He brings the hockey stick over to us and says, “Whoever is holding this stick must speak. You can’t transfer it to the next person without speaking. So, Scottie, since you’re practically crawling out of here with every inch you’ve made toward the door, let’s start with you.” He hands her the stick and says, “Why are you mad?”

She takes the stick and answers, “I’m not mad. I just don’t want to be around him.”

Then she tosses the stick in my direction, and I luckily catch it before it nails me in the head. “I don’t want to be around her either.”

I send the hockey stick right back to her, and it hits her in the leg.

“Ouch.” She rubs her thigh.

“Sorry,” I mutter, because I’m not a dick.

Sanders takes the stick and looks between the two of us. “This is not productive. Remember what we talked about? Communication. Do we need to have you sit on Wilder’s lap again?”

Scottie leans forward, snatches the stick from Sanders, and says, “I will tell you right now: I will die before I sit on his lap again. And if you try to make me, I will scream bloody murder. Not happening.”

I take the hockey stick from her and look Sanders in the eyes. “That’s one thing we can agree on. I refuse to have her sit on my lap. Absolutely refuse. No way in hell is she coming near me.”

She snatches the stick from me and looks me in the eyes. “I never want to sit on your lap ever again actually. I even took a poll with myself, and the results are in: your lap is an abomination. Contaminated. An absolute disgust.”

I snatch the hockey stick right back. “Well, I took a poll with myself too, and those results are in as well. Although you have a nice ass, my legs have come to the realization that they don’t want to support ungrateful women.”

“Ungrateful. Why is she ungrateful?” Sanders asks.

“Ask her.” I stick the hockey stick between us and cross my arms over my chest.

She doesn’t reach for the stick this time though. She turns away, causing Sanders to exhale.

“Listen, if we can’t be civil and have a mature conversation, then there will be consequences.”

“Whatever the consequence is, it can’t be worse than this,” Scottie says.

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” Sanders says.

“Trust me.” Scottie puts her hand up in dismissal. “Nothing is worse than this.”

“What are we doing?” Scottie asks as Sanders finishes paddling the rowboat to the middle of the lake.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I say, arms crossed. “He’s going to leave us stranded in the middle of the lake with no other option than to work together to get back.”

“That’s idiotic. He wouldn’t do that.”