Till Summer Do Us Part(70)

“Uh, yeah. They were going to leave us in a boat. What makes you think this is any different? It’s why he took off. Do you think he forgot something and is coming back?”

She folds her arms across her chest. “You know, you don’t have to be so sarcastic.”

“Well, you don’t have to ask ridiculous questions. Of course they left us out here. They…they parent-trapped us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you ever seen the movie?”

“Of course I have. I’m just surprised you have.”

“Don’t be sexist,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “I wasn’t being sexist. I was surprised you’ve seen it given the emo vibe you give off.”

“This is not an emo vibe. This is me being me.”

“It’s emo.”

“Stop,” I say and then take a deep breath. “They parent-trapped us. This is what they did to Lindsay Lohan. They sequestered her away from camp until they got along again. That’s what they’re doing to us.”

“That’s not parent-trapped. Parent-trapped is when you trick your divorced parents into being close together.”

“Jesus fuck, the technicalities don’t matter. Can’t you see what they’re doing?”

“Yes, but I think it’s good to have it on record that I know the proper term for parent-trapped.”

“You’re…impossible,” I say in a seething tone and then walk over to the packed-up tent to start unzipping it.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I ask. “I’m setting up the tent.”

“You don’t actually believe that we have to sleep here…” Her voice trails off. “Oh my God, do you think this is the tent they were talking about last night?”

“If they were, not sure why they wanted this form of torture. Couldn’t think of anything worse than having to share a tent with you tonight.”

“Aren’t you pleasant?” she asks as she sits down on a log.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask.

“Uh, sitting.”

“Do you plan on sleeping in this tent tonight?”

“Yes,” she says.

“Then I suggest you come over here and help me set it up.”

“Well, I see chivalry is dead.” She stands from the log and walks over to me.

“This isn’t a chivalrous thing to do. This is team bonding, and isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing? Team bonding?”

“We’re supposed to be in our sex cabin, getting ready for dinner. That’s what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Yeah, well, your refusal to talk and incessant repetition that this couldn’t get any worse wound us up here.”

“Please, you weren’t talking either. You can’t blame this on me.”

“Oh, I can,” I say as I shake out the tent poles. “This is all on you. This was your idea.”

“My idea? You were the one who paid for the camp up front.”

“You’re the one who brought us together because you were trying to look like you belong.”

“You’re the one who said yes to the idea.”

“Because I was bored,” I shout, raising my arms to the sky. “Because I was being helpful. Sorry for lending a hand.”

“Apology not accepted.”

“You are…insufferable.”

“Say that into a mirror,” she shouts.





“I swear to my left fucking nut, Scottie, if you don’t hold still, I’m going to feed myself to the bears.”

“Well, in that case,” she says, moving the pole I’m trying to connect.

Speaking through a clenched jaw, I say, “I have zero problem sleeping under the stars tonight. You’re the one who requires a tent. Not me.”

“I don’t require a tent,” she says, lifting her chin, as if she’s trying to call my bluff.

Well, guess what? I’m not bluffing. I drop the poles, dust off my hands, and walk over to the cooler, where I pull out a Diet Coke. I pop open the can while taking a seat on the log. “Looking forward to my slumber.”

“As if you’d really sleep without a tent.”

“I would. Try me.”

I challenge her with a stare off, and after a few seconds, she grumbles, “Just come help me.”





“Pole six connects to pole seven,” I yell. “It says it in the instructions.”

“What instructions?”

“The instructions next to your foot. Just find pole six!”

“I did. It’s right here,” she yells back as she holds it up to the sky.

“Then insert it.”

Nostrils widening, anger searing, she says, “And like I said before, it doesn’t freaking fit.”

“It’s supposed to fit. It says so in the instructions.”

“This one doesn’t fit. Maybe it belongs to another set.”

“Let me see that,” I say as I snag the pole from her and take in the number. My expression falls as I look back at Scottie. “This is pole nine.”