Ugh, I should never have told her what happened on the beach. I didn’t give her any details, but maybe that’s the problem. She’s lling them in with her dirty little mind. I bat her arm away, and our discreet, playful slap-fest devolves into immature giggling. When my dad and Porter notice, something near hysteria rises up in me, and I herd Grace toward the sofa, ducking out of sight.
I’m trying so hard to be more open with him, to talk about … all of this. ?ese chaotic feelings. About what happened in the back of the camper van. We haven’t been together again, not like that. Haven’t had time. We’ve had some lovely deep kisses in the front of the van after work and a lot of midnight phone calls about nothing much at all, really—we just needed to hear each other’s voices. But every time I try to tell him how I really feel, how much I really feel, my chest feels like a hundred-pound ery
st is squeezing my heart.
Sheer panic.
Once a coward, always a coward.
What if I can’t change? If I can’t be as honest and open as he needs me to be? As reliable a friend as Grace wants me to be? What if Greg Grumbacher ruined me forever? ?at’s what scares me the most.
After all the male-on-male sci- talk, we all retire to the porch and sit around the patio table near the redwood tree that grows through the roof. Dad brings out the holy worn game box.
“Okay,” he says very seriously. “What Bailey and I are choosing to share with you tonight is a Rydell family tradition. By taking part in this game—nay, this cherished and sacred ceremony—”
I snort a little laugh while he continues his speech.
“—you are agreeing to honor our proud family heritage, which extends as far back as … well, I think the price sticker on the box is from around 2001, so it’s pretty ancient.”
Wanda rolls her eyes. “I’ll give it my attention for fteen minutes, Pete.”
“No, Sergeant Mendoza,” he says dramatically, slicing his hand through the air as if he’s some stern politician at a podium, commanding attention. “You will give Settlers of Catan your attention for a full hour or two, because the colonies deserve it.”
“And because it will take you at least that long to build up your settlements,” I tell her.
“Is there a dungeon master?” Porter asks.
Dad and I both chuckle.
“What?” Porter says, grinning.
“We have so much to teach you,” I say, putting my hand on his. “And there’s no dungeon master. Wrong kind of game nerd.”
“Is this more or less boring than Monopoly?” Grace asks.
“Less,” Dad and I say together.
“Monopoly is for losers,” Dad informs her.
Porter frowns. “I love Monopoly.”
“We have an entire chest full of old board games,” I whisper loudly to him.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?” Wanda says on a heavy sigh.
“Now might be a good time to break out that expensive bottle of wine you guys brought back from San Francisco,” I suggest.
Porter grins at me and rubs his hands together excitedly. “?is looks super weird. I’m so in. Let’s play.”
God, I love him. I don’t even know why I was so worried before. ?is is all ne now.
Dad unpacks the game and explains all the rules, confusing everyone in the process. We nally just start playing and teach as we go. ?ey get the hang of it. I’m not sure if they like it as much as Dad and I do, but everyone seems to be having fun. We’re laughing and goo ng around a lot, anyway. Everything’s going great, until about an hour into the game.
?e pizza made me thirsty. I excuse myself to get some iced tea from the kitchen and ask if anyone else needs a re ll. My dad does, so I leave to fetch tea for both of us. While I’m headed away from the table, my dad says, “?anks, Mink.”
Behind me, I hear Porter ask my dad, “What did you call her?”
“Huh? Oh, ‘Mink’? ?at’s just a childhood nickname,” my dad says through the open doorway.
