Saturday, 11:07 AM
The lake glittered like broken glass. Dad was on the dock, wrestling with the outboard motor, swearing under his breath. Mom sat in a canvas chair with iced coffee and a paperback, sunglasses hiding half her face.
Riley and I hauled the kayak down the path, pretending to argue over who sat in back. Every brush of her hip against mine felt like a live wire.
"Careful with the paddle, Ethan," Mom called without looking up. "Don't scratch the hull."
Dad grunted, finally yanking the cord. The motor sputtered, then roared. "Victory!" He wiped his hands on a rag. "Who wants to test her out?"
Riley raised a hand. "I'll go after lunch. Need to… change." She shot me a look that said *boathouse, noon*.
Mom turned a page. "Take Ethan. He can row if the motor dies."
Dad laughed. "Kid's got noodle arms. I'll take him fishing later—teach him how to cast without hooking his own ear."
I forced a grin. "Looking forward to it, Dad."
**12:14 PM – Boathouse**
The door creaked shut behind us. Sunlight slanted through warped boards, dust motes dancing. Riley locked the latch, then turned, back against the wood.
"I can't stop shaking," she admitted, voice small. "Last night felt like a dream I'm scared to wake up from."
I stepped close, hands on her waist. "Me too. But we're here. Real."
She searched my face. "What happens when we go home? Dorm rooms, separate cities—"
"We figure it out. One day at a time." I kissed her forehead. "Right now, I just want you."
She melted against me. We sank onto an old tarp, clothes peeling away in frantic whispers. This time there was no condom—too loud, too risky. She guided me in bare, eyes locked.
"Feel everything," she breathed.
I did. Skin on skin, her heat, the pulse of her around me. We moved slow, savoring, mouths fused to muffle the sounds. When she came, she buried her face in my neck, tears mixing with sweat. I followed, spilling inside her with a silent groan, arms locked like I'd never let go.
After, we lay tangled, hearts slowing.
"I love you," she said against my chest. "Not just brother-sister. More."
I swallowed hard. "I know. Me too."
**1:28 PM – Lunch on the Deck**
Mom flipped burgers. Dad cracked another beer, recounting a fishing story from '98. Riley and I sat opposite, knees touching under the table.
Mom slid a plate in front of me. "You two are quiet today. Everything okay?"
Riley shrugged. "Just tired. Long drive."
Dad ruffled my hair. "Growing boy needs protein. Eat up—we're hitting the water at three."
Mom's eyes lingered on us—sharp, maternal radar. "Actually, your dad promised to fix the dock light. Ethan, help him after you eat. Riley, you're on dish duty with me."
Riley's foot froze against my ankle.
**2:03 PM – Kitchen**
Dad and I were outside with a toolbox when Mom's voice drifted through the screen door.
"Riley, honey, come here."
I strained to hear. Dad was busy with a screwdriver.
Inside, Mom spoke low. "You've been glowing since we arrived. And Ethan can't look at you without blushing. Want to tell me what's going on?"
Silence. Then Riley, barely audible: "I—I don't know how."
Mom's tone softened. "Sweetheart, I was twenty-two once. I know that look. The way you orbit each other."
Another pause. Riley's voice cracked. "We didn't plan it. It just… happened. Last night. And this morning. I'm scared, Mom."
A chair scraped. I pictured Mom pulling her into a hug.
"I'm not angry," Mom said. "Confused, yes. But I see how gentle he is with you. How you light up when he walks in. Your father won't understand—he can't. But I do."
Riley sniffled. "What do we do?"
Mom exhaled. "First, we keep your dad blissfully ignorant. Second…" A longer pause. "I was your age when I fell for someone I shouldn't have. My cousin's best friend. We hid it for a summer. Taught me love doesn't always follow rules."
I nearly dropped the screwdriver.
**3:17 PM – The Dock**
Dad and I tightened bolts. He handed me a wrench. "Your mom says you kids need space this weekend. Something about 'processing college stress.'"
I nodded, throat dry.
He squinted at the horizon. "Whatever it is, fix it before we leave. Family first, Ethan. Always."
"Yes, sir."
**4:45 PM – The Float**
Mom suggested a swim. Dad opted for a nap. The three of us waded into the cool water, Riley in a red bikini, Mom in a modest one-piece. We floated on noodles, sun warm on our faces.
Mom spoke first. "I was married at twenty-three. Pregnant with you, Riley, at twenty-four. Life doesn't wait for permission."
Riley glanced at me. I treaded water, pulse racing.
Mom continued, "I'm not saying it's simple. But I'm saying I see you. Both of you. And I won't stand in the way."
Riley's eyes filled. "Mom…"
Mom smiled, soft. "Just be careful. And honest. With each other, if not the world."
She swam toward shore, leaving us bobbing in the quiet.
Riley reached for my hand underwater. "She knows."
"I heard," I whispered. "She's… okay?"
"More than okay." Riley's fingers squeezed. "She's giving us her blessing."
**9:22 PM – The Fire Pit**
Dad snored in a hammock. Mom roasted one last marshmallow, then stood. "I'm turning in. You two enjoy the stars."
She paused by Riley, kissed her forehead. "Guest room's empty if you need… space." Then to me: "Protect her heart, Ethan. It's the only one she has."
She disappeared inside. The screen door clicked shut.
Riley and I stared at the flames. Embers popped.
"Guest room?" I asked.
She stood, offered her hand. "Come on."
We left the fire burning, walked inside holding hands—no more hiding from the one person who'd seen us clearly.
The weekend wasn't over. But the hardest part—telling the truth—was.