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My room is pale pink, with Sabrina’s cream bedroom a door down. I step inside and inhale the vanilla-candle scent that always clings to the carpets and bedding. My shoulders sink. Emotions surge beneath my ribs, pouring out from where I’ve kept them dammed up for so long. Silently, I ride them out until all that’s left is relief.

Tonight, I can spill everything to Mom and Hugh.

Tomorrow, I’ll feel so much better.

Right now, I’m putting on a bikini, making myself a drink, and baking in the sun for an hour or two. I can focus on that. Unzipping my bag, I take my swimsuit out and get dressed before grabbing my phone and a book off the shelf. In the kitchen, Mom has left a blender full of fruit drink and a full glass with a strawberry on the rim. I smile, scooping it up and padding out the side door to the fake grass and sparkling blue pool.

I settle in a lawn chair and close my eyes, having a sip from the curly straw Mom added. She’s always had these in her house. A twinge of guilt goes through me, a guilt I’ve felt my entire life. When Mom and Dad divorced, post his cheating fuck-up, we were offered the choice of where to live. Deep down, I wanted to live with Mom, but Sabrina felt like she needed to be at the ranch. Of course, I picked my sister and told everyone it was my choice to stay, too.

I’ve always picked my sister.

Until now, when she doesn’t need me to choose her anymore.

I pick up my phone and scroll through social media. There’s not much there, except some snaps from girls I went to high school with. Our school was really small, and due to how rural it was, nobody really kept in touch after graduation beyond random check-ins on birthdays. In the last year, I’ve noticed Sabrina reaching out more and making local friends, now that Coen is helping out on the ranch and she has more time.

Not me, though.

I wonder why. If it’s just part of this whole disjointed feeling I can’t shake.

Or whether there’s something wrong with me.

I put my phone down and take up my drink and my book. For the next few days, I’m going to force myself into vacation mode whether I like it or not.

It’s late when Hugh finally makes it back. Mom and I are in the kitchen, about going shopping. There’s a really ritzy mall just a twenty-minute drive from their house. She wants to go when she has a minute off work. A car rolls into the drive, and the door opens to let in Hugh, my lean, white-collar stepdad. Derry starts yapping until he stops to pet him.

“You want to change before dinner, honey?” Mom calls.

Hugh leans in the kitchen doorway. “Hey, Serena,” he says cheerily. “Nah, I’m okay. I was just at my desk all day.”

I smooth down my dress. It’s a short cream piece I bought the last time I visited, but never had a chance to wear. I don’t have any heels with me, but Mom let me wear a pair of hers. With the ankle strap tightened, they fit fine. It’s a simple outfit, but I can’t remember the last time I felt pretty. The little hurt part of my heart is healing.

Mom and Hugh chat back and forth. For some reason, being a third wheel with them is a lot less lonely than with Sabrina and Coen. At least, until we’re in the car, and Hugh starts asking how Sabrina’s doing, what Coen’s working on. They ask questions the entire drive to the restaurant, and it gives me a little pit in my stomach.

Am I jealous?

Or am I just really fucking lonely?

I shake the thought off as we get out and head inside. The restaurant is a beautiful Italian place with a warm atmosphere. Right away, Hugh runs into someone he knows from work. He introduces us before they get to talking. Mom rolls her eyes, and we go on ahead with the hostess to take our seats. I’m still loose from the drink I had earlier, but I’d love another, so I put in an order for a glass of white wine. Mom gets a red, then sits back and crosses her arms.

“Alright, while it’s just us girls, give me the rundown,” she says.

The waiter appears with our drinks. I take a deep sip.

“Okay, but you can’t be mad at me,” I say.

She leans her chin on the heel of her palm. “When have I not been supportive or sex positive? Never.”

“I know, but…just don’t tell anyone.”

She shakes her head. “Not a soul.”

I take a deep breath. “Alright… When Coen and Sabrina took that road trip last summer, before they came back, he sent his agent, Jamie, to the ranch. And he’s really hot.”

Her brows rise. “You mean Jamie Iron? I remember him from when he was younger. Not a lot, though.”

“We hooked up,” I force out.

She sits up straight. “What? Really?”