Cass is still focused on the task at hand, but the clarity of her assessment—the same sharp certainty she used to put Owen in his place in the car—feels surprisingly familiar. It’s a distinct echo of the unapologetic, unadorned voice that has presided in the back of Lulu’s own head as long as she can remember. The one she always listens to, but never lets speak for her.

I like you, she thinks at Cass’s back, and then takes another swallow.

The boys are carrying less, but they make more noise coming out through the parking lot and down into the pool. Ryan makes a big deal out of helping Cass with the tent. He stands behind her, accidentally-on-purpose pressing his body against hers, making a point of how small she is, and how neatly she fits against him.

Owen drifts over to Lulu and she hands him the bottle, wordless. Their fingers brush in the exchange and Lulu has a flash of the two of them a little over a year ago, at the beginning: sitting on someone’s couch, comparing the size of their hands. Owen’s palm was bigger, of course, and warm. He folded her hands into fists and wrapped his around them, fingers on the backs of her wrists. Lulu knew it was stupid to like that he made her feel small, and liked it anyway.

Now she says, “You and Ryan seem to be getting along.”

Owen makes a face about the burn of the vodka going down. “Like a house on fire,” he replies.

“Let’s hope not.”

The tent is standing now. Lulu has never been camping, not really, but a few years ago Deirdre had them glamp in yurts up near Big Sur, and that’s sort of what this looks like: round and white, although much smaller than those ones were. Lulu picks up one of the pillows at her feet and hands it off to Cass, who tosses it inside and reaches for more. As soon as she’s done with the cushioning, Ryan disappears inside, and Cass follows him. Lulu moves to do the same, but Owen grabs her sleeve.

“What are we doing here, Lu?” he asks.

Lulu doesn’t know how to explain that it’s been months and months since she felt comfortable with anyone besides Bea. That she hasn’t wanted to go anywhere since the Sloane Flash, but this is different—it isn’t exactly going out, even though it’s definitely not staying in.

Lulu used to be comfortable with Owen too. Always, without question. Maybe she still is: She finds herself telling him the truth, or at least part of it.

“I don’t know,” she says.