Page 66 of Fighting

I drift closer and whisper so the men can’t hear. “You know you drunk texted me about being sisters?”

Her eyes dance in the firelight.

“No, silly, this is aboutus—you are my sister already. No matter what happens with him,” I say and glance toward Matty.

Stef leans closer and we give an awkward side hug, and affectionate exchanges of praise snowball.

“Oh no. Emotional wives at twelve o’clock,” Lee teases.

“Ignore my husband. He just likes to saymy wifebecause he read that book you recommended to me,” Stef says, causing us to giggle.

“Lee, tell me about the tattooing you’re doing.” Mateo breaks into a wide smile. His request catches my attention, and we watch their interaction.

“Not much tattooing yet, honestly. They’ve got me working the front desk, cleaning, setting up workstations, prep work. Nothing exciting. My mentor gives me artwork assignments, and we go over them together. I do a lot of flash tattoo sheets based on things happening in the city for the shop to use for marketing. Creating those has been fun. Promise me that when you outbid them for the north side of town, I get dibs on a shop of my own.”

“Are you coming back?” I ask, my words more slurred than I expected.

Damn. Have I been comfortable enough to have a few more glasses of wine than usual? Maybe I have.

“I miss you, but also… this is the opportunity of a lifetime—I want to see Stef achieve everything she’s setting out to.” I have fully crossed into emotional-wine-drunk territory.

Before Stef can answer, the gate creaks open and Delia, Seth, River, and Lily appear.

“I hope you don’t mind that we opened the gathering up to others,” Lee says.

Mateo scans the group, and I swear disappointment flashes across his face.

Loud and proud, Shae steps into the yard. “Look who I found at the market when I was picking up supplies.” She holds up a twenty-four pack of alcoholic seltzers and a twelve pack of non-alcoholic ones.

As I’m considering telling Mateo to text Liam and invite him, he appears behind my sister.

“I figured there’s never enough ice at these sorts of things,” Liam says, looking charmingly rustic in his flannel and ball cap.

With one hand he holds up a large plastic bag of ice, the other is clasped with Christian Cleary’s. He is so similar to his Aunt Pru, with their rich brown skin and catlike eyes. It’s why he can pull off the lime green athletic set and white sneakers in complementary neon accents.

“I heard there was a fire code violation that needed attention,” Christian teases, looking Lily’s way.

“Sorry, Chief. I had nothing to do with it,” Lily quips with a grin.

My heart squeezes. I swear if it were any fuller, it would burst.

There’s a loud metallic pop and fizz, drawing my eyes across the circle to Shae. I try to focus on the can. Shae notices and waves a non-alcoholic cranberry lime seltzer for me to see, giving me a sour face. “Bitch, I told you that is all work stuff online. Stop being judgy.”

I ignore her and pour the final drops of the wine from the bottle I brought out into my glass and eye Lily. “Oh. My. God. Lil,” I mouth. “You will not believe what we learned from Gran Kelly.” Though my words are quiet, the hiccup that follows them is anything but.

The whole circle looks at me, and Mateo and Liam exchange a knowing look.

Ignoring them, I straighten and clear my throat. “That motherfucker has been parading around like a peacock, all proud of his supposed wealth and respectability in the community.” Eyes narrowed, I look at my friends one by one to make sure they’re listening. “He isn’t the deed-holder or even a voting party. So he tormented you and brought Satan back into my life because he’s a raging asshat who thinks his shit doesn’t stink. But his farts give him away.”

By using our grandma’s favorite insult, I break the tension with Shae, and our laughter is so vigorous she snorts. Her cheeks flush red, and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “Well, cheers to Grandma for that phrase,” she says, holding her can in the air in a mock toast.

Everyone dissolves into laughter. The conversation moves easily through our grandparents’ funny sayings and drifts in and out of new topics.

Just as we question the contagiousness of yawns, one seems to pass its way around the circle. That starts the trickle home. As the circle thins, Mateo moves closer, until we are left alone with the dying fire.

twenty-seven

Mateo

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