Linda doesn't share my aversion to airplane and airport food and had no problem eating the suspicious-smelling sandwich on the flight over. I assume that's the reason why she declines her mother's offer to have some snacks brought up but accepts a glass of wine. I could eat something, but the thought of the explanations needed convince me to wait until dinner. The conversation between Linda, Mr., and Mrs. Baxter meanders around the wedding guest, an appointment for Linda's dress fitting, and an avalanche of concerns about maintaining the secrecy of the event. Minutes turn into hours and I half-listen until I hear my name.

"Ben, how did you and Linda meet?"

"At the library, Mrs. Baxter." I squeeze my teeth to stop myself from elaborating. Linda gave firm instructions not to mention she works there. It's hard to squeeze my teeth and smile at the same time. My phone vibrates in my pocket. My stomach growls. How long is this going to go on?

"Melissa. Please, call me Melissa."

"The Chicago Public Library I volunteer at." Linda looks over at Brenda, who's playing with her phone and grinning from time to time-out of sync with the discussion around her.

"Ah, you're still doing that?" says Melissa. "Did I tell you the architect of that building designed "The Hole In The Wall Gang" camp we are supporting?"

"Yes, mother, you did."

"So you know there are plenty of worthy charities for you to volunteer at in New York."

"Mother."

Melissa's smile slips for a second, but she recovers. "And you, Ben? Do you volunteer as much as our mouse does?"

"No. She wins there."

"A consolation prize, I guess." Mr. Baxter chuckles into his glass of whiskey.

"Are you a fan of books like her then?" Melissa sips her wine and flicks her gaze between Linda and me.

"Non-fiction. Fiction and poetry are still a struggle." I squeeze my teeth again as Linda forbade mentioning her love of poetry: one of the nineteen, no, eighteen topics that were off-limits. My phone keeps vibrating. I should've turned it to silent.

"She's always been our book mouse." The way Melissa smiles while talking with her top and bottom teeth on display reminds me to keep up with mine. My smile wanes if I don't resume pushing the corners of my lips apart every couple of minutes.

Mr. Baxer is nursing the whiskey I declined three times. "Such a smart girl, and such a waste."

"We're not doing this again. I'm getting another glass." Linda downs the rest of her wine and maneuvers between my knees and the enormous square coffee-table that separates our couch from the one Linda's parents are on across from us. No one talks.

Mr. Baxter swirls the ice in his glass, and Melissa adjusts her body into a position worthy of an official photo of the British Royal family. Her knees and ankles pressed together she slants her legs to the side toward the third couch perpendicular to ours.

Brenda's the only one lounging on it with her limbs arranged to emphasize their length and attractiveness. Now that I've seen their parents, Brenda's height is easy to explain-it's Linda who's out of place among them. The neat freak inside me hates not being able to straighten up the disarray of Brenda's tennis shoes under the table.

My mobile proceeds to vibrate with annoying frequency, but not using the phone while her parents were around was another one of Linda's rules, which apparently doesn't apply to Brenda.

Linda interrupts the silence by pouring another glass of wine from the caddy one of the house staff rolled in. She remains standing and takes two gulps. It's the earliest in the day I've seen her drink so much. One of the rules was to not let her consume more than two drinks per night. It's early in the evening, but I'm going to say it counts.

I fail to see what people find in alcohol. Every time I've tried it, I lost control of my body, my speech and made a complete fool out of myself. It was fun for Mike but not an experience I see myself repeating. Not with this group.

"Philip has to run out for a while." Brenda speaks for the first time since she greeted me on the stairs, and everyone's eyes go to her. She doesn't look up from her phone.

"Is everything ok?" asks Mr. Baxter.

"Something to do with the deal he's working on. He'll be back for dinner. Are we still on lockdown and eating here? I can't believe I have to be a prisoner because of this stupid wedding."

"You have to be a little bit patient," says Mr. Baxter. "It's two more days, and you are out of here."

Brenda ignores her father, jumps off her couch, and lands on Linda's seat next to me.

"Smile." Brenda leans her head against mine, makes a fist with a pinky, and thumb up between us, and, before I have the time to readjust my smile, snaps a selfie of us. What was that about?

"Delete it," says Linda. "Delete in now. And get off my spot." She comes over and stands on the other side of me.

Brenda's cat eyes narrow at Linda. She turns back to me. Puts her hand on my shoulder, tilts her head, allowing her straight brown hair to fall and frame her face, and looks at me through her long lashes. "You're OK with me posting it, right?"

Linda's instructions had nothing in them about not taking pictures with her sister, but her request was clear. Linda didn't want that picture to exist.

"Could you please delete it?" It's not my preference, but it is Linda's. Supporting Linda is why I'm here. She's been a good friend, and I'm not going to embarrass her.

"Are you sure?" Brenda's thigh touches mine, and she squeezes my shoulder. It's uncomfortable and too familiar for a person whom I've just met for the first time.

"Yes." I move away from her.

Brenda glances at her sister and Linda's chin goes up while the defense smile returns to her lips.

"Whatever." Brenda huffs and gets up. "I'm going to my room. See you all at dinner." She storms out and disappears into the hallway the doorman went with our suitcases earlier. Her shoes remain where she's discarded them.

"That was interesting." Mr. Baxter puts his glass on the coffee table between us. "You don't think Brenda is irresistible?"

"No." Reading people is hard for me, but this comment is beyond any norms in my conversation playbook. Seems like there's a whole other discussion going in behind the words they are saying to each other that I'm not following. My phone stops vibrating for a bit, but I'm vibrating inside instead.

"Interesting. I've yet to see a man who could say no to her. Her beauty tends to incapacitate men. I'm her father, but even I find it hard to refuse. What kind of a man are you?"

What kind of question is that? What am I supposed to say?

"The one who loves me and isn't going to fall for Brenda's tricks," says Linda. "The agreement was I show up, play nice, and Brenda doesn't talk to me or my boyfriend."

"She barely uttered two words," says Melissa.

"She said enough. We're going to our room. And we're not joining you for dinner. We have plans most of the day tomorrow, so I guess we'll see you at the rehearsal dinner in the evening. Let me know if there's a change of plans."

Linda takes my hand, and pulls me up and behind her until we enter a room full of light that faces the opposite way from Central Park. She throws herself face down on the massive bed in the middle of the room and hits the top with her fists, stifling her screams of frustration into the pristine white comforter. She lifts her head up when I sit next to her.

"Now you understand why I hate them?"

"No. But I see that you do."

"It's Brenda this, Brenda that, Brenda's the star, Brenda can do whatever Brenda wants, but why oh why am I doing something I enjoy? She was blatantly trying to seduce you the day before her wedding in front of our parents and me, and they treat it like an endearing quirk, 'oh look how irresistible Brenda is'. What's wrong with them? I'm their daughter too."

Linda slides over the puts her head on my lap.

"Thanks for staying on my side."

"That's what friends are for."

"So, you don't think Brenda is beautiful?"

"I know she is. She's more beautiful in person than what I've seen of her in the media. Her eyes remind me of a cat."

"A cat. And men are the mice for her to play with. Don't trust anything she says. It's like I'm back to the nightmare that was my childhood."

"Two days, then you're back to your life and can forget this." And we're officially no longer together.

"Thank you." Linda's hand moves up my thigh and to my crotch.

She's done this maneuver many times before, and I know what she'd after. Sex for Linda is the best way to calm down when she's upset. But I'm not interested in Linda or Brenda. It's Amelie. I've taken one too many cold showers, increased the frequency of my runs, and of masturbation to combat my reactions to Am any time she's around.

"Friends." I move Linda's hand away.

"I won't tell anyone. We can still have the weekend. It's not like Amelie will know."

At the mention of Amelie's name, I tense. I haven't told her anything about her. Not five years ago, not this time around, careful to keep my plans to myself.

"Why are you talking about Amelie?"

"It's clear that you aren't over your crush on her. I don't understand what you see in her. She's boring. Not even the right kind of boring for you. I'm a nerd too, but you know my secret side. And I doubt Amelie can deliver anything close to my performance in bed." Her hand sneaks back up my thigh.

"No." I get up and walk away from her. "You are behaving like your sister, and I know you're better than that."

"There aren't many things I'm better at than Brenda. I thought I was better at sex, but Philip didn't think so. Now you don't want me either. Everyone wants Brenda. Every-freaking-one loves Brenda. But there's no love for me."

"I don't want or love Brenda."

"Dad's right. The only thing I'm good for are consolation prizes, so I'm going to make the best of them." The tortured poet Linda is gone, and the performance one is back in her place, smile and all. She gets off the bed, walks over to the closet, and disappears inside. "Your clothes are here. I'll take a shower. Let's change, and I'll give you a tour of the neighborhood. You can run in Central Park while we're here. I'll show you the way."

The shower water starts, and I check my messages.

Angie: Mike went off the rails and kicked my parents out. I'm freaking out.

Angie: Why aren't you responding? I thought you landed already.

Angie: Is Linda keeping you hostage? Call me.

Angie: Fucking call me already.

The last message is from half an hour ago.

Mike: I took your advice and got Rose and Fred a hotel room.

Mike: I was angry.

Mike: I fucked up. Angie's not talking to me.

Mike: I can hear her crying in the nursery. The door is locked. Her parents are gone. Kora's asleep again. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

His last message is from twenty minutes ago.

I've been their mediator of choice since they got together five years ago, and I'm glad they met. Mike needed someone to challenge him, and Angie's one of my closest friends now, but sometimes they need an interpreter to communicate.

I create a group chat.

Me: Have you started talking to each other?

Mike: I'm not the problem. I'm sitting by the door waiting for her to open up.

Angie: Don't refer to me in the third person.

Mike: Thank God, you're alive.

Angie: No thanks to you. How could you fuck this up?

Mike: I'm sorry, but they are making my life miserable.

Angie: You life? YOUR LIFE? You selfish prick.

Mike: Our lives. But come on, they're your parents, you sort of have to be nice to them.

Angie: I just can't.

Angie leaves the chat.

Me: Maybe blaming her parents was not a nice move.

Mike: But they are the problem here. Not me. Why the fuck is everyone blaming me?

Me: It sounded like you got angry and kicked them out.

Mike: Angry-yes. But I booked AND PAID for a great hotel for them right next door to us.

Mike: I'm making life easier for them too.

Mike: I could've handled it better, but I haven't slept in three weeks. I need some peace and quiet.

Me: I'm adding Angie back.

Added Angie back to the chat.

Me: You can't stay mad at each other forever.

Angie: I can and I will.

Mike: She can.

Angie: Don't start.

Me: Stop it. Where's Amelie?

Mike: Not here.

Angie: At work?

Me: OK. I will find her and get her to be the mediator in my stead. @Angie, do you promise to open the door and talk to Mike when Amelie's there?

Angie: Yes.

Me: @Mike, do you promise to work through this and keep your anger in check? Maybe go for a run. That usually helps me.

Mike: A run may be a good idea. @Angie will you listen in case Kora wakes up?

Angie: She's my daughter too. We'll be fine. Go run.

Me: Are you at work?

Amelie: hi, no. i'm visiting tall. how's new york?

Me: Can you call me? It's about Mike and Angie.

Amelie: i heard part of the fight and left. feeling guilty. should've stayed probably.

Me: Can you call me?

Angie: yes. calling.

What do you think about seeing more of Ben's thoughts?

Can you 'feel' any difference?

NaNoWriMo: Day 15 I'm up to 29,410. Hopefully, another writing session in the evening gets me to or over 30,000.