She didn’t have to finish. It was clear what had happened. Sadie, jealous that anyone might have anything she didn’t, had roped some random gentile she probably met while picking up a package into being her plus-one to Chanukah dinner. She would fawn over him performatively, Mom and Dad would ask him personal questions because they’d think he really was her date, and he’d become deeply uncomfortable, which would make Sadie double down. Hell, she might even date him for a few weeks after the dinner just to make a point. She’d done it before. Not that she’d think of it that way.

“Yikes,” Greta said. “That’s shitty and I feel for this Greg, whoever he is, but you know Sadie. If she’s made up her mind… And let me repeat for the one hundred thousandth time: I will not be there, so I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Damn,” Maggie said. “Not fair. I wanna be not here.”

“So leave,” Greta said. It felt easy and reckless to say the words. It felt amazing.

“I can’t.”

And for the first time with one of her sisters, Greta didn’t say I know when she knew what they meant. Instead, she said what Ramona—and now Carys—would say to her.

“Why can’t you leave?”

“Because it’s Chanukah. Mom and Sadie would roast me alive.”

“I left. I’m not roasted alive.”

“That you know of,” Maggie muttered.

Greta’s stomach clenched. “What are they saying?” she heard herself ask. All the ease and recklessness of the moment before rushed out of her like a punctured balloon.

“You know,” Maggie hedged.

“Tell me.”

“How sad it is that we won’t be a family. How Mom hates to think of you all by yourself for Chanukah. What did they do to make you not want to celebrate with us. You know.”

None of this was surprising to Greta. But it hurt anyway. How did it hurt anyway?

She walked in Carys and Ramona’s wake, watching the sun filtering through the trees to spangle on the light wood boards. She smelled the lichen and the dusty moss. She listened to the knock of woodpeckers and the splash of some submarine battle playing out in the bayou to her left.

It hurt because she felt guilty. And she felt guilty because she didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Cool, so not wanting to hurt other people means choosing to feel hurt yourself. Great calculus, Greta. Guess Muriel was right about you not accidentally ending up an accountant.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Greta said, her voice rising.

“I know, bro,” Maggie said.

Carys looked back at her with a raised eyebrow and a concerned expression. Greta sighed and smiled.

“So if you want to leave, you should leave,” Greta said.