27. Cat

Great.This whole Olive-begs-for-forgiveness thing is going to happen now? In a bunker that has been repurposed as a smooth twenties speakeasy-type club and full of her friends and family? That better be her objective, at least. I don't expect her to grovel, but a little begging wouldn't go awry. The air is thick with fresh lime and Chanel No. 5 as a group of older women press together on the sofa nearest us.

Olive watches me expectantly. I can see why her shows have so much drama. Choosing public parties to hash out issues must make for good television. She could have pulled me aside any time during the last week on the island, or even when we traveled to New York. But those options wouldn't be nearly as dramatic as doing it now when we're supposed to be celebrating her aunt.

Are there hidden cameras here? Or is Olive just pre-programmed for creating a scene?

I look at Noah, who's watching us nervously, then back at Olive. I won't let this become a scene, and I certainly won't be the reason Noah stresses even more. "Sure."

Olive almost sags in relief. She starts walking toward a shadowy, empty corner. I pick up my drink and follow her.

Once we're away from the men, I lower myself on the seat beside hers, clutching my glass like a lifeline.

Her dress is black, matte, and low cut. She embodies class, even with her platinum blonde hair that's obviously from a salon and fake eyelashes. "I'm not going to try and butter you up or anything like that, because I know how much you despise me. With good reason, I know." She takes a sip from her wine glass and shakes her hair from her face. "I don't have an excuse for my behavior toward you when we were kids. I'm sure you're looking for a reason, but I don't have one to give you. No one died in eighth grade or hurt me or treated me unfairly or anything like that." She gives a little shrug that is not nearly enough to feel any sort of catharsis here.

Something about her dismissing her behavior as unexplainable heats my blood. I'm the one who doesn't want a scene here, though, so I force my voice to remain steady. "You just woke up one day and decided it was nice and sunny and the weather was perfect for ruining someone's life?"

"No." She takes another drink, wrestling with herself. "I was jealous, okay?"

I scoff, grateful I didn't take a sip too, because it would have sprayed all over her.

"I was," she insists, putting her glass down on the low table in front of our sofa. "You had this perfect life, and I didn't. When I saw how my brother was into you, it scared me, okay? He was my closest friend and only ally in my house. Zoey was always doing her own thing and Bree was too young to get it. It was just me and Noah against the world."

As much as I don't want to understand, what she is describing sounds a lot like me and Otto.

"If he had started dating you, then I would have lost him," she says. "I needed to put a stop to it. I'm not saying it's right. It's just how I felt then."

"Back up." My brain couldn't wrap around her logic. "Noah liked me, and that's why you pushed me away? No—" I shook my head. "You thought my life was perfect?" Had Olive missed the memo about my parents dying a few years before all this went down? I'd been a mess, so depressed I was put on medication and treated like a glass doll. By eighth grade I was feeling normal again, but it was a heavy road to reach that point.

"Your uncle adored you, Cat. He treated you so well, and it made me so jealous. My parents pretty much ignored me all the time, and their fighting was out of control."

My heart pangs, thinking of middle school Noah in a storm of arguments. Is that where his discomfort with conflict comes from?

"They had always fought," she clarifies, "but it got pretty bad around then. I had to watch your uncle respect you and love you and want to be around you, which was hard. When Noah wanted you too, I just couldn't take it."

"You chose the wrong way to handle it."

"Yes. I did." She scoots a little closer like she's going to reach for me, then thinks better of it. "Which is why I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could take it back. I wish I would have just told you how I felt and dealt with it. But I wasn't in therapy then. I didn't have examples of healthy conflict management in my life, and I didn't know what to do except lash out." She heaves a sigh. "You don't have to forgive me, but I want you to know how deeply I regret being that monster to you."

Great. There goes my heart, reaching out for her. In a way, it's kind of comforting to know I was right in one regard—that she'd acted out because she's entitled and selfish. It tracks with the way I've been imagining her all these years. But that feeling is gone as quickly as it arrives because she's right. Otto does adore and respect me. His attention became much more localized after my parents died, but he has been there for me, loving me like a dad since day one.

I'm sure her parents love her too, but her home life can't compare to mine. If I had grown up in a toxic environment, would I be the person I am now? Maybe she got the mansion and the huge resort and the private beach and her sweet sixteenth in Cabo with her friends, but I had Otto.

This isn't even a case of both of us finding the grass to be greener on the other side, because I never wanted her life. Some of her money, maybe, but never her life.

The most satisfying thing is Olive calling herself a monster. She was one. I don't really think she is anymore.

She's waiting, watching me for a reaction.

"I tried to forgive you a few years ago," I say, "but I think it was more like pushing it under the rug. My uncle got sick, and some of the things I was hanging onto from my past just stopped mattering to me at all, so I shoved them aside. You haven't been this looming, evil thing in my life. I feel like you should know that. I've never wanted to be around you, but your bullying didn't stop me from living."

She nods.

"But, all that said, I realized I never actually let it go when you showed up in Sunset Harbor and I had a physical reaction. I felt sick when I saw you, like I was thirteen again.?Anyway, it proved I was still holding onto it. I guess it felt unresolved to me because I wanted justice for the way you acted."

"You want justice?" she asks, straightening. What is she expecting? Me to dump a bucket of pig's blood on her head? This isn't Carrie.

Hearing her accept the way she acted and apologize is enough for me. I don't expect us to ever be friends, but I also don't feel the weight of our past hovering anymore.

"I think we're good now. I guess I just wanted an apology."

"I tried?—"

"Where it felt real. Authentic. This felt authentic, Olive."

"Okay."

I can tell she wants to say more, and I'm glad she doesn't. I stand up, taking a drink of my bubbly lime water. Now that the awkwardness is behind us, my whole body is humming with the vague realization that her brother was into me back in middle school. Like, what? He was a grade above us and so quiet then. I remember him hanging out with Olive and me once or twice, but he kept to himself mostly.

"Olive? When you said Noah was into me, what did you mean?"

She goes still, her fingers turning white against her wine glass. "He hasn't told you?"

"I don't know. What is there to tell me?"

Olive takes a long pull from her glass, then lowers it, shaking her head. "It's not coming from me, Cat. It has to come from him."

"If it's in the past, does it really matter?"

She lifts her eyebrows. "Our entire conversation has been about the past, hasn't it?"

"Touché."

"If you want to know more, just ask him," Olive says before heading back toward Dash and Noah and leaving me with questions.

The music has been turned up during the course of our conversation, but I didn't notice it until now,?or how the crowd had multiplied. People are chatting, drinking, dancing. But there's a clear path to Noah, where he leans against the bar talking to Dash Malone. His eyes flick up, pinning me in place. He looks at me like I'm the most important person in this room.

It starts a warmth in my belly that fizzles and spreads, like my feelings for him have multiplied to fill the space left behind when I released my anger and hurt regarding Olive.

Maybe Noah isn't going to stick around, and I still refuse to be his island girl, keeping him occupied until he gets back to his mainland girl or his Manhattan girl. Except, we're in Manhattan now and he's only looking at me. Knowing Noah, that's not really how he would operate anyway.

Maybe, just this once, I can put aside my concerns about longevity and just enjoy this night with him. Once we're back in Sunset Harbor, I'll protect myself again.

For now, I'll pretend I'm his.

Noah

It is sohard to breathe in here. I feel like I'm going to vomit. Dash is talking to me about the latest update to Warhammer 40k, but I can't even focus on that. Olive has been talking to Cat, and I'm not over there protecting her.

Okay, it looks like the conversation is over. Olive is walking back over here. It didn't come to yelling or blows or anything. It looked impassioned for a hot second there, but now they both seem cool and collected. That's a good sign, right? Or will Cat rue the day she ever agreed to work for me and come on this trip and become part of my life?

Because she is part of my life now, and I'm not planning on letting her go.

Olive slides under Dash's arm, sipping her wine. He says something else to me, but there's ringing in my ears, and I can't really focus on anything except Cat, who is looking at me from across the room. Is she okay? Does she need space, or should I go to her?

Man, my head is throbbing. When did that happen?

"Noah?"

I glance back at Dash, who looks amused. "Yeah?"

"I asked if you made any progress on your game."

My game. The one I've been keeping from Cat so she doesn't see how ridiculous I am. I look back to find her coming our way. "Some, yeah. I'll send it to you."

He claps me on the back. "You're the best. I had some ideas?—"

"Let's get together and talk it over once you've played. I think some of it will change after you see Jason's latest updates."

Dash goes still, looking confused. I don't know if I've ever cut him off before, but I need this conversation to die now. Cat is almost here.

"He gets a little high-strung at family parties," Olive says, trying to explain my rudeness.

Dash relaxes. "Don't we all?"

I imagine Cat doesn't. Her family probably eases her stress, not adds to it. That's how Otto is, certainly.

"Hey," Cat says, sidling up right beside me, holding her empty glass.

"Want another drink?"

She puts the glass on the counter and shakes her head. "I'm good."

I look between her and Olive, waiting to see what happens, for the awkward and thick discomfort to take over. For one of them to roll their eyes and walk away. I've been around for years and years of sister/girl drama so I know it couldn't have wrapped up so easily.

Cat can probably sense what I'm feeling. She slips her hand around my arm. "We're good now."

"You and Olive?" I say, because I need some confirmation here, and it's a little hard to believe.

She shrugs. "We talked it out."

I look at Olive, and she nods. "It's over."

It can't really be that easy, right? Not that this was easy. It was years in the making and a week of discomfort leading up to now.

Someone taps a mic. We all swing our attention to the lone man holding a microphone and grinning like someone handed him the keys to a new Lamborghini. He's in a suit with an open collar, his silver hair combed back at the sides—Dad.

"I just wanted to take a second to thank everyone for coming out to celebrate my beautiful sister-in-law, Tootsie."

Cheers and clapping fill the room. Dad's gleaming smile is wide. He puts an arm out and a lanky blonde steps under it, a woman who really can't be much older than Bree. Okay, now I really might vomit. She is for sure younger than me.

"Kara and I are glad to see so many friendly faces," he says, beaming down at the woman under his arm.

Kara must be the girlfriend and is very new here. She doesn't know these faces. Who is Dad trying to fool? Himself, probably.

He unhooks his arm from around her and raises his drink. "So drink up—the tab's on me tonight—and put your glasses in the air for Manhattan's most unforgettable woman, Tootsie!"

The cheers drown out Mom's angry footsteps as she crosses the room and yanks the microphone from Dad's hand. She steps away from him, her back to Kara entirely. A lock of brown hair loosens from her twist and falls forward. She brushes it aside smoothly. "As the host of this party, I would like to make it clear that—as was stated on the invitation—we already had an open bar. So heroic gestures to prove manliness are not necessary tonight." She gives a little laugh that matches the awkward chuckles around the room.

My pulse thrums faster. My stomach is nauseous. My head pounds.

"Hey," Cat says, her fingers gripping my side. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head. Sweat has broken out on my hairline, and my vision is swimming. My chest is tight. Can you have a heart attack from anxiety? Is that a thing, or just something they put in movies?

Mom is still talking into the mic. I've stopped listening, but judging by the awkward silence and the rising music, someone is trying to signal her to stop, which is never a good sign.

"Talk to me," Cat says, her attention solely on me. "Should we leave? Let's go."

I don't want to make a scene. Last time I walked out of the room when I felt like this, it ended with my board of directors saying I appeared mentally unstable and perhaps not fit to do my job. What will my family think if I run away now?

"Which means it's probably a great time to tell you all that we are giving ourselves a clean break," Mom continues, yelling into the mic to be heard over the music. "That's obvious with teenage Barbie on Tom's arm, I think, isn't it?" She cackles, and the music gets even louder.

"Is your mom drunk?" Cat asks.

I look at her—into her concerned blue eyes, her bent blonde eyebrows and pinched lips. "Probably," I say, searching the sea of blurry faces for a way out. It's becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

"We're selling everything, so the house in Park City is up for grabs, Jimmy," Mom says, pointing to my dad's friend somewhere in the crowd. "Linda, I know you've always eyed our Sunset Harbor house. You want it? It's yours."

What? I look at Olive, who's gaping at Mom. Her gaze swings around the room, probably to Bree, then finds me again. Did anyone know about this? Has Mom told Zoey? I don't think my older sister has even arrived yet.

Oh, she's here. Zoey is making her way through the people, directly for Mom. Her dark hair is styled back, slicked away from her face and gathered behind her head in a curly explosion. She takes the mic. "No one is selling anything tonight. Grab an extra drink and enjoy the party, everyone. Happy birthday, Tootsie!"

The room is overdoing it with the applause, probably to drown out my mother's embarrassing monologue. Zoey ushers her to the bar—probably not the best idea. My older sister catches my eye, widening hers like she's trying to say what the heck was that?

But I can't respond. I can't bring myself to cross the ten barstools between us, either, because I think if I talk to my mom right now and have to hear her complaints about Dad's girlfriend, I'll lose it completely.

Noise pushes against me. My stomach rolls.

Oh, no.

I think?—

Cat grabs my hand, yanking me through the crowd. She doesn't ask, she just pulls, and I let her. Someone says my name as we pass, but I keep my gaze on the back of Cat's head while she weaves through the people and breaks out to the other side. The door is just ahead. I can make it.

My stomach rolls again. I'm not gonna make it.

Cat's hand tightens, and she moves faster, getting me outside and away from the party. We push through the door and climb the steps up to the sidewalk, the streetlamps and taxis filling the street with light. Warm air hits me like a stuffy wall, and my stomach rolls again.

I pull my hand free, jog toward the edge of the building, and vomit.

So long, dignity.