“Isn’t this place great? Only the best for my little girl. Little woman, I should say.” Dad looks to Taylor, who blushes because she eats up everything he says. “Can you believe your baby sister is old enough to have a hotel party?”

Hotel parties are a status symbol in our small town. The elite, rich assholes I grew up with would book a block of rooms in the Times Square Marriott Marquis—if they were “poor”—or the Plaza at Central Park. I never got invited to any of them. But Dad always wanted us to seem like we were in that class. Even when he lost his job, and we had to go on SNAP (the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program), he went out of his way to spend money as if we had it. This is just another show, and he doesn’t miss a moment to act like our family is well-off, which was always the source of late-night fights. One of the sources, anyway.

“Can we afford this?” I look past him to Mom, and she offers a tight-lipped smile.

Mom rolls her eyes. “Your father’s doing well at his job …”

He tips his head toward her as if she did him a favor. It’s funny because, usually, they can’t be within six feet of each other without fighting. The exception apparently being Taylor’s birthday.

“Have a little faith in your old man, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum.

Mom moves toward me and grabs my arm. “Try to be good. For your sister’s sake.”

I catch Jack staring at me, and I cringe, wondering what he’s thinking about my father—the showman and the bullshitter. His face is blank, which is somehow worse than any other potential reaction. I’ve learned his faraway stares mean he’s thinking about his family and the weight of his relationships with them. His crinkly smiles mean he’s genuinely happy and light. When he clenches his jaw and closes one eye, he’s deep in thought about something existential. But his blank stares? They scare me because they’re unreadable.

“Is she here, too?” I whisper.

“Krissy’ll be coming later,” she says, and I groan. “Be on your best behavior.”

“Hey, Jack,” Dad says. “Come help me set some stuff up. I’m sure Chase and Rae want some time to gossip, and I got a bottle of whiskey we can crack open. You’re twenty-one, right? No? Eh, it’s okay …” He puts his arm around Jack’s shoulders, and they make their way toward the entrance to the indoor water park. Dad doesn’t give me another glance.