Page 7 of The Red Zone
I wasn’t proud of it, but at least I was self-aware enough to recognize my flaws. We all have to start somewhere, am I right?
“Come on, Mae… can’t we go one night without trying to bite each other’s heads off?”
I huffed, contemplating how much it would pain me, both mentally and physically, to do so. The answer, by the way, was a lot. Scratch that—more than a lot. Not to mention, I was more so unmoved being that this came at his request.
Two substantial favors in one day. Who the hell did October think he was?
“I know what you’re thinking…” he rasped, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Don’t do this for me, do it for your sister. You know how much these kinds of things mean to her.”
Letting out a ragged breath, I reluctantly rolled the idea around in my brain.
God, did I hate it when he was right.
To make a long story short, my sister wasn’t actually my sister… confusing, I know.
See, my dads and Scarlett’s mom had been best friends all throughout college. When they mutually decided their impulsive glory days were over, they bought houses across the street from each other. Shortly after, my dads started the adoption process, and Scarlett’s mom picked sperm donor eleven thousand twenty-three from a donor database.
Our parents raised us together like siblings, though, and it never once felt like there was a divide between our families. And that was especially true after Scar’s mom passed from cervical cancer two and a half years ago.
It hit all four of us hard, but for her it was exceptionally harrowing.
Scarlett used to spend hours in the kitchen committing every one of her mom’s habits and techniques to memory. I almost forgot how effortlessly Miss Jill made everything seem back then.
What I missed most, though, was that no matter how big of a mess we made, she’d ignore it all and pull up a chair next to us to spend quality time with Scarlett and I while we devoured her latest recipe.
God, I missed her so much sometimes. And I knew that this—making dinner for people and spending time with them—was Scarlett’s silent way of showing all of us she loved us, too.
Who was I to deny my sister that?
Sighing, I pressed my lips together into a thin line. “One night. That’s it.”
Almost as if on cue, the back door burst open and Scarlett shouted to us, “Food’s ready!”
It was a humid August evening, and the sun was setting, leaving us a cotton candy colored sky to eat dinner under. The adorable twinkle lights Scarlett and I put up before last Friday’s dinner were already lit, giving us a Socialgram worthy scene for the evening.
I’d barely made it two feet outside before Scarlett’s hand wrapped loosely around my arm as she dragged me over to the side of the patio. “Mae, can I talk to you in private?” she questioned, waiting until October was out of earshot before speaking again. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“He didn’t tell you?” I raised my eyebrows at her. “He asked—no, demanded—that he move into the pool house.”
She stared at me blankly. “…and what’s so wrong with letting him?”
“Oh, my god… oh, my god. Of course, you’re on his side!” I gasped, bunching my fists at my sides. This betrayal felt worse than someone draining my bank account for everything I was worth. “He tricked you into convincing me to let him move in, didn’t he?”
“No, no, no. You know I am always on your side, but don’t you think you’ve held onto this grudge with him for a little too long?”
“I amnotholding onto a grudge.”
“Okay… then tell me what he did that was so bad that you act like an enraged shrew every time he’s around?”
I stared at her, dumbfounded and wordless. Partly because she’d just called me an “enraged shrew” … how rude. But mostly because I was the one in our dynamic who called her out on her overly dramatic behavior.
If I remembered correctly, the two of us had a nearly identical conversation a few months ago when I challenged her to consider whether she was only seeing what she wanted to see when it came to Abel. Obviously, the answer was a resounding “yes”. Neither of us would be standing in his backyard right now if I wasn’t.
“I know there’s a reason…” I tried to cut her off, but she wouldn’t allow it. “Nope, don’t even bother with your usual ‘he’s rude’ or ‘he’s self-centered‘ bullshit. You and I both know those are just a big fat coverup for something else you won’t admit,” she whisper-yelled.
Releasing an exhale, I contemplated telling her the one sentence that spilled from Molly Goldberg’s lips and what October did after, which turned my seven-year-old heart to stone. To this day, I’d never told another soul of the words I’d overheard after our second grade Valentine’s Day party. But now, a couple weeks away from my twenty-fifth birthday, it seemed pathetic to admit that I’d been hung up over a few words and actions all this time.
Granted, October and I’s demise started years before that moment. This one event just so happened to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Even if there hadn’t been a defining moment in our not-so-friendship, I had no doubt we’d still be at sparring at each other’s throats.
