“Yes,” I say with a fist pump. Ted cracks open a can and hands me the beer.

“Thanks, man,” I say.

I take a sip and place the can at my feet. I’m up two and refuse to get anxious. I stay steady and calm. Until Rick lands another.

Since all my beanbags are in the hole, I have to walk across the lawn to retrieve them. As I hustle back to my tossing spot, Rick’s wife, Eden, steps out through the French doors at the back of the house.

“Babe, do you know where my green dress is? I can’t find it,” Eden asks.

“It’s hanging in the closet, zipped in my garment bag.” Rick tosses a beanbag that plops through the hole.

“Okay, thanks,” Eden says.

“No, baby, stay,” Rick calls out. “You’re my good-luck charm. I only need one more.”

“Me too,” I say. “I only need one more too.”

Eden doesn’t glance my way.

“Tiebreaker determines the winner here,” Ted says.

Rick takes his shot, but he rushes it and misses. Now he’s got to collect his bags and I have some breathing room. I manipulate one of the bags in my hand, massaging it before patting it into a nice flat flying unit.

“As riveting as this game is, I don’t have time to watch. I’ve gotta go shower,” Eden says.

“Love you, babe,” Rick responds.

I toss the beanbag, and from the moment I release, I sense it’s a winner. I trace its perfect arc as it comes down exactly in line with its target. Rick stops halfway to watch, his hands full of retrieved beanbags. My shot was perfectly aligned for the distance, but it falls slightly to the left of the hole.

“Don’t blame the wind,” Ted teases.

“You saw that, though, right? That gust came out of nowhere.”

“What are you manly men doing?” Aimee shouts from the balcony. She’s wrapped in a robe, drinking a glass of wine. Farah appears by her side.

“We’re mowing the lawn,” I say.

Aimee laughs too loudly at my joke. Her exuberance was something I once adored, and now it fills me with ugly irritation.

I ignore Aimee and let another beanbag fly, but I miss the mark by two feet. Finally, she showers me with the over-the-top affection I once craved and all it’s done is make me frustrated. I’m the only guy who gets laid and then afterward needs to take the edge off.

I squeeze the life out of my last two beanbags and watch Rick eyeing his target. He takes a practice underhanded swing, warming up his arm. We both release at the same time. Rick’s beanbag sails through the hole with an imaginary swish, while mine lands soundlessly in the grass.

“That’s the game,” Rick says, finishing his beer.

“It was a good one,” Ted says.

“Rematch,” Aimee says. “You’ll get him this time, hon. Best two out of three.”

“Nah, we’re good,” Rick says.

“What’s the matter? You scared, Rick?” Aimee taunts.

“Stop it, Aimee,” I say.

My tone was harsher than I’d anticipated, but I don’t apologize. Aimee disappears from the balcony, and I glance down at the crumpled up beanbag in my hand. Although the game is over, I swing my arm forward and release. I watch the beanbag fly through the air, and for a split second, I imagine tossing Aimee away too.

MARGOT

No, I was not happy that Adam “surprised” me with his arrival. But am I mad at him for saying he missed his train when he was on the bus? Of course not. I’m thrilled my brother’s here, and I’ve all but forgotten that I lodged my phone in the grass after our texts.

I think it’s sweet that Adam cared enough to want to surprise me. He gets how important this weekend is for us to connect. He made the effort to get here even though it meant figuring out plan B. The love between me and my big brother is deep.

Adam had always been the prince of the family, and my father the king. My mother and I suffered quite a bit of tension, vying for the attention of the same men in some weird familial way, but I’ve rarely dwelled on that since they’ve been gone.

I was born fifteen months after Adam, and the story goes we were inseparable from day one. Best friends and confidants. Not all siblings are this way. Some are jealous of the new person in the family. Not Adam. Some younger siblings feel overshadowed by the older one. Not me.

That’s not to say Adam doesn’t drive me crazy on a regular basis, and he never hesitates to tell me when I’ve aggravated him, which is quite often, since he finds help and guidance “annoying” when it comes from his little sister.

We aren’t immune to the rifts that siblings experience, but our parents died when Adam was nine and I was eight, and after that we fused together like two halves. It wasn’t a choice; it was survival. It’s been that way since the day we moved from our Westchester County home to our Nana’s townhouse in Manhattan.

Prior to that tragic day, Adam and I had been shipped off to Nana’s dozens of times—for our parents’ date nights, or, according to Adam, for them to fight without scarring us. Probably both on the same occasion. But when we arrived the first time after Nana had been granted sole legal custody, Adam insisted we do things differently. Just me and him.

We snuck out the open front door, hidden between movers carrying out King Louis chairs to make space for our stuffed animals and twin-size beds. He held my hand as we tapped down the limestone steps, his chin glued to his chest, my tongue held firmly between my teeth.

A few minutes later we rang the bell like we were strangers. Nana opened the door, annoyed already. She’d been looking for us inside.

“Please, kind ma’am, we are little orphans with no place to go. Could you find it in your heart to take us in?” Adam said. I bowed my head to hide my laughter. Adam punched me in the leg.

“We could help you with the dishes and dusting,” I said to Nana, ad-libbing. “And we have so much love to give.”

Nana stood silent, unmoved by our performance. We expected some laughs, or scolding for tracking dirt into her house. Instead, Nana touched our heads and shook hers. Her eyes glistened. I heard her voice catch in her throat when she told us to get inside and wash our hands, that dinner would be ready soon.

She tried to act normal, but I knew we’d done something wrong. I wrapped my arms around her belly and hugged her hard before running past. Later I could point to that moment as when I first understood that despite my unbearable loss, I would have to spend a lifetime absorbing other people’s discomfort when I told them I was orphaned in the second grade. Adam found new life in dramatizing our stories; I kept it all inside like a good girl.

“I’m so glad Adam made it in time for dinner,” I tell Ted as he emerges from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. I lean my head to the side to loop my earring through the hole.

“Yeah, we got in a quick game of cornhole while you were in the shower,” Ted says, unpacking his suitcase while looking for boxers.

“I can’t wait to hang out with him,” I say, flattening my hair in the back.

“This shirt for dinner?” Ted holds a blue button-down. I nod. “What is an astrology dinner anyway? Are we going to eat things from the zodiac?” he asks.

“Crab for Cancer,” I say.

“Isn’t Pisces fish?”

“That’s me, cold fish.”