Robin
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The salty air of the coast is the first thing I notice as I step out of the car, inhaling deeply. It's been years since I've been to the beach house, and I'd almost forgotten how freeing it feels.

The breeze off the water, the scent of sunscreen and ocean, the distant cry of seagulls-it all creates a strange sense of peace, like for a second, I can just exist without thinking too hard.

I stretch my arms over my head, shaking off the stiffness from the drive, then slam the car door shut with unnecessary force.

"Was that really necessary?" Melanie asks, raising an eyebrow.

I offer a nonchalant shrug, adjusting my sunglasses as I survey the house and the other cars that just parked. (Totally not eyeing Heather.)

"I've been trapped in a car with you for three hours. Yeah, it was necessary."

She rolls her eyes, leaning against the hood. "You're acting like I forced you to come."

"Oh, please," I scoff. "Mom made me come. You think I would willingly subject myself to a weekend of forced bonding and wedding prep?"

She smirks. "So dramatic. It's a beach house, not a prison."

I groan, tipping my head back. "A prison would be better. At least there, I don't have to pretend to care about flower arrangements and table settings."

She snorts. "You literally don't have to do any of that. You could just...not help."

"Yeah, and then Mom will give me that disappointed look like I just set fire to a puppy."

"Fair point." She pushes off the car and stretches, glancing at the house. "Still, it's not the worst thing. Fresh air, good food, unlimited wine-"

I jab a finger at her. "Oh, don't think I don't see what you're doing. You're trying to make me believe this is a good idea."

She lifts a shoulder. "Maybe I am."

I let out a sigh, pulling my bag from the trunk.

"Mel, this whole trip is going to be weird as hell. We both know it."

I ignore the way my stomach tightens at my words. But she knows I'm right.

She watches me for a second, her expression shifting slightly, then she bumps my shoulder.

"But, I mean, hey. You're free to prove me wrong."

She huffs a laugh. "Challenge accepted."

When Mom suggested a retreat before the wedding, my first instinct was to say no. Spending an entire weekend with Heather and Javis, pretending like everything was fine, sounded about as appealing as walking barefoot over broken glass. But then something inside me shifted.

I've been exhausted with my emotions lately and haven't been able to get out of my room without feeling like dying.

Maybe it's time I stop holding on to things that hurt.

So here I am, standing in front of the beach house, taking in the familiar sight of its white walls, wide windows, and wraparound porch. The house looks exactly the same, right down to the seashell wind chime hanging by the door, clinking softly in the breeze. I used to love this place. Maybe I still do or I will hate it now.

I step inside, and immediately, I hear mom's voice cutting through the quiet like she's leading a mission. "Mel, grab the other bag from the car. Robin, don't just stand there-help me with these."

I glance at Melanie, who gives me a look before dramatically saluting. "Yes, Captain."

Mom doesn't even acknowledge the sarcasm. She's too busy unpacking groceries with the efficiency of someone who's been preparing for this weekend for weeks-which, knowing her, she probably has.

Javis and Heather are giggling while making their way upstairs and I fight the urge to fucking scream. Since when are they this happy together?

"You bought enough food for an army," I say, lifting a bag onto the counter.

"Better too much than too little." She moves swiftly, shoving items into the fridge, barely looking at me before adding, "And don't think I didn't notice you hesitating before agreeing to come."

I freeze for half a second, but I recover quickly. "What? No hesitation. I was thrilled."

Melanie snorts as she walks back in with the last of the bags. "You literally made that dying animal noise when she asked."

Mom tuts. "I knew it." Then she turns to me, giving me a pointed look. "You know, Robin, avoidance is not a personality trait."

"I disagree," I say. "I think I make it look pretty natural."

She sighs but doesn't push further. Instead, she nudges a container of strawberries toward me. "Here. Start rinsing these."

I haven't even settled in! I want to scream but it won't matter.

I take the strawberries, mostly because I know better than to argue with her when she's in host mode. Mom wants this weekend to be perfect-relaxing, family-oriented, free of tension. I owe it to her to at least try.

As I move to the sink, Melanie leans against the counter, smirking. "So, what's the game plan for surviving this weekend? Strategic avoidance? Blatant indifference? Quiet suffering?"

I give her a look. "How about 'minding my own business and having a good time'?"

Melanie laughs. "Oh, sure. Yeah. That sounds super believable."

I flick some water at her, and she shrieks, swatting at me. Mom sighs loudly but doesn't stop unpacking. "If you two start fighting, I swear I will make you share a room."

Melanie and I exchange horrified looks before immediately stepping apart.

Mom nods, satisfied. "That's what I thought."

I shake my head but can't help smiling. Maybe this weekend won't be so bad after all.

I mean, as long as Heather is not anywhere near my sight.

The first few hours pass in a blur of small talk, setting up tables, and pretending I don't see Heather out of the corner of my eye. I help Mom arrange the deck for tomorrow's brunch, tying napkins into neat little knots and pretending I care about whether the centerpieces are too "beachy" or not "beachy enough."

I chat with a few distant relatives-most of whom either vaguely remember me from childhood or mistake me for Melanie, which is always fun. Mom thought it would be fun to have some of them over but I feel like she is trying to cover the void where Dad should have been filling.

Ps: he is still tied up with work and won't make it for this retreat too.

But that doesn't matter, I don't want him here, I already have enough probablems as it is.

Speaking of problems, I'm avoiding Heather like the plague.

It's surprisingly easy, considering she's been glued to Javis's side like she's afraid he'll float away if she lets go.

They look like a couple straight out of a wedding magazine-Javis in his button-down, sleeves rolled up just enough to look effortless, and Heather in a sundress that makes her look like some kind of golden, sun-kissed dream.

If I didn't know better, I'd think she was actually happy. Maybe she is.

Maybe that's the part that bothers me.

Not that I'd admit it out loud.

Instead, I keep myself busy. I move chairs around like I have some grand design plan, nod along when Aunt Karen gives me an unsolicited life update about her Pilates instructor, and force a smile when Uncle Rick corners me to ask if I'm "seeing anyone special yet." (I respond with, "Just my therapist, Uncle Rick," which shuts that down real quick.)

All the while, I remind myself that this is what I wanted too. Space. Distance. A clean break. I should be grateful that Heather's making it so easy.

I should feel relieved that she's not sneaking glances at me across the room, that she's not finding excuses to brush past me like she used to.

But for some stupid reason, it doesn't feel like relief. That's just how I know I'm still fucking stuck.

That night, as everyone settles down for drinks by the fire pit, something familiar starts to creep in. The ache that comes from pretending everything is fine when it's not.

I'm about to call it a night when I see her.

She's leaning against the deck railing, the firelight painting her skin gold. She's beautiful-short black hair, dark eyes, and a mischievous smile that makes me feel like I'm standing too close to something dangerous. I have no idea who she is, but for the first time in weeks, my heart beats faster for someone else who isn't Heather.

She notices me watching and tilts her head, a silent challenge. Before I know what I'm doing, I walk over.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey yourself."

"I don't think we've met."

"No, we haven't." She extends a hand. "Ali."

"Robin."

Her grip is firm, her smile slow and lazy. "So, what's your story, Robin?"

I laugh softly. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me." She winks and I know she's nothing but trouble.

I could use some trouble.