I took a seat in one of the camping chairs, and Rose poured syrup onto my stack of pancakes, pressing her lips together for a second before murmuring, “Siblings my ass,” so only I could hear her.
I winked at her, one of those cocky Fisher-style winks.
“No mancala for you two tonight,” I said to my mom and Rose. “You’re too loud. Too competitive.”
“Sorry.” Rory cringed. “Did we keep you up?”
I held up my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A wee bit.”
“Mancala? I love that game,” Fisher said. “We should play it tonight.”
“It’s only a two-person game,” Rory said, handing Fisher his plate of pancakes.
“Well, you two played it last night, so I’ll play it with the birthday girl tonight.” Fisher took a bite of his pancakes and grinned at me. “Do you want to play with me tonight, Reese?”
My chewing slowed. He said that. Yes, he sure did. Rory paid no attention to his comment. But Rose choked on a bite of her pancake.
“You okay, babe?” Rory asked her.
Rose patted her chest several times and nodded. “F-fine.”
After swallowing my bite, I smirked at Rose while answering Fisher. “That sounds fun. I’d love to play with you tonight.”
Rose’s face looked like a ripe red apple, and there was nothing she could do to stop us. And Fisher had no idea she knew. He thought our innuendos were solely between the two of us.
“I’m not going to go easy on you. I’m pretty competitive. I like to be on top at the end.”
Again, Rose coughed and Rory handed her a bottled water. “Drink. And chew your food better.” Rory shifted her attention to Fisher. “Don’t get too cocky and underestimate Reese. She has a competitive streak too. I can see her winning … being on top instead of you. So no pouting tomorrow.”
By that point, Rose had her head bowed, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. I felt certain she was silently chanting, “Make them stop!”
But all that mattered to me was Fisher and I were going to play.
Chapter Twenty-One
Before I left Texas to reunite with Rory, I knew three things.
One: I wasn’t ever going to drink or do drugs.
Two: No sex before marriage.
Three: I would think about God first in all my decisions.
At twenty-four, I knew nothing.
After another group hike, lunch, and taking a million pictures, we started a fire for dinner, and then we drank too much. The conversation took a turn because of me. Someone should have cut me off earlier.
“Have you ever told Fisher how he loved Angie?” I asked, picking at the label to my beer bottle. I didn’t even like beer that much—that was how much I’d had to drink.
“What?” Rory said.
“I mean … everyone says how much he loved her. Maybe if someone told him why they thought that … like … what specifically did he do to make you think he loved her? Then he might remember.”
I had no idea alcohol could spark a self-destructive case of jealousy. Yet there I was … intoxicated and jealous.
Rory glanced over at Rose. “He sent her flowers.”
Rose nodded. “They were cuddly …” She laughed, buzzed like the rest of us. “Is cuddly a word?” Rose laughed more.
“He took her to lunch a lot,” Rory added.
“Sometimes you took her for rides on your motorcycle.” Rose shifted her attention to Fisher.