An hour later, Dom and his father go into the kitchen to tidy up while Gemma takes a phone call on the patio. Dom asks if I can bring him his tennis equipment from the closet in his bedroom. Apparently, he has a game next week. I want to tell him he has no business picking up tennis when he barely has time to sleep, but I stop myself. I’m going to argue with him to death, but not in front of his family. The weight of the diamond ring on my engagement finger comes with newfound authority. I intend to sit Dom down when we get back to Salem, look at his schedule, and make him trim the fat. I get that he wants to eat the world, but right now, the world is eating him.

I also intend to make it clear that we are not getting married this year. It would be unfair on both of us.

When I get to the hallway on the second floor, I pass by Joe’s room. The door is ajar. I can see him lying on his bed. I can’t help myself. I push the door open and peek inside.

I’ve dreamed of this moment daily. At some points in my life—hourly. To step into Joe’s domain. Now that I’m finally here, bittersweet satisfaction washes over me. It is exactly how I’ve imagined it. The black-accented wall, the band posters (the Kinks, Oasis, Duran Duran). The bookshelves (Kerouac, Ginsberg, Burroughs, Bukowski).

“Joe?”

No answer.

“Are you ignoring me?”

Clearly, he is, because all I can see are his socked feet moving to a soundless rhythm on his bed. I push the door open all the way, frustrated. “Very mature, asshole. We were literally in front of your parents. What did you expect me to—”

That’s when I see that he has his earbuds tucked into his ears. He plucks one out. His eyes hood into dangerously angry slits. Wrath in the air. But he is not the only one who is angry. I’m pissed. Pissed that I said yes because of peer pressure. Pissed that Dom got his way somehow again. Pissed that if I only felt toward Dom a fraction of what I feel toward his baby brother, none of this would be an issue.

Pissed at Dad and Renn, who are MIA again.

And at myself, for taking advantage of Nora’s good heart and not telling her to just move already.

“Wrong brother. The bed you’re looking for is next door down.”

“Stop.” I storm into his bedroom without permission.

“Stop what?” His tone is cold. “You didn’t come here for me, did you? Because . . .” He hops off the bed, then plucks his keys from his study desk and shoves them into his pocket. “I have a date to go on. Decided to give it another go with Presley. She does give good head.”