“I don’t believe that. You and Aimee could be good again.”

I gesture for Margot to lean over and hold the bag in place while I rip off a long piece of tape. It’s a tiny crack, no bigger than a pebble, but a hurricane could blow the whole window out, so I don’t half-ass it. I pull a second piece of tape and rip it with my teeth.

“I saw that picture she posted on Instagram yesterday. You two are in love,” Margot says.

“What do you know about love?” I ask.

Margot drops her hands and backs away, hurt.

“You don’t love me?” she asks, her voice small as a child’s.

“That’s not the same.”

“Well, I know what I have with Ted, I know what I saw of you and Aimee in the beginning, and I know what was modeled for me as a child,” she says.

I finish covering the window and fall into the passenger’s seat.

“Wait. What?” I ask.

This is typical Margot. Last night I planted the seed of evil into our parents’ dynamic, and she’s doubling down on how perfect they were.

“They were committed to each other and us, and no one else,” Margot says.

“You think Mom and Dad were in love? Are you kidding me?”

When it comes to Margot, I avoid the topic of Mom and Dad no matter how hard she pushes. Inevitably, we sound like we lived in different houses with entirely different parents.

“You’re pissed off because I’m not buying your car-accident fantasy. Just like you’re mad because I don’t believe you’re in love with Eden,” Margot says.

“Don’t change the subject. Tell me what gave you the impression of love between our parents. Name one example.”

“I don’t know. I was young, Adam. But I could feel it. I felt it stronger than anything else.”

Margot has a warped vision of love. She thinks the fact that Dad hugged Mom was evidence of his love, but I know he took her into his arms so she would leave him alone to watch TV. He was placating her and her bottomless pit of need, not actually trying to fill it.

“Why do you think I’m obsessed with love, Margot?”

“Because it’s a natural human need?”

“Because there was no love between Mom and Dad.”

“No love? That’s an absurd thing to say. Why did they get married? Why did they bring two children into this world? Why did they stay together for twelve years until they died? Because they were in love. What you’re saying makes no sense.”

“I don’t know how it started, Margot, but what we saw wasn’t love. It was demoralizing, the way Dad treated her.”

“Stop it.”

She turns away from me, but she won’t go anywhere. I continue.

“Mom was the textbook definition of a micromanager. She ruled with white knuckles because she was ineffective. Mom didn’t have the power to make what she wanted happen.”

Margot shakes her head in disbelief. My words are hitting a little too close to home. I push harder.

“The truth is, Mom would have had to love herself more to leave. And she didn’t. She wasn’t capable. If she had more time, maybe she could have gotten there, but even that is a reach.”

But it’s not a reach for me. It’s not easy to teach yourself what healthy love looks and feels like when no one truly loved you growing up. Nana cared in her way, but she wasn’t enough. She was old and grief-stricken and too worn out to be a parent to us. It’s taken me years of trial and error—in life and in my writing—to figure out love. Still, the alchemy is not an exact science. It’s possible to get it wrong, to confuse love with familiarity, or lust, or insecurity. It happens in my books all the time.

I’m on the precipice of not only understanding what I need and what I can’t live without, but also achieving it. That knowledge has to be found inside me, without comparing Aimee and Eden.

Margot crosses her arms and I can tell she’s hurt. It wasn’t my intention, but it’s about time she accepts the truth. She doesn’t know how to see things clearly.

“Break up with Eden, or I’ll tell Aimee,” Margot says, surprising me.

My heart races at the very thought. Would she really betray me like that? I wasn’t expecting her to lash out at me, even in words, but she’s desperate. She can’t control, or validate, or deny the conversation about our parents, so she’s latching on to my relationship. In response, I laugh.

“Go ahead, I dare you.”

“And Rick too,” Margot adds. “I’ll tell Rick.”

The smirk falls off my face. Rick would lose his shit, and thanks to Tropical Storm Clementine, there’s nowhere for me to run and hide. We’d be like caged monkeys.

“He probably already knows. And he wouldn’t care,” I say, using reverse psychology to throw Margot off.

“Why not?”

“Eden and Rick are in an open marriage.”

“What? That’s not possible.”

“I would’ve thought you knew, given that he’s Ted’s best friend.”

Two truths and a lie. Rick would, in fact, care. Because it’s me and that breaks the rules. The rest is accurate. And if I know my sister, she’s going to preoccupy herself with feeling stupid that she didn’t know.

I pull my hood up again and make a run for the house. Margot seethes behind me, and I know I’ve successfully trained her ire on Ted for the moment. But she’ll handle him and come back for me.

At least I’ve bought myself some time to figure out why my feelings for Eden shifted last night and how I actually feel about Aimee. The goal for today is to keep it in my pants, play zone defense, and stay out of the line of fire. Tomorrow, everything will be clearer.

MARGOT

Back in the house, I flop down on the bed, forcing myself to breathe. I feel trapped—by the house, by the fear of a pregnancy test, by my brother’s mercurial love—but I don’t want to suffocate and panic. I had to remove myself from the forced chill downstairs as people scrolled through their phones and watched TV while drinking wine and eating snacks.

There was a moment last night after Rini told me I’m going to have a baby in a matter of months when I thought I could back off Aimee and Adam and focus on my own growing family, but that was turned on its head by Adam. He really doesn’t see a future with Aimee; it’s not just this affair that’s distracting him. Divorce seems inevitable and I feel more desperate than ever. I want my baby to be around the girls all the time. In case I can’t have any more, I want them to feel like older sisters.

If Rini is right, Adam’s youngest will be less than two years older than my baby. More than extended family, we will operate like a blended family, one singular unit in multiple locations. How is that going to happen if he’s in some sad apartment and can barely keep straight the weekends he has the girls, let alone plan parties and family gatherings? This is where my future becomes bleaker than the girls’. I can’t manage all their logistics on top of mine.

Sadly, I threw away my only shot at forcing Adam’s hand. I can’t make him break up with Eden, and if they’re in an open marriage, then Rick won’t either. The last option—telling Aimee—isn’t really an option at all. That’s why Adam laughed—he called my bluff. I’m trying to save them, not destroy everyone in her path.

A strong gust of wind blows and something white floats by my window, catching my eye. But when I look, there’s nothing. I need a sign to set me off in a direction that isn’t this spiral. The rain pelts the glass with a thud that punctuates every negative thought I have.