I shoo him towards the living room, then move into the dining room behind the kitchen, the room almost quiet, all twelve chairs out and the hodge podge of pull-out chairs that we need for seating purposes, little place cards at each place setting ’cause my aunt is extra like that.

  Vick isn’t sitting in her assigned seat—rebel—thumbs flying across the screen of her phone, a small smile on her face, the kind of look you have when you’re in conversation with a person you like talking to.

  While Max and I are introverted, Vick is on a whole different level. It doesn’t help that her job itself is very solo-based, and I’m afraid that she doesn’t interact with a lot of people outside of family gatherings. And even then, she finds the quiet places, the little nooks that don’t hold a lot of people, perfect Vick-sized hidey holes.

  So I wonder who she’s talking to, when the family, and I’m assuming Max, too, are in the living room, and I’m standing right here in front of her.

  “Yo,” I say by way of greeting, with a dumb little wave that she doesn’t catch because her attention’s still on her phone.

  Vick’s hair is a freshly dyed electric teal blue, her side-shave completely fresh, her makeup a navy smoky eye with a baby pink inner corner and a pink shimmer in a halo on her eyelid, a light pink gloss on her lips. She’s been Maxed.

  Vick looks fresh, clean, good—a lot healthier than the last time I saw her.

  It could be the makeup, obviously, since anyone who has access to it has used it to make themselves look more alive, but I don’t think so. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, that little smile slowly fading from her lips as she realizes that it’s me in the dining room with her, standing across from her. She slams her phone down, screen first, as if I can read what she’s writing from all the way over here.

  Yikes, must be serious, or…

  Is Victoria Prewitt writing love notes? Is she really doing that?

  Oh my God, does Vick have a crush on someone? Holy shit, holy shit!

  How did I not know about it?

  Well, you are not on speaking terms, yeah? You know what the means, don’t you?

  “Hey,” she says finally, a single word, one syllable, and it’s everything I need to know.

  I nod at her, stopping myself just in time from saying ‘yo’ again, like an idiot.

  I take a seat two seats down from her, in Aunt Lisa’s spot, smack-dab in the middle of the table, where she can direct traffic flow when it comes to plates being passed around, like a conductor in front of an orchestra.

  We look at each other, the silence stretching and stretching, my heart beating faster and faster as time passes, and we continue to not talk.

  I open my mouth, close it, lick at my lips, trying to find something to say that won’t make me sound like an asshole. “So…” Yeah, that settles it. “Can we talk?”

  Vick shrugs, and I roll my eyes. “Come on, Vick, let’s talk. Maybe we should go upstairs, though. And get Max since you both seem to have words to say to me.” I notch my chin towards the direction of the living room where I’m assuming Max is having a grand of a time.

  Vick smirks and points towards the stairs. “You know the way,” she says, finger moving to almost drag across the ceiling.

  I’ve been to this house more times than I count, all three brothers not being able to not see each other at least once a week while we were all growing up. This house is home away from home.

  I climb the stairs alone, heading to the first bedroom on the right at the top of the stairs, now re-purposed as a guest bedroom, the walls painted a pale beige, neutral as hell. It’s eons away from the oxblood painted walls that Vick grew up with when she was old enough to have a say on the color of the walls.

  I sit on the queen-sized bed; this bed is finally big enough to be able to fit all three of us on it, no problem, when we had to squish onto a single back in the day, getting elbows in uncomfortable places.

  I wait for Max and Vick to come upstairs, the creaking of the third stair from the bottom of the staircase a dead giveaway that Max is coming on up (because Vick figured out that little trick a decade ago), the whispering between the two getting louder and louder and louder as they approach.

  They both come inside Vick’s old bedroom, the one where we confessed our deepest, darkest secrets at any given moment in time—mine seeming more boring than the rest.

  I don’t know I always followed the rules.

  Vick was the trailblazer following her gamer heart and showing her parents how easily she’d be able to take care of herself by doing it as a full-time job. Is her job conventional? No. But she also doesn’t have to deal with asshole people like those poor souls who work in retail, and yeah, she might get some flak online, but she goes by a user handle that sounds male, so the fragile boys that play with her aren’t so easily ruined by her gaming prowess.

  And Max—Max is following her YouTube beauty guru dream, finding and working with local indie makeup brands that stand for something important, and are made up of one-woman shows, whether they’re cis or trans, women of color or indigenous. Max showcases them on her channel, and I think within the next year she’s really going to blow up, finally going to hit that one million subscriber milestone, I just know it.

  My cousins are passionate people, and their hopes and dreams are so much bigger than anyone gives them credit for, and maybe I’m part of that group, too.

  At least, I don’t think I’ve been doing it intentionally, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been doing it.

  “Hi,” I say, waving at the both of them, voice tight, ready to crack right down the middle, patting the mattress for the both of them to come and sit next to me.

  I’ve placed myself up against the headboard, my back literally against the wall, watching them come towards me, like I’m the mouse and they’re both the asshole cats about to play with me before they ruin my life.

  Vick takes a seat right next to me, Max on the other side, the pair of them looking back to the door where they came in, effectively ignoring me even though I’m literally sitting right here.

  It hurts that they don’t look at me, not directly, as if glancing at me head on will make me notice them, like I’m a T-rex and they might be my next meal if they just start moving.

  Jesus Christ, when did we get to this point?

  “So…” I say, again, wincing at my choice of words. “Let’s talk. I’m here, I’m listening.” I cup my hands behind my ears for emphasis.

  Vick looks down at a particular spot on the floor towards the entrance of her old room, and I glance over, wondering if she’s seeing something I can’t or if Max is going to be the one to take the reins and start this conversation.

  “I’m tired of being your friend,” Vick says, the words like an axe blow to the chest, cracking my ribs wide open.

  I gasp at the pain, fisting the hem of my shirt like it’s going to ground me while the rest of me is flying apart. “What? What did you say?”

  Vick turns to look at me then, intimidating with her makeup, like something Imperator Furiosa would wear except with color, her hair wild around her face, styled into witch-like waves, and I have to stop myself from rearing back.

  “You’re a shit friend, Amber.”

  I shake my head, sure that this isn’t true, but it’s not like I can tell her that. I said I would listen, but there’s just parts of my body that refuse to believe that it’s true.

  I’m a good friend, I’m busy as hell, but I’m a good friend—trustworthy, honest, and reliable (most of the time).

  “Why?” I ask, feeling my nose start to sting, wishing I’d downed Uncle Isaac’s hard punch that he won’t really tell anyone what’s actually in it, that I got sick over back when I was finally eighteen, and it hit me too hard, a moment in time I will never live down.

  That would help me out right now, at least dull the pain a little.

  “Tell me why you think that. Tell me, Vick.”

  I hunch my shoulders up towards my ears, huddle close. I cross my arms over my chest, as if it’s going to hold me together, as if it’s going to stop the ache in my chest if I hold the tatters of my heart tight, convincing me and my heart that we’re still whole.

  “You’ve been really absent lately. Like, would you even have noticed I was on a gaming binge if Max didn’t tell you?” Vick turns towards me, and Max moves her over, making Vick sit deeper into the bed so Max can see me before she goes on. “I just…I don’t know why you’ve been pulling away from us, and you’ve been doing it for years. You’re not alone, you know? I don’t know why you think you have to do it all alone.”

  Max’s eyes go wide-wide, her mouth dropping open. “Shit, you’re getting right in there, aren’t ya?”

  Vick turns around and glares at her. “We said we wouldn’t beat around the bush. This is like an intervention.”

  “An intervention would be that slice of man-cake downstairs, but I digress. Let’s just keep on going with what we wanted to talk about, yeah? I’m starving,” Max hums, patting at her belly.

  Clearly, she’s a Prewitt who has her priorities straight.

  Vick sneers, bowing her head, picking at the duvet blanket. “It’s fine, it’s whatever.”

  “No, no,” I say, reaching for Vick’s knee, patting it awkwardly. “Tell me, please. I need to know. Max said the same thing. Honestly, if you’re both saying the same thing then it means there’s something wrong with me, right? Right? If the both of you feel this way.” I sniff and start to turn away.

  Vick glances up at me, jabbing her finger in the air right in front of my face. “No. No, no, no.”

  “Shut up. I can cry if I want to.” Although I do tilt my head back since I am not wearing waterproof mascara, and I’ve never really worn falsies with glue before (wanted to try them out today of all days), and maybe my tears will melt them, and I’ll look a mess or kill my corneas.

  If it’s the former, it doesn’t really matter since I don’t think Brody will care that much, and Max is already shoving a wad of tissue at me to mop myself up once she gets in my field of vision.

  “Your man’s going to come up here and deck us if he sees tear tracks on you…” Max says with exasperation, getting off the bed and rushing out of the bedroom, coming back with toilet paper that’s still attached to the roll when my tears practically disintegrate the tissue she just handed over.

  “He’s not my man,” I lie, voice all wobbly, wanting to fix this, not wanting to talk about Brody right now. I don’t want to talk about how good it felt to kiss him again, to see that smile directed toward me like I’m the one that makes the world turn.

  “And he wouldn’t deck you.” I sniff hard, mopping gently at my face, trying not to pull it across my cheeks so that it’s going to ruin everything and all my hard work from earlier in the day.

  “It’s fine, totally fine. We’re good.” I look at the pair of them after doing what I can to control the damage, sniffling. “How bad is it?”

  “Is there something else wrong?” Max asks, pacing now around Vick’s old bedroom, kicking at the toilet paper that was left behind in a trail instead of going and dragging it back to the bathroom, but that’s the way it is.

  She whirls back to me. “Did Brody say something to you again? I’ll punch him in the throat!” Max demonstrates, then crosses her arms over her chest, kicking at the ground. “I just…I hate it when you guys cry and the first rational response I have is to punch something or someone.”

  “I’m fine, totally fine,” I say again, trying to reassure the other two, but I don’t think it’s working. “I just…I know I haven’t been there for you both, I know I haven’t been around. I’m tired, so freaking tired—all the time. I’m studying and working, and the office is moving, and I honestly have no more energy to give you guys. What’s the point of hanging out if I’m going to fall asleep practically mid-sentence?”

  “I know you’re busy, trust me, I know. I get yelled at on the daily about how ‘busy’ you are from my parents all the time.” Vick pushes her teal-blue hair back, tucks it behind her ear, the side-shave making a sound when she runs her hand across it.

  I wish I was brave enough to do that, to dye my hair blue, and maybe do an undercut, get a cute design shaved in.

  But that’s how we were always described by my parents, by my aunts and uncles: Amber does what others tell her to do, Vick does what she wants to do despite what she’s been told to do, and Max moves to beat of her own music that only she can hear.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry about that. It sucks, it really does. My parents have been on about Brody’s accomplishments ever since he left home. Don’t talk to me now that he’s back,” I sigh, confused about him now that we’re a whole floor apart. “He’s downstairs, and I’m glad he’s downstairs, but still nervous, if that makes sense.”

  “What? They did that to you?” Vick’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t know that. How come you never said anything?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, it didn’t seem important. He’s my first love, right, and it always felt like they were trying to push us back together, even if he wasn’t around. Always trying to remind me, like subconsciously, that he was the best I was going to get. At least, it always felt like that. And I honestly haven’t proved them wrong. Men in the city are garbage.” I shrug again and do a little shimmy when a shiver chases its way down my spine.

  “It sucks, being compared to another person like that. I don’t know if it’ll ever stop, though, ’cause our parents are our parents. You know how Uncle Isaac and Uncle Tristan are,” I say, pulverizing the toilet paper in my hand to a pulp, and it makes me feel better, just a little bit.

  “Uncle Alastor isn’t any better. Honestly, you’d think since he’s the oldest, he’d be more mature, but it’s the complete inverse,” Max says, plopping down onto the bed with a bounce, almost falling on top of our legs.

  She turns to look at me. “I didn’t know that Uncle Alastor and Aunt Meg would be like that. Huh. It’s weird though, that you never talk about it. Why do you do that?”

  I shrug, not liking all of the attention that’s now on me. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem important. Why am I gonna talk about that when there’s other things to talk about? I’m sorry I had to cancel our movie night, by the way. Maybe we’ll watch all three when we watch Die Hard for Christmas?” I flinch as I say the words, waiting for an answer, hoping for the answer I want.

  “No, no,” Vick huffs. “You have to promise me right now that you’re not gonna lie about shit anymore,” Vick says, then amends, “Why don’t you just tell us when something’s bothering you, like you used to?”

  I don’t really have an answer, just that we’re all busy and I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. Maybe that’s the reason after all.

  “I don’t know, I don’t know what happened. It felt like I was intruding on your friendship.”

  Max slaps at Vick’s thigh, a hard smack that cracks across the room. “See? What did I say, what did I say?” Max rounds on me, both her fists wrapped in the duvet and I’m actually worried that she’s going to rip it to shreds.

  I shake my head. “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine,” Max hisses. “Stop saying that,” she growls through clenched teeth, smacking the mattress with both of her hands. “Stop it. Stop lying.”

  A hot trickle of guilt runs along my insides and stops the words that I want to say from coming out of my mouth. Like, I’m not gonna tell them about Brody and I being kinda official again despite it still being up in the air.

  I already know what they’re gonna say, so why bother?

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so distant, and I haven’t been there. I can’t say it won’t happen in the future if I neglect my friend duties, or cancel hang outs last second or whatever, but I’m going to strive to be better, to get better at this. I just…I don’t know. There’s always so many things to do, and maybe… maybe I should reconsider trying to do a post-doc,” I hum to myself, thinking.

  What’s the point of pulling myself in so many different directions?

  What kind of penance am I doing?

  “I guess I’m more pissed off that you don’t want to hang with us. Then again, a little birdie told me, and by little birdie I mean my mom, who found out from your mom, that you’re legitimately seeing Brody again. Brody Kane. I mean, get that, girl, you need to de-stress in the worst way.” Max grins, slapping the mattress again, a saucy grin across her green lips.

  “Shut up, shut up,” I yelp, whirling around to grab a pillow and tossing it at her, getting her right in the face.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” I hiss, pulling the pillow back, inspecting it for damage, looking for an imprint of Max’s face on it, but it looks like the crisis has been averted.

  Jesus, what does she wear that nothing transfers? How many layers of powder?

  “Do you just graft a new face of makeup on every single day or what?” Vick asks, and Max glares at her.

  Max turns back to me as I stare down at the pristine pillowcase. “Shit’s on you, since I’m wearing a new setting spray today, giving it a wear test for a video. This shit is bulletproof and will get me through the zombie apocalypse while I’m running for my life on the daily.”

  “Daily, more like hourly? You have to keep ahead of those fuckers. And honestly, if the toilet paper runs out, or I don’t have my favorite snacks, I’m jumping off a cliff,” Vick murmurs, a smirk on her face.

  The conversation heads down that path for a hot minute, about who would survive the longest in the zombie apocalypse without our creature comforts.

  I mean, as books are still around, I could definitely hole up in a library with a kitchenette and indoor plumbing. And if I run out of toilet paper, well...

  “Are we okay?” I ask, bringing that particular conversation to a halt.

  Instead, I find myself needing the confirmation, before we go down yet another tangent, only to leap off that one and end up completely off track, a whole planet away from the original topic we were discussing. It’s apparently the Prewitt family way.