Page 117 of Everything But Mine

“Sure, sure,” Keith says, hands up. “Didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just saying, the whole ‘my dad didn’t want me’ thing… He’s so sensitive.”

“Right,” Matteo mutters, not looking up. “Because you’re a model for emotional maturity.”

Carmen slurps her drink.

“You don’t have to take my word for it.” Keith’s eyes lock on Matteo’s. Then he slips into a thick accent, mocking Matteo’s first years here. “‘He’s hung up on a girl.” He turns to Nova. “Hey, Nova, want to tell them about your one-night stand with Eric?”

“Dude.” Max turns red around the cheeks and ears. “Can you stop fucking bringing that up? She’s my girlfriend.”

Nova shakes her head and meets my eyes as her lips go downward. A wordless apology.

Keith keeps going. “Eric was pining over Amanda. You know, the way he’s done for years, drunk and at bars? Talking about how she”—Keith points at me—“is his home? Fucking sad if you ask me.” He downs half his beer. “Still, fucked her.” He points at Nova.

She stiffens. “I told you that stuff because I thought we were just sharing stories, not stockpiling ammo to humiliate someone.”

I stand up, the metal chair screeching against the stone floor. “Stop,” I say. “Stop talking about Eric like he’s this thing that’s too damaged to matter. He’s one of us. And if that doesn’t mean anything to you⁠—”

“He’s ours,” Martina says, and the other Camacho girls nod in agreement.

Diego shifts in his chair, ready to add, but Eric isn’t theirs. “He’s mine,” I say. “Not your punchline.”

Keith’s head tilts down, his wife farther away now. I walk away, both hands under the wider part of my stomach, and head to the cabin.

The first night of these weekends is usually a long, drunken blur. Tonight, our parents remain one large group, but us kids split into two. Diego and Andrzej do their best to keep the cards and conversation flowing, but it feels forced. Everyone is carefully avoiding the same pink elephant in the room.

After the fifth time Diego asks me if I needed anything, I step onto the porch. The parents are gathered around a fire. Robert, Eric’s father, has his arm slung over his wife—but his eyes won’t leave Ellie.

Matteo joins me, sitting next to me on the stairs of the front porch, where an eternity ago, I gave Eric my first kiss. He’s quiet and sits with me. I don’t mind this version of Amanda duty.

To our left, Nova crosses the deck in silence and sinks into one of the empty chairs. Tears track down her cheeks, catching the moonlight. She lifts her chin and looks our way but doesn’t come over.

“I can tell her to leave,” Matteo mutters.

I shake my head. “She did a shitty thing, but she isn’t the problem.”

He hums, leaning back.

“He talked about me when he was with her.” I tilt my head in Nova’s direction.

Matteo shifts a bit closer to me and whispers, “You’re Eric’s preferred topic.”

I look at him, he chuckles, and I smack his bicep.

“I don’t mind her.”

“No?”

“I don’t like it.” I hitch a shoulder.

“You don’t have to like it,” he responds. “Sometimes, there’s so much hurt inside us, it needs out.” Matteo stands up and offers me a hand.

“Yeah,” I whisper, taking his hand. “I know some about that myself.”

My hurt never came out as scathing as Eric’s. It came out as distance. As other men I let in to keep Eric at arm’s length, even when I knew he was the person I wanted most.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ERIC