“I think you’ve had enough party time,” Oliver interjected. He stood up, slid his hand under Felicity’s elbow, and tried to lift her. But she resisted with a slap on his arm.

“No! Let me friggin’ speak, Ollie! I wanna know how to be cool like Marin. I always gotta be the one who rains on the parade. I’m tired of it! I want Vera to like me again, like she did when she was a little girl. She idolized me, you know? Now she hates me so much she ran away from me. So”—she turned her glassy gaze on me—“Marin, tell me, how do I win my girl back?”

“I don’t know what to say, Felicity.” It was the first time I questioned my father’s advice. This was one problem I didn’t want to confront: Argumentative Felicity.

“You could try dessert,” Eliot suggested. “That would win me back!”

“Me too!” Sydney chimed in.

“Good idea, Syd Squid. Do you mind if I give them a slice of that cake I brought? I added extra chocolate,” I asked Oliver with a wink toward the kids. The less interaction I had with Felicity, the better.

“First you two need to go upstairs and get in your pajamas, then we’ll have cake,” Oliver agreed.

In a stampede of bare feet on hardwood, Oliver and the kids scampered up the stairs whooping while Felicity disappeared into the kitchen carrying her plate, Cody following her.

“What can I do to help?” Something about Cody’s offer was strained. Pleading.

“Nothing. I’ve got it,” Felicity spat back.

But Cody followed anyway, and as I stacked dishes and silverware, I watched the two disappear into the guts of the house. I had read something in his expression over dinner, an unease. Guilt. With everything piled into a tall stack of plates, I carried it down the hallway toward the kitchen. Intense voices echoed in stern whispers. I crept up to the swinging door that separated the kitchen from the hall, overhearing first Cody, then Felicity exchanging harsh words. An argument, but over what, I couldn’t make out. Part of me wanted to interrupt them, see what excuse they’d come up with to explain the heat between them, but another part of me wanted to remain a silent, undetected observer.

I stood by the door and eavesdropped, hearing bits and pieces of the fight. Words like “lied” and “hurt” were tossed back and forth between them, and all I could wonder was who lied, about what, and who hurt who. I suspected that Oliver and I stood to hurt the most, though.