Page 53 of Rachel Weiss's Group Chat
Jane and Owen’s faces lit up as the twins squawked in outrage. I swallowed back any arguments about (a) Mom not saying the same for me and (b) the fact that I would now have to share the loft with one of the twins. At least Jane would be happy.
“Thanks, Mom. That would be really nice.” Jane smiled.
“Of course.” Mom waved a hand. “You can’t be in the loft. You two should be making whoopee.”
The twins’ protests turned to shrieks of disgust. Jane’s smile fell, color leaching from her cheeks, and Owen turned a horrified face to me, hands flying to his cheeks in a mock scream over Jane’s shoulder.
Mom, oblivious to the horror she had evoked, was still talking: “—like rabbits at your age, trust me, I remember.” Dad slipped off his chair at these words. “And anyway, I don’t want to be kept waiting for grandchildren. Go on, go on, we’ll all be out here for a while yet, so you’ve got plenty of time.”
And that was how I ended up sharing the loft with my big sister and her fiancé.
“Good night, Owen!” I said happily as I climbed into my twin bed.
“Night.” He had chosen the bed farthest from Jane. I imagine he would have chosen to sleep in the middle of the woods if he’d had a sleeping bag.
“Good night, Jane!”
She pretended to be asleep. I can’t say I blamed her.
In the morning, everyone was immersed in their leisure activity of choice (except the twins, who never woke up before noon). Jane and Owen were out on a run. Mom was halfway through her first vacation novel. (The cover was evoking somethingtorridandsteamywith a muscled pirate clutching a breathless woman to his chest. God, I’d learned so much from Mom’s romance novels as a tween. Maybe I would read that one when she finished it.) Dad was outside chopping wood. The last one was a bit of a mystery, since the grill and the firepit both ran on gas, but who was I to ask questions about what men find enjoyable?
I made myself a bowl of cereal and a mug of coffee and settled into a comfy seat on the porch, watching the morning mist hover above the grass and catch on the peaks of distant mountains. All manner of thoughts drifted pleasantly across my mind. The hours and hours of vacation time still ahead of me, the fact that I was still young and there really might be another career for me out there outside of tech support, and the very real possibility that there were dozens of hunky Jewish men in the Seattle area justwaitingfor me to finish creating my Jdate account. That’s what Iloved about vacations: the real world was on hold, and anything seemed possible.
By bedtime, I felt more refreshed and relaxed than I’d felt in years. All I’d done that day was eat, soak in the hot tub, and read Mom’s pirate novel. My family was clearly feeling relaxed as well, because they’d hardly annoyed me at all. (Apart from Abby asking if my highlights were supposed to be that color. I ignored her. But truth be told, they were looking a bit more copper than caramel today. Ah well.) All we had planned for the next day was a leisurely float on the river. I assumed it would be another lovely, peaceful day.
Because I never, ever learn.
CHAPTER 15
THE NEXT MORNING, Iwoke suddenly to Jane and Owen hissing in what they apparently thought was a quiet fashion. They smelled like cold sweat too, having just returned from a run. I had been havingverypleasant dreams involving the pirate from the book—I was a cleaning wench on his ship, scrubbing the deck on hands and knees as he approached me from behind to point out a spot that I had missed—when Jane’s voice infiltrated my subconscious.
“—no reason to tell her,” she whispered.
“Why not? She’ll think it’s funny,” Owen whispered back.
“Owen, no. She’s having a nice time. Imagine how annoying my mom will be if she finds out.”
“But they will find out.”
“Not necessarily. The cabins are far apart. We probably won’t see him again.”
At this point, goose bumps sprouted on my skin. I shot upright, fully awake.
“Who are you guys talking about?”
Jane jumped and clutched her heart over her pristine white jogging tank top. “I thought you were asleep.”
“You guys are the loudest whisperers on the planet. Now tell me the gossip.”
“We saw—” Owen began.
“Owen!” Jane said.
“Jane. Let the man talk.”
Owen grinned triumphantly and continued in a rush, “We just saw Christopher Butkus.”
“What?” I cried, then clapped a hand over my mouth. Jane had been right: we did not need Mom to hear this.
