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called Whit, that’s what they would have written on my birth certificate.
    “So, you up for it tomorrow night?” Nathan asked, like he hadn’t heard me.
    “I don’t know, Nathan.” Sylvia was watching him. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea. Maybe you should stay in.”
    “I’d love to go.” I looked right at Nathan. “It sounds great.”
    “Oh, honey. Let them have some fun,” Dad said. “It’s summertime. They’re kids. A night out won’t hurt.”
    Sylvia looked distinctly unhappy. Good. I might have to spend tomorrow night at a lame club with her spawn, but if that meant pissing her off, it was so worth it.
    “Fine,” she relented. “Just behave yourselves.”
    “You three will have a good time,” Dad said, handing me the plate of rolls. “This will be a chance for you to bond. Become friends.”
    “Awesome.” Bailey grinned at me. “I’ll have to figure out what I’ll wear.”
    Then Dad was talking about some special report he was airing the next morning and Sylvia returned to her smiling, bubbly ways. The dent I’d tried to make in her perfect little meal didn’t seem to matter. Of course not.
    When everyone was done, Nathan offered to help Sylvia clean up. As I walked out of the dining room, I heard him say quietly, “Mom, it’ll be fine.”
    I thought about lingering, eavesdropping to see what he meant, but Sylvia caught me in the doorway and gave me that smile again. “Do you want Bailey to help you set up your room?” she asked.
    I shook my head and walked away.
    When I got upstairs, I locked the door and dug out mybottle of cheap tequila. If there was one thing that would cheer me up, it was booze.
    Later, as I lay stretched out on the bed, I glanced at the bottle on the nightstand. Sylvia would freak if she knew I’d brought alcohol into her house. The thought made me laugh. They were so perfect, so proper and clean. Dad and Sylvia and Nathan and Bailey—they were all downstairs, probably watching a fun family movie and playing Monopoly. And I was upstairs, alone, drunk on Margaritaville Gold.
    I didn’t fit in with them at all.
    It was so funny, so funny I couldn’t remember why I’d been angry before.
    I laughed until it hurt, until the room spun, until I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

6
    The next day I woke to the sound of Bobby Brown singing “My Prerogative.” I sighed and rolled over, groping blindly for my phone on the nightstand and knocking over the bottle of tequila by accident.
    “Shit,” I muttered. Thank God the bottle was closed, or that would have been a bitch to explain.
    A second later, I found my cell and flipped it open. “Hello?”
    “Hey, sis. Saw you called. Sorry I couldn’t talk last night. We had to take Marie to the doctor.”
    “Huh? Oh, Marie… Is she okay?”
    “Fine. Emily just got freaked out about a little fever. But you sound awful. You hungover?”
    “A little.”
    “God, Whitley.”
    “Did you know Dad is getting married?” I asked.
    “What? No.”
    “Yep. Her name is Sylvia. She’s a widow with two kids. She and Dad met last September.”
    “Well,” he said. “I guess that’s nice. If they wait a few months to get married, maybe I can fly out for the wedding with Emily and Marie.”
    “Is that all you have to say?” I asked.
    “What else do you expect me to say?”
    I sighed. “I don’t know. I hate it, Trace. I don’t like how different he is with them. He’s not the same Dad we grew up with.”
    “That might not be a bad thing,” Trace grumbled.
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Whitley, you were pretty young during those last few years Mom and Dad were together. There was a lot you didn’t—” I could hear Marie starting to scream in the background. “
Shit
, Emily’s at the drugstore and I’ve got Marie—she just woke up.” I could hear him shift the phone away from his mouth. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” I’d been through this before, and I knew the conversation was as good as over.