“Can you breathe?” Kyle questions.
“Uh…yup.”
“Amazing.” He lifts his hands, letting them fall to his man-spread thighs like he can’t believe her nose does what it should.
“So interesting how different features run in the same family,” Kyle muses, his eyes bouncing between my face and Juliet’s. Emily snorts.
Rude.
“So, Kyle, play any sports?” I ask, deciding I’ve had enough of his cataloging my physical discrepancies. “Any notable accolades?”
He lifts a forkful of pink sludge into his mouth. It takes an effort not to laugh at the shudder that runs through his body as he swallows.
“I paid my way through medical school with a football scholarship,” he declares after a second and winks like he knows what I’m really asking. “What’syourfield of excellence?”
Again with Emily’s snort. Our similar age means we’ve competed our entire lives, and she’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a true rival. Maybe she’s more of an enemy, since I make the effort to be friendly, while she’s always had a snide remark or some tiny jab to throw at me.
“See those trophies?” Emily gestures behind us, and Kyle nods over another grimace of potato salad. “Willow’s only addition is the itty-bitty thing at the end. She’s trying theacademicroute now. How many years have you got left, Will?”
That freaking trophy has tormented me. And the nickname.
“And what was your last little horse trophy for, Em?Dressage?”Juliet chimes in, the smile she flashes not reaching her eyes. “Remind me, when was that?”
“I had an injury,” Emily grinds out.
“Seven years ago, wasn’t it?” Juliet lifts one of her perfect brows, ice in her glare.
“Jules, didn’t you just get back from a trip?” I cut in. I love that Juliet is defending my pitiful standing in our family—like I said, sweetest human ever—but every time she sticks up for me, she only highlights my shortcomings.
“We all did.” She clears her throat, her smile turning genuine. “The cousin white river rafting one. It’s one evenyoucould manage. You should join us next time. Most of us brought a partner to raft with, but you don’t have to. They have single rafts, too” She smiles before delicately spearing a piece of lettuce.
“Willow? On a rafting trip?” Emily scoffs. “She’d have to keep a date first. But you’d probably have trouble deciding who to bring, wouldn’t you, Will?”
Sure, I may be a bit of a serial dater, but my dates are casual and fun. And maybe it’s because I’ve met most of them through my dad, but none of the polo shirt-wearing guys I’ve dated have ever made me consider a real relationship, especially since they tend to think white sneakers pass for dress shoes. Keeping things surface level is how I like it. That might make me seem flaky, and yes, like aquitter,but no one gets hurt this way.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I give her a tight smile.
“Nothing,” Emily shrugs, snuggling up to Kyle and acknowledging him as a person for the first time today. “I don’t think you’d last a day on one of our trips, is all,even if you convinced a guy to join you.” A cruel arch tilts her lips as she lifts one brow.
My cheeks flame with heat at her cutting words, but I nod and force another half-smile. Starting a debate over my reasons for sitting out this year’s family hike will only amplify my feelings of not measuring up. Emily is too practiced at cattiness, and I’m just a tad too vulnerable to pull off a decent comeback.
I also suspect she thinks I’m judgey, but I just can’t help seeing things the way I do and wanting to appreciate beauty in its many forms. I’m an artist, not an athlete, and on some level, Emily probably envies that.
I stand and lift my chin as I push my shoulders back, deciding to find Giorgio and a quiet space where I’m safe from someone pointing out all my shortcomings.
“Excuse me, there’s an Italian who needs me,” I say, marching out of the room.
CHAPTER THREE
My stomach twists as I retreat into my childhood bedroom and pull the door shut behind me. Giorgio scampers in ahead, stretching lazily in a sunny spot beneath the window, while I glance around at the mostly empty shelves and scrunch my nose at the chemical smell from all the unused sports equipment in my closet. I’d hoped to find some sanctuary here, but it feels more like stepping into the past and shining a spotlight on all my faults instead.
A ray of sunlight casts a beam of dust over the box of like-new softball gear and catches the sheen off a pristine soccer ball hiding amongst the cheerleading pom-poms sagging in the corner.
It’s all a reminder of the things I tried and promptly gave up on. Not all of it was bad, though. Our family softball team uniform, a perfect combination of coordinating blues, was one I helped design. Of course, I wore it while picking flowers in the outfield, too distracted to contribute much else to the game.
My eyes bounce around the room, landing on a pair of sparkly ice skates, the ones Mom bought because she thoughtthe glittery patterns would make the skating lessons more enticing for me.
But this room has also become a storage closet for everyone else’s paraphernalia, I realize, when I spot Juliet’s old ice skates beside mine, worn-in and well-used. Dad’s hiking bag from a recent trip lies in the middle of the room, a little sun-weathered and etched with scuffs from past adventures.
