Page 47 of Tributary

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Archer

THWUNK.MY SISTER lands another axe in the bullseye. I give up keeping score at this point, but she won’t let it go, running a victory lap around the picnic tables behind the axe throwing lanes.

This somehow morphed from date night for my siblings…to them dragging me along as the fifth wheel. Some sort of trendy new hobby, axe throwing has become super popular in Oak Creek and it took us ages to reserve a lane for a night we were all in town.

I sip from a bottle of Unleavened, the buckwheat beer my sister made for Asa for Passover. I don’t know how my sister managed to make buckwheat, kosher beer taste good, but this is great. I watch as Asa lines up to throw his axe and hits the inner ring. Nowhere near Diana’s bullseye. I chuckle.

The staff comes over to let us know our time is up, and I watch as Diana begs the owner to let her throw the “big axe.” Apparently the longer handled axes are only for seasoned lumberjacks, but Diana sinks another stinking bullseye and Asa picks her up and twirls her around.

Finally, Hunter and Abigail and Asa and Diana make their way back to the picnic table to start packing up the food and drinks. Hunter crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. “This has to be a matter of physics and leverage,” he says, gesturing at the axes. “It doesn’t make sense that I should be so much less accurate than Diana…”

“Quit being a sore loser, Hunter,” Diana says, and then she makes eye contact with Asa. I wish I at least had Fletcher here to relieve some of the sexual tension. Or at least crack dumb jokes about the ways my siblings are undressing their partners with their eyes. Scratch that. I don’t want to think about my siblings undressing anyone. I shudder, remembering the time I walked in on Hunter and Abigail getting freaky on the floor.

Asa clears his throat and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. “So, there’s another reason we asked you all to come with us tonight.” He unfolds a piece of paper and Diana fishes around in her vest pocket for a pen.

“Oh god,” I say. “Please tell me you’re not going to read us any more prayers in Hebrew.” I had just sat through a Seder at Asa’s place—four hours long, filled with all kinds of things I didn’t understand and my parents asking Asa’s parents thousands of questions.

Asa shakes his head. “No, actually.” He looks back and forth between Hunter and me. “We were hoping you’d be witnesses on our marriage license.”

“Come again?”

Abigail claps her hands. “Oooh! I’ve heard about these. Hunty, we heard about these, remember? A self-uniting license.”

Diana claps our sister-in-law on the back. “That’s exactly right. So the axe throwing—which I dominated, by the way—was the wedding and now Asa and I will look each other in the eyes.” She pauses and stares at him. “And declare each other married. Asa Wexler, I marry you.”

“And I marry you, Boss.”

Hunter squints at the paper while I try to figure out if they’re joking. “Asa, I feel certain you need to actually say her name to make—”

“I marry you, Diana Crawford, goddess of the moon and witch of Oak Creek.” She smiles up at him so hard it makes me groan.

“So anyway,” Diana says, “We’re married now. Hunter, Archie, can you be our witnesses?”

Abigail whips out her phone and starts taking pictures. Asa leans in and kisses my sister. I punch him when I can tell he’s using tongue. But then Hunter takes the pen and signs his name on the form, and I realize this is real.

My sister just got married next to a stump with an axe in one hand. And I’ve never seen her look happier. She looks up at me, hopefully, and I take the pen. I look at the license, with her name typed at the top by Asa’s, and I smile.

This feels right for them. I scrawl my signature on the other witness line as Abigail takes my picture and then I hang back while the newlyweds skip off toward their house.

A lot has changed in the past year. Hunter and Abigail got married. Sara cut back her work hours to spend more time with Indigo and the baby. And now my cranky sister agreed to something conventional like marriage. I make a mental note to call her about changing her tax withholdings.

There was a time when a night on my own with nothing to do and nowhere to be meant shredding panties in dark alleys. Tonight, I feel a little melancholy walking through our quiet town alone. I head past my house, to the outskirts of town, and into the Nobler Experiment.

When I slide up to the bar with a nod toward Tessy, I realize there’s a woman sitting here I’ve never seen before. That’s a rarity in this town. She’s clutching her drink with both hands, just staring at it.

“Waiting for an invitation to drink it,” I ask her? She looks up at me with the most vividly green eyes I’ve ever seen. I shiver, realizing those eyes have seen things I probably can’t imagine.

“Oh,” she says. “I’m just trying to decide if I will. Drink it, I mean.” She holds her hand out to me. “I’m Opal.”

“Archer Crawford,” I tell her, delighting in her firm grip. “Nice to meet you.”

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