floods me until I feel like I could explode. I see them sitting on the beach, laughing, Gracie leaning over Skylar’s shoulder to read the text, saying,Good idea, Reese. Yeah. You probably should kill yourself.Before I can take a breath or try to stop myself, I reel back, chucking my phone, watching as it arcs across the room, hitting a glass lantern by mistake, which was probably my only source of light out here. The lantern falls. It hits the ground hard, missing the rug by an inch and breaking.
Fuck. Just my luck.
