Page 9 of The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

I need my best friend. I want to cry and crawl under the covers and never come out. I long for something real. Something sure.

But my best friend is getting married, so it’s fake smiles, short skirts, and celebrations.

I abandon my suitcase in the hallway, kick off my shoes, and pull out my phone. I’ve been ignoring calls and texts from Noah and Oliver all week, but maybe my brothers are who Ineed. We’ve never been “group chat” siblings. Maybe it would be different if I’d had sisters, but with two brothers, the extent of our relationship when we’re not physically together is sharing jokes. Memes is where it begins and ends for us.

But no more.

I quickly create a group chat and type.

Hi, hope you’re both still alive.

It’s about as gushy as I get with my brothers.

Noah replies right away.

I’m avec pulse. Anyone heard from Dad?

My stomach twists. I don’t want to hear from Dad. I’m not sure when I’ll ever be able to speak to him.

Does he keep a schedule? Does he make sure he spends equal time with all of us? Or did we get him for more time because there were three of us and he only had two children in his other family? Or did he just spend more time with the family he preferred?

And was that us? Or them?

I think I’m going to vomit. I rush to the bathroom and grip the sides of the sink, trying to keep down everything threatening to spill out. If I don’t, I’m worried I’ll never stop vomiting.

There’s a knock at the door, but I ignore it. My mind is full of my dad and his other family and whether he’d chase his other kids around the yard with a hose, or paint them head to toe with the paint he was supposed to be using on the shiplap like he did to Oliver one summer. My tummy hurt from laughing so much when I saw Oliver completely covered in white paint.

Mom hadn’t been so amused. The paint was water-based, but he had paint in his hair for a week.

There’s more knocking at the door.

“Sophia!” Jules calls.

Shit.

I straighten, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and head to the door.

“Hey,” she says as I open the door, her eyes dancing and excited. “Can I get ready in here? Leo is on the phone and has the TV on, but I just want to listen to Taylor Swift and have some fun.” She’s wearing a robe with a towel on her head and pulling a carry-on suitcase.

“Absolutely!” I wonder if the words sound as fake as they feel. I just want to be left alone to disappear. “I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling twenty-two,” I say, trying to muster some enthusiasm.

She looks so happy. I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more. “Whoop! I brought champagne.”

NowthatI can get enthusiastic about. Alcohol might help take the edge off my mood.

“You haven’t even unpacked,” she says, as she organizes glasses for our drinks.

“Oh yeah, I was just texting with Noah.”

“Oh,” she says. “How is he?”

I don’t want to talk about my brothers. I don’t know why I brought up Noah.

“Good. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

She describes the options and I listen intently, because if I let my mind wander, it’s only going one way. I want to head a full one hundred and eighty degrees in the opposite direction.

We clink champagne glasses and I manage to glug down half a glass in two mouthfuls. And it does soften my edges a little.

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