Page 55 of The Paradise Problem

Reagan’s voice is thick with tears. “I know I’m lucky to be here! He didn’t have to yell at me!” I swear to God, if my brother repeats our father’s habits with his kids, I’ll beat his ass myself.

“Weddings are stressful for families, you know?” Anna turns to face Reagan, straddling the big branch, so focused on the girl in front of her that she doesn’t care if her tiny dress rides up. “A big, expensive event that everyone puts their busy lives on hold for and has to be excited about and engaged in the whole time? I think sometimes parents forget that you had to put your life on hold, too. And it always sucks to see your friends out doing things when you can’t be there.”

“Julia and I got the outfits together,” Reagan says. “We were going to go when I got home. Does she think I won’t see her posts? I’m on an island, not Mars.”

I have no idea what the hell all of this is about, but obviously Anna seems to. “Maybe Eileen invited Julia?” she asks.

Reagan sucks in an angry breath. “Whatever! They’re barely even friends. Julia knows I hate Eileen. She pantsed me in PE last year!”

“She didn’t,” Anna says with the appropriate level of dismay.

“They suspended her, and she blamed me! She’s been so mean ever since.” Reagan sends a hand across her tear-streaked cheeks. “She’s always trying to start drama with everyone. Julia should have said no. She’s been my best friend since first grade!”

“How about this: when we get back to California, you and I will go to Disneyland in matching outfits, and Eileen and Julia can suck it.”

Reagan nods. “Okay.”

“Dang it. If I had some paper, I’d show you something I do to make myself feel better.”

Reagan reaches into her little sparkly evening bag. “I have one of the welcome programs. Will that work?”

Reagan hands it to Anna, who takes it and pulls something out of her own bag. “Perfect. We wouldn’t normally do this with a Chanel lip pencil, but desperate times and all that.” Anna turns the program over and lays it flat on her leg. “Before we start, if any adults ask,” she says, and I bite back a laugh at the dramatic clearing of her throat, “I am not encouraging you to make fun of someone. That’s not what this is about. Even if they maybe, possibly deserve it a little. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good. How often do you draw?”

“Almost never,” Reagan admits with a laugh.

“That’s fine,” Anna says, smiling over at her. “The nice thing about art is that it can be terrible, and people will still call it art.” She bends, beginning a sketch I can’t see. “But this here? This is also self-care.”

Reagan giggles.

“I had this boss, this guy named Ricky,” Anna says, turning the page to come at her drawing from a new angle. “I’d worked for his parents for a few years, but then he took over the store. He was a lot younger than me. Like seven years.”

“But you’re only like twenty-five.”

“Right? With an eighteen-year-old for a boss. And one day, he asked me out on a date.”

“He what!”

Anna nods. “I said no, of course, and he fired me not long after.”

In the shadows, I suck in a breath to keep from reacting audibly to this. Is this why she was fired the night before I came to her apartment?

“That isn’t fair!” Reagan protests.

“It isn’t fair, you’re right. It’s terrible. And there isn’t much I can do about it because lawyers are expensive. But you know what? Drawing terrible pictures of him made me feel incrementally better.” She turns the paper to face Reagan, who bursts out laughing. “I don’t know what Eileen looks like, but you can make it accurate.”

She hands Reagan the lip pencil. Reagan works for a bit, before Anna quietly says, “Give her a pimple.”

With another giggle, Reagan bends, drawing on the paper.

“Oh, a mustache, love it,” Anna says, leaning in. “I’ll have to give poor Eileen my waxing lady’s number.”

Reagan pulls back, admiring their handiwork, and Anna puts her arms around my niece.

“I’m sorry, honey. This is hard, but we’ll have as much fun here as humanly possible.”

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