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"It's okay. It's only water,” he says, unaffected. Then narrows his eyes at Emma. "You're laughing? You think this is funny, right?"

Emma flees up the stairs, but he’s too quick. Evan scoops her up and, in an instant, is carrying her into the kitchen.

"Oh no, Evan. Don't.” Except she’s still laughing.

I know this scene. I’ve lived a version of it many times in my lifetime.

"What are you going to do?" Rachel asks, following behind them.

"Evan!” Emma cries out just as he douses her with the faucet sprayer, getting water all over them and the linoleum floor. Emma scrambles out of his grasp, but she’s already soaked. So is he.

I look on with a pained smile on my face and a sharp twist in my chest. Yeah, I lived this life. And in this moment, I miss it.

I miss them.

Jell-O shot?”

I stare at the woman in the Daisy Dukes and second skin T-shirt carrying a trayful of various colored little cups.

Collin bursts into laughter. So loud. So raucous, people slow down to see what’s so funny.

“Yes,” Danika tells the woman, handing her a twenty.

“Post Jell-O stress still in effect?” Jaz asks, rubbing my back.

“I hate you,” I mouth at Collin. I haven’t eaten Jell-O since the first—and only—time I got pass-out-drunk our senior year of high school. The night I wrestled Livvy in a kiddie pool filled with it in front of a room of heckling idiots.

Wow. I haven’t thought of Livvy in a long time…

“What am I missing?” Kendrick asks, helping the server hand out the cups, adding his own money so we each have two.

“How are we still drinking?” Darcy asks, picking up the cup and peering through it, creating a red-hazed world.

“We leave tomorrow. We can sober up then,” Danika tells her.

“Whose idea was Mardi Gras anyway?” I ask, the soberest of us, and that’s not saying much. I was granted the ‘make good choices for us’ badge. And I really haven’t had much, but after one hurricane, I’m a natural disaster—pun intended.

“Yours!” they shout in unison.

“Right,” I groan. Ideas always sound better in my head. Reality very rarely lives up to the imaginings.

I wanted to do something fun. We all arranged to take this time off work so we could go somewhere together. But after going round and round in a group text, I finally declared we were going to New Orleans, and my mother’s travel agent took care of the rest. I may have gone over budget, but my parents offered to take care of most of the expenses, probably relieved that I was getting out of my proverbial room.

Mardi Gras itself is technically over, but that doesn’t mean New Orleans shuts down. And we have had fun. Danika collected more beads than can fit around her neck. If she’s determined to take them all back with her, she’ll need to buy another carry-on.

We spent two nights in a townhouse with a balcony in the heart of the French Quarter. Collin and Jaz competed over who could toss their beads the farthest with accuracy. I think Collin won for distance, not accuracy.

I saw more breasts than I ever care to see in my life. Didn’t show mine once. The girls are a different story. Collin and Kendrick kept drunk male hands where they belonged. It’s always been nice to be friends with guys who hover around six feet. Kendrick’s a few inches taller, with biceps that look like they’re flexed even while he’s relaxing on the couch. No one tested boundaries.

Which was good. And strange. Oddly sad. No fighting. At least not anyone in our group. Although Jaz nearly dumped her frozen drink over a girl’s head when she winked and kissed Darcy on the cheek. Darcy cooled Jaz off by smothering her with kisses, no blended drinks required.

“Why do you look sad?” Danika says into my ear from her seat next to me. I blink, coming back to the noise of Jackson Square. We’re actually staying Uptown now, in a lovely cottage with Spanish moss draping the trees and roses blossoming along the wrought-iron fencing by the sidewalk. Despite my protestation, we’re back for one more drink and beignet before leaving tomorrow morning. I got outvoted, 5 to 1.

“I’m not sad,” I tell her. “My eyes do that sometimes.” I wipe at my lids.

“Whatever you say,” she answers, unconvinced. “C’mon.” She takes my hand and tells the others, “We’ll be right back.”

“Where are we going?” I ask when she leads me more than a few shops down the street and up an alley that smells of urine. When we turn the corner again, I stop and refuse to take another step. Danika tugs on my hand.