“Don’t be. They did it to themselves.” Emily shook her head and set the tower of cups on the deck before reaching back into her bag. She wiggled her shoulders as she pulled out a glass bottle and unscrewed the cap. “Let’s toast to divorce.”
Hunter grimaced. “Is that vodka?”
Emily’s brow furrowed. “I brought mixers, too. I’m not a savage.” The clear liquid whooshed as Emily poured some into Hunter’s cup and even more into her own. “I have OJ, tonic, cranberry, something called lemonberry spritz that I took from my mom’s minifridge…” She shrugged. “Pick your poison, Miss Goode.”
Hunter’s stomach twisted. “I’m fine. I’ll just hold on to this until you need another drink.”
“Unclench, H. You know, live a little.” Emily took out a plastic bottle of orange juice and poured far less juice into her cup than she had vodka before doing the same to Hunter’s. “As someone who’s been sixteen for, like, six months now, I’m going to give you some advice.” She took a drink, grimaced, and took another. “Guys, girls, whoever, want to be with a girl who’s free and relaxed, not rigid and uptight. Look at Mercy. She got Kirk because she’s wild and breezy and weird, but in the best sort of way, like a kite, or a unicorn.” She took another drink, motioned for Hunter to do the same, and settled against the chaise. “Whether or not any of us really dig Kirk doesn’t change the fact that all that stuff is what people want.”
Hunter ran the edge of her ragged nail against her shorts. “People want a unicorn kite?”
“Exactly.” Emily grimaced and downed the rest of her drink before she reached out and tapped Hunter’s. The orange-tinged contents sloshed over the side of the cup and onto Hunter’s fingers. “I’ll also add some cran. It’ll make it a smidge less brutal,” Emily said, too busy rummaging through her bag for the mixer to notice the mess.
Hunter dried her hand on the bottom of her shirt. Just because it was simple white cotton and not covered in splashes of color or fringe or sparkles didn’t mean she was devoid of personality. It meant she was different from her sister. And she liked being different than Mercy. It meant she could be there for her impulsive, trouble-making sister. If they were both irresponsible and spontaneous, the entire town would end up in flames. She was Mercy’s counterbalance, and Mercy hers. They were perfect together, perfect for each other. Jax understood that about the twins. Sometimes it felt like he was the only one of their friends who did.
Emily poured a splash of scarlet juice into Hunter’s cup and stared at her expectantly. Hunter brought the cup to her lips and closed her eyes. It smelled like rubbing alcohol and brunch. She tilted the cup back and swallowed. The liquid burned her throat and slid, fiery and hot into her stomach. Her eyelids flew open and she thrust the cup at Emily. “It’s—terrible,” she said between coughs.
“Well, yeah.” Emily shrugged, took a sip, and refocused on the boat full of boys. She whooped as another peeled off his shirt and shook out his dark hair. “Don’t you just love watching animals in the wild?” she asked, leaning into Hunter.
He performed an exaggerated bow before walking to the edge of the boat and jumping into the water.
“They’re not there for you to ogle, Em. They’re people.” Hunter brought her nail to her lips and grimaced. Her fingers smelled like alcohol.
Emily blinked at Hunter from above the rim of her cup as if waiting for the punch line.
Hunter sighed. “They’re people out here enjoying the lake just like we’re out here enjoying the lake.”
Emily pooched out her glossed lips and adjusted her long legs until she was stretched across the chaise like a cat. “And I expect to be ogled.” She pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and readjusted her pout until it was duck lip perfection.
Hunter’s chest warmed in the comforting way it did when her sister was near. Like she’d just taken the first drink of hot chocolate on a snowy winter day. It was one of the best feelings in the world.
“Mercy’s here,” Hunter said as she clipped her pen to the cover of her journal. Another writing day gone with nothing to show. At least tonight, if she could muster the courage to get through the midnight ceremony, would more than make up for it.
Emily lifted her cup to the sky and tipped her chin toward the sun. “Let’s get this party started!”
Two
“Let’s get this par-tay started!” Mercy danced her way down the dock to where her bestie and her sister were stretched out in the chaise lounges. She raised her hands over her head and rolled her hips back and forth in a classic belly-dancing move that had the fringe belt she’d made and slung low on her hips rippling like water over the boyfriend jeans she’s spent months freehand embroidering vines and flowers all over. Her shirt was a retro halter top—the same pink as the fringe around her waist, and her long, dark hair was thick and loose around her shoulders—her fav way to wear it. The big, worn leather boho purse she always carried was over her shoulder and her hip bumped it like a tambourine. Mercy felt as good as she looked, and she knew how good she looked because Kirk Whitfield—and most of the football team that’d followed them to the dock—couldn’t keep their eyes off her.
“Going to get some red Solo!” Kirk yelled as he trooped off with the guys to find the keg.
“Okie dokie!” Mercy said as she blew him a kiss and dropped her purse with a seismic plop into an empty chair.
“Girlfriend, those jeans slay!” Emily said as she unfolded herself from the lounger she’d been sunning on and bent to mix Mercy a drink, displaying a whole lot of firm round ass, which had the football players who hadn’t already followed their quarterback to the keg crowding the dock behind Mercy and cheering.
Mercy turned and narrowed her eyes at the herd of football sheeples. “Bloody buggering hell! It’s just a girl in a bikini. Pick your tongues up off the dock. The keg is over there by the bonfire, which needs to be lit so we can toast wieners and marshmallows. So, light it or I’ll do a little bibbity-bobbity-bitch and the veggie wieners will be replaced by a meatier variety.” Mercy raised her hands and flicked her fingers at the football team, aiming for just below their belts.
As expected, the players backed off fast—heading to the keg and the heap of kindling and firewood as they rearranged their personal non-vegan wieners and sent her suspicious glances like they weren’t entirely sure she was kidding.
“You know Mom would lecture you about teasing them like that. She’d say, ‘What you put out into the world returns to you, and that goes for thoughts, acts, and energy.’”
Mercy grinned impishly as she turned to face her twin. “True, but Abigail’s not here.” She threw her arms around her sister—her favorite person in the world, though their mom was a close second. “Happy birthday, little sis!”
“I seriously don’t think being three minutes older makes me your little sister.” Hunter repeated the line she’d been saying for as long as both twins could remember, though she hugged her sister back and whispered, “Happy birthday.”
“Aww, twin love.” From a few feet behind them on the dock, a tall raven-haired player grinned a familiar crooked-toothed smile at the sisters.