“Lizard!” My cousin spins on her bar stool, hopping down to meet me with arms open wide. I rush into the hug, sending her staggering back a few steps, her slightly lower center of gravity keeping us upright.

“Sorry!” I loosen my grip. She’s still laughing, though the body slam was overkill. “I’m so happy to see you. Both of you,” I say as her fiancé approaches and hugs me, too. There’s no risk of knocking him down; the guy’s a beast.

“Have a seat.” Gales nods to the bar. “I’m gonna grab another beer. You want anything to drink?”

“Sure, thank you.” I point to the champagne flute next to Chloe as I shrug out of my jacket. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

I sit, taking in what I can see of the main floor of the hotel. White subway tile, gold accents, and lots of reclaimed wood. If there aren’t knockoff Eames chairs somewhere on this floor, I’ll eat my hat. Chloe props her elbows on the table, hands in clenched fists below her chin, near shaking with her own excitement.

“How’s your room?” I ask.

“Tiny! Gales can barely turn around in it. But it’s great. All we need.”

Chloe casts a glance to Gales, who’s off chatting with the bartender. She practically glows. These two are a living vision board, proof that anyone in my age range is capable of functional adulthood. Chloe already had a side hustle as a makeup artist before she finished her undergraduate degree. After that, she got formal training and expanded her freelancing to the thriving business it is today. Meanwhile, Gales went to culinary school and has been working at a restaurant that rocked the Sunset Strip last year when it received a Michelin star. The hours are hard on them, but when they’re together, it’s something you can get lost in.

As always, my cousin looks amazing. Her makeup is flawless, as well it should be, and her white-blond hair’s been styled in a severe undercut, parted to one side to show the buzz beneath.

People never believe we’re related. She’s her dad’s side of the family, a sun-worshipping Elliot of light hair and tan-ready skin, while my coloring favors my dad: dark, wavy hair, and a complexion the sun only greets to singe. But if any casual observer can look beyond that, they’ll see our moms’ influence, the sisters’ faces shaping our own.

Most people just can’t get past the hair.

I blink away sudden tears, surprised at the intensity of my reaction to them. Chloe eyes me, her tan face creased with worry. “Lizzy, are you—”

“I’m really glad to see you,” I say. “Things have been . . . complicated recently.”

“Any of those complications have to do with why Jane has been so off? Yesterday, he texted me some factoid about pandas. It makes a gal worry.”