The One Who Loves You (Tickled Pink #1)(31)

I squeeze her shoulder. “See how lucky you are? You could have rich-people issues instead.”

“Or siblings,” Shiloh adds.

Bridget snorts and rolls her eyes.

I wince.

Phoebe takes a water balloon from her grandmother square in the chest.

“And that’s for almost letting me die!” Estelle shrieks. “I would’ve gone to hell and never had the chance to redeem myself if it were up to you!”

“You’re welcome!” Phoebe shrieks back. “You never would’ve known you were an evil old witch if I hadn’t almost let you die!”

Yep.

I’ll take my own little family’s brand of dysfunction over this any day.





Chapter 10


Phoebe


My shoes are squishing. The mosquitoes are biting. I have never been so tired in all my life.

And I keep bumping into Tavi as we make our way back to the motel for our last night before moving into the school because I can’t stop staring up at the stars.

I run into her again, lift a heavy arm, and wave a finger at the sky. “Don’t they make you feel like all of our grievances against each other are completely and totally insignificant?”

“You make me feel insignificant,” she mutters.

For the first time in what feels like decades, I stop and look hard at my little sister.

Not that I can see her well. It’s super dark out here. I don’t know if we’re standing next to the nail salon slash bait shop or the café slash auto shop. I actually don’t even know if we’re headed the right direction. Once we’d thrown all the water balloons at each other, I dug into the boiled fish, Mom left in tears, Dad left with a glare at Gigi, Carter left with a woman passing through on her way home from college, and Tavi and I walked around pretending we didn’t look like drenched society ladies before participating in another balloon fight with the townspeople once someone showed up with more balloons for the kids.

Mostly, we let other people throw them at us, though.

Seemed like we deserved that.

Gigi, meanwhile, sat and discussed her near-death experience with Ridhi and Jane, a Black lady around my age who apparently makes that beer in her garage, which the county health department approved since she put the right food-grade equipment in it.

Small towns mystify me.

“How do I make you feel insignificant?” I ask Tavi.

“Are you serious? Ms. Perfect GPA, Ms. On Her Way to Being CEO of Remington Lightly, Ms. Good Metabolism and Natural Size Six, Ms. Always Has the Gigi-Approved Boyfriend—”

“Yes, Fletcher Barrington was an excellent choice. And Charles before him?”

“But Gigi still set you up with both of them. She approved. At least, until she didn’t. She hates my boyfriends.”

I clamp my lips shut. No sense in pointing out the obvious. Because you pick vapid losers.

Or possibly this is exactly why we’re here.

Because I shouldn’t judge. I have no idea how hard it is to be a B-list movie star, or a bassist in a band that only opens for small acts, or a TikTok star, or a surfing champion.

Or a fishing lumberjack, but that’s not really relevant. Teague Miller is not in the same league as Tavi’s usual choice in boyfriends. And I’m not getting irrationally irritated at that thought.

Be the better person, Phoebe. Be the better person.

Also, quit having ridiculous lumberjack fantasies that involve fried cheese and the way his lips parted when he fed it to you.

“I didn’t have a perfect GPA,” I tell Tavi. It’s a surefire distraction for my libido.

“Um, yes, you did.”

“No, the geek that I paid ten thousand dollars to do my homework for me had a perfect GPA. And Gigi found out. And she’s sending me back to college while we’re here.”

Tavi stops, which I only realize because I veer into her again as I’m staring at the stars.

It’s so weird.

I know I’m not drunk—I only had one red Solo cup of that Jane’s Garage beer, and I can usually drink three bourbon sours and barely get a buzz—but I feel completely wasted.

“That’s why you’re here? Because Gigi’s not letting you go back to work unless you earn your college credits yourself?”

“No. I’m here because I almost let her choke to death when I was supposed to be eating with her and I apparently have a long-neglected guilt complex. The college classes are an added bonus.”

I don’t know why I’m telling Tavi this.

Wait. That’s not true.

I know exactly why.

Part of me hopes she’ll tell me why she’s really here too. We’ve been sisters since she came along when I was thirteen months old, but I know so little about her. And despite being completely out of my element here in Tickled Pink, I feel buffered from the pressures that would keep me from letting any vulnerabilities out in public.

That confession?

It would get me eaten alive in Manhattan.

Here?

Here, it’s like I’m in this space where it’s okay to not be perfect.

Also? For the first time since we got here, I didn’t spend the day wanting to grab my phone to check email or text messages or voice mail.

I spent my day with my arms buried in disgusting sinks and toilets. But that wasn’t why I didn’t reach for my phone.