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"Don't be absurd Beth", I chide angrily, when a minute ago I was happily contemplating the sleeping arrangements. "Grandma's cottage is a good 2 miles from here. I cannot allow you to stay there by yourself".

'Allow her' was perhaps laying it a bit too thick I know, but honestly, why couldn't she listen to me and keep it simple for once? While I was busy making plans to get her to my room with me, willing to sacrifice my comfort space for hers, she was making plans to sleep miles apart, away from me and my comfort space. Alone.

"I don't think the hotel will allow for an extra bedding", she explains.

"Fine then, you sleep on the bed", I bark, like a rabid dog. Really.

"But Nick that's___" she argues, embarrassed.

"I'll sleep on the sofa, Beth. Chill. I'm not planning to have my wicked way with you tonight. I'm too tired", I lord over with a superior smirk, like the asshole I am.

"I think Grandma Nettie's a good idea", pipes Kate, and I've never hated her more. Sibling rivalry aside, she knows how much I hate the idea of sending

them alone, anywhere. And just how desperately I needed this time with Beth.

Does no one bother listening to the voice of wisdom anymore?

“I can stay with her. She wouldn’t have to be alone”.

"But Kate", Drew protests sullenly, throwing a dark look at Beth.

"Hey, you'll get the whole room to yourself! Enjoy. Besides, we'll be here all day, enjoying the hotel amenities to the fullest. We'll only go there to sleep."

"Be that as it may, I cannot allow you to live in a secluded house by yourselves, without male supervision", I announce. And that is that.

"Male supervision my ass", she screeches like a banshee, blowing holes in my ear drums, "just because you're a male and have a…"

"Kate", I growl, glaring at her and effectively tabling
that
conversation. No way in hell am I having this conversation with my sister. By the looks of it, Beth agrees with me too.

“Fine. If you guys are so hell bent on Grandma’ cottage, I’ll drive you there myself, and make arrangements for the three of us to sleep there.”

"Oh come on", Drew groans now, while the others get suddenly busy with their beverages. "Might as well take all of us to her cottage", she complains loudly, and several excited heads start bobbing simultaneously. The cottage had a reputation.

"Actually, that's not a bad one. There's enough room for all of us", Beth begins cheerfully, when Drew dampens her newfound enthusiasm,

"I've already paid the advance for the rooms", she snaps with an angry scowl, and Beth bows her head in defeat and resumes nibbling.

"That's enough", I interrupt before this escalates further, "Chill Drew, she was just offering. And no one is going anywhere for now. We'll spend the day in here, and come night, Beth, Kate and I will head towards the cottage to sleep. And that's all the conversation we are going to have on the topic", I finish and proceed to eat the pie in peace.

11. Meatballs and awkward conversations

Grandma’s cottage was a charming Victorian 2 storied cottage, fashioned in the form of a medieval hut designed for style and grandeur, with all the amenities of a modern day penthouse. Its splendor was evident in the beautiful well cut and mapped out gardened lawns surrounding the hut all around, where it stood in the middle, complete with a patio and a slow rocking swing seat. It was a gift to Nettie, Beth’s nanny, when she had turned sixty. As Nettie had no surviving children, she had willed it back to Beth.

I had contacted Mr. and Mrs. Garner, the house caretakers, with instructions to make arrangements for a three-night stay for Beth, Kate and me. Drew wasn't too happy about the sleeping arrangements, but it couldn't be helped. In any case, I did promise to spend the rest of the day with her, including a late night swim and a later dinner, before joining Beth and Kate who had driven to the cottage earlier to enjoy an early supper with Mrs. Garner. Thankfully for all involved, Taylor had decided to give me and Beth a wide berth all day and was last seen sipping a virgin mojito with Joanna by the poolside, according to ever resourceful Heather.

By the time I do manage to park my car in the cottage garage, it was ten in the night and the neighborhood had gone relatively quiet. I had thought they'd be asleep by this time, tired by this morning's frivolities, but am taken by surprise at the sight of the duo currently slaving in the kitchen.

"Cooking?" I interrupt, sniffing and attempting to guess the items on tonight's menu.

"Oh yeah", Kate speaks from behind the stove.

"Well, I hope you're hungry", adds Beth, wearing a pink tank top and gray pajamas with little pizza slices on them, underneath a Bugs Bunny apron.

Smacking. The girl, not the pie.

"Actually, I already ate", I answer, and all at once her face loses all its perk as she turns towards the pot to regard it with somewhat savage focus.

"But, I'd be happy to divest you of an ample sized portion, if you're valiant enough to stomach my even handed unbiased much-needed opinion on it."

And just like that the sorrow lifts and I get what I want. A brilliantly illuminating, thousand-megawatt smile that rocks my world. Been rocking it since 1998.

"By opinion, you mean criticism", she scoffs, her brows raised in a mock sneer.

"And it isn't needed, thank you very much", jibes Kate, sticking her tongue at me like a true five-year-old.

I laugh and quickly raise my hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, peace out. I'll eat and keep my comments to a bare minimum unless they are flattering. Okay? No, don't even think about throwing that spoon at me Kate".

Of course, a wooden spoon comes sailing at my head right that very instant.

According to the unspoken dictum of wise old men who valued their hides, if the ladies were in charge of cooking, the men should assume the duty of setting the table. And I considered myself a wise man.

I had suggested, in a decidedly Shakespearian flourish, that we eat in the balcony, under the cover of a full moon and starlit sky, which earned me some weird stares. Clearly I was no Shakespeare.

But at least I was a civilized human. Which is more than can be said about Kate.

“Umm! This is awesome, thank you Godddd
!! Pass me some spaghetti Beth. Holy moly, the meatballs,
uummmm…..did you taste it yet? No, don't Nick, GODDAMN, YOU COW! I thought you ate dinner already. "

Kate, in keeping up with the spirit of her true gluttonous self, proceeds to devour two bowls of pasta, five biggest meatballs, and a can of diet

coke, in between bouts of moaning over the remaining ones and scowling at anyone who approaches them with a fork.

"What? Are you for real?" I growl when she dips her greedy fingers in my platter. Clearly, I wasn't the cow here.

"Mine", she yaps, yanking the tiny puny meatball away. "Do you have any idea how long I've tasted food like this"?

“Oh, for the love of God, where have you been living? A cave?”

Even cavemen wouldn’t snatch fellow cavemen’s food.

"Ha", she snorts while shoving the food,
my
food, in her mouth with single-minded determination. “I’ve been living in a pen. On sandwiches. Vegetarian sandwiches. It's my equivalent of grass grazing".

"Don't you guys have café's or deli near your workplace?"

"Sucks, all of them. Nothing compares to this. Eating out is unhealthy, besides. The last time I ate such food was___", she trails off uncomfortably and an awkward silence ensues. The last time she'd tasted such food was the last time Beth cooked for us.

Our life, it sometimes seemed, was one fragile bubble that rested on a spike of awkward moments interspersed with old memories. One tiny nudge was all it took to burst it open.

"Anyways", she continues a few seconds later, "I think I'm full. And since we cooked, Nick gets to clear this mess. I'm off to bed".

That proclamation was accompanied by a yawn so loud, no way was it spontaneous.

"This early?" Beth questions incredulously, a direct echo of my thoughts.

“Yeah, well, I’m kinda tired, journey and all, plus Ryder promised to take me rock climbing early morning tomorrow."

"How early? At the crack of dawn?" I question, dripping sarcasm from my tongue, my eyes, and my chin. Who was she fooling with her early morning escapades and feigned yawns? No one, that's who.

She pins me with a death glare, and jeers tauntingly, "I have to get two solid hours of yoga after eating all this food, plus we'll catch some breakfast before going rock climbing. All that takes time, but you wouldn't know that now, would you, Sir Lazybones?"

This is by far the most twisted evasion tactic I'd ever witnessed.

That said, she gets up, puts her plate in the dishwater and escapes to her room, leaving behind two very awkward people and a colossal ‘mess'.

After a few epically awkward minutes;

“And what about you? Any interesting places around your college”?

Ha, what a dunce. And speaking of, which college did she attend? And what was her major? It has just occurred to me that I haven't the first clue about her college life.

“Huh? Oh well, I am no famished beaver, and I cook when I can. Besides, unlike Kate, I like cooking, remember?”

“Yes, I do”, as if I could forget anything about this girl.

"By the way, you never told me which college, and what about your major?"

"It's just a small college,, and I… umm…. haven't really decided, you know. Dad wants me to take my time".

She completely evades the first, and was being deliberately vague about the second. Added to that, she hasn't looked at me once since she answered that in a shaken rushed tone, and her hands were twisted in knots. She was lying, of that I was sure, but why would she lie about something like college?

I decide to let it go for now, and after another lengthy pause, during which I evaluated my question several times
, I
finally ask, "Made any friends? Met anyone interesting?"

And then immediately curse myself and begin praying ‘Please God, let it not be a boy'.

"Yeah, made a few. Some of them are what you can call interesting", she replies with a hurried smile. It makes me groan in annoyance. Pulling details from her is like wheedling precious cargo from drug addicts.

I decide to be blunt this time and ask "Any boyfriends?"

And feel like kicking my own ass when she keeps quiet. Talk about masochism.

"No, no boyfriends", she whispers. Ha, instant relief. Which promptly disappears when she adds, "I have a guy friend, though. His name is Keith. We have some classes together. He's a great guy", she explains with a soft lingering smile. My heart starts a frenzied battle with my chest, while the rest of me is absolutely petrified of that smile and its implications

"How nice", I say, not sounding nice at all.

“So, umm, do I get to ask a question now?”

"Ask away". I don't care about the questions anymore. My attention is riveted on great guy Keith.

"Are you and Drew still___?", she trails off suggestively and a little nervously while I fix her with my best frown. On the inside, my heart is engaged in a minor battle with the part of me that is still sane. It's a losing battle.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to", she adds uneasily, probably gauging my silence as an affirmative.

"Drew is a friend and a great girl", I answer, deliberately evasive. Let her enjoy a taste of her own medicine.

"That's not what I asked", she persists, gaining confidence from the lack of a definite answer.

"What do you want to hear?" I retort rudely, wanting her to admit that she cared enough to be jealous.

"She was your girlfriend once. I just asked whether you still feel about her that way. Not that you have to answer. Not that it's any of my business".

"You're right, it isn't. Besides, she wasn't my only girlfriend Beth. Do you want to know my current relationship status with all of them?"

"All of them?", she gasps loudly. "How may have there been?"

“At least five, not counting Natalie and Tanya,
that
was just a phase.”

She grows quiet for a minute or two and I start to get alarmed, thinking that I'd taken the joke too far this time. Just as I'm about to blurt out the truth, she whispers,

“You had seven girlfriends?
Seven
? What does one need seven girlfriends for?”

"Do you really want me to answer that? And not at the same time for heaven's sake", I tease, thoroughly enjoying the beginnings of an angry scowl, "and not seven. I told you, the other two were just a phase in passing."

"Seven girlfriends", she repeats to the floor, and I hide my grin behind a towel napkin.

“Did you even miss me? Did you even think about me?”

Only about every hour of every day. And sometimes more often than that. It was the wrong question to put forward to, to the guy whose life once revolved around her. ‘Did you miss me'? Good God, does she not see the terrible irony here?