Page 93 of Winging It with You

A faint smile forms on Elise’s face. “I rememberyoudeciding to camp in the canoe and me being forced to join against my will. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let you do it unless I tagged along.”

Even if it was forced at times, she was always looking out for me. When we were kids, it was Elise and me against the world. Two stubborn little messes. She was always guiding me through life, ready to steer me away from harm.

“We were frozen within the first hour,” I say, laughing at the memory of the two of us fighting over the single blanket we thought would be enough to keep us warm. “I can still see Dad shaking his head on the dock while we struggled to paddle back in.”

I run my hand over the arm of the chair I’m sitting in. I didn’t know it at first, but my father had planned to sleep in this very spot. Far away enough to give us the illusion of adventure but close enough to keep an eye on us. Our parents were strict and there were a lot of rules growing up, but somehow, they still managed to let us make our own mistakes and learn from them.

And while neither of them would vocalize it, I’m of the belief they secretly enjoyed having their internalI told you somoments whenever either of their children had to learn a lesson the hard way.

“Lola and Frankie are going to be my karma, aren’t they?” she says, handing me back my coffee mug.

“Oh, mm-hmm. Most definitely.”

Elise’s laughter echoes off the lake in loud, thunderous bursts.

“They’ve really missed their uncle,” she says, leaning further into the back of her chair. “We all have.”

“I know. I’ve missed you all so much.”

“Are we ever going to talk about it?” she asks after a moment, emotion now filling her voice.

“Why start now, right?” I ask, taking another sip of my coffee.

Her eyes narrow and she tilts her head in my direction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s early,” I say, quickly backpedaling and rubbing the back of my neck. “Truly, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“No, I think you did,” she says, each word more enunciated than the last. “Ay tonto, I swear, hermano.” Shit, she’s mad.

Or worse, disappointed.

Elise has always felt more like a third parent to me. A bonus guardian who may or may not have had a more direct approach than my actual parents did. And right now, she’s sitting straight up in her chair with that third-parent disappointment written all over her face.

She exhales, turning to face me. “Theo, what happened to you was awful. Being outed and exposed the way that you were broke my heart. Lord knows Stefan had to physically put himself between me and our car on more than one occasion as some sort of last-ditch effort to talk me out of driving off, tracking down that clown, and giving him a piece of my mind.”

“Seriously?” I say, but it’s not at all hard to imagine. Elise is fiercely protective of her family. She always has been.

“That’s not the point, dumbass,” she snaps. She’s alsoincredibly sharp-tongued. “If you think for asecondthat we’ve all just been sitting here turning a blind eye to one of the worst things that’s ever happened to you, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Her big brown eyes stare directly into mine, and I see the hurt and frustration behind them, because on some level, I know it mirrors my own.

“Elise, I…” I say, but she cuts me off, holding a hand to my face, and instantly, I’m transported back to the fights we had as teenagers. Drawn-out arguments over who got to use the car on the weekend or whose turn it was to go with Mom to the flea market for the hundredth time.

“Just listen, please,” she says. “I love you, little brother, but sometimes, your myopic view of the world and how your family fits into it really clouds your judgment.” Ouch.

“I don’t think…” I start, but she interrupts me.

“Because Theo, I can recall almost every single conversation you and I have had over the last two years, and without fail, you either one,” she says, jabbing a finger in my chest to emphasize her point, “tell me about your job or ask me about mine. Or two, give me a full synopsis of the show you’re watching.”

“In my defense, youarea doctor, so I’d considerthatpretty important.”

She scowls at me, expertly moving beyond my attempt at defusing the situation. “Answer this for me. Did you ever go to that therapist I referred you to?”

A scoff escapes me at her intensified line of questioning. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m trying to prove a point. What about that veteran support group I found? The one that specializes in LGBTQIA+ service members,” she asks. “Did you ever go and check that out?”

I hadn’t thought about either in ages but can recall bothinstances clearly. She passed along the information during my depressive fog after separating from active duty, and truthfully, I hadn’t given it much thought at the time.

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