The good news is I can do my physical therapy with my witch sister's broom.

Obviously, I'm on a blogging tear over the last couple of days. I wrote the first post in this little trilogy the day after we arrived in Florida, and I've discovered that if I'm sitting in front of my MacBook saying I'm "busy," I get at least a short break from the 19 people packed into two mid-sized beach condos. (We started with 17 and later gained one husband and one 16-year-old best friend from Texas.) Since I'm getting a people break, this one may be longer and meander more than my typical entry. Sorry!

As I mentioned in Monday's blog, my younger sister Jess and I got into a fight on the drive here. It started because I apparently did a "bad job" filming a video of her dancing in front of a gas station sign. She was so mean about it, saying things like, "I can NEVER count on you to do anything cute for me," and "I should have just asked Maddie, but how was I supposed to know you'd be this bad?" (Maddie being our 16 year old niece--who can film a TikTok like video like a true pro--thank god our older sister doesn't let her post anything). 

Things escalated when I smacked her on the mouth from the back seat of the car. For the record, I maintain it was a very light smack with my open palm. Jess tells the story as if I was one degree away from knocking her teeth out.

I had hoped we'd squashed the fight after our mother forced us to ride in separate vehicles (we are 34 and 32 years old, by the way) and Jess texted me that she loved me and I said it back.

Well, it turns out that cramming 19 people into two condos is not an ideal environment for two immature brats to make peace. Jess and I have been at each other's throats more or less nonstop since we arrived.

One thing I want to address is how normal this is for us. Our family has four kids: three girls close in age and one younger brother. We grew up competing for resources like clothes, boys, the shared Toyota Camry, and—during one particularly unhinged year—the single cell phone our parents decided the three of us were "mature enough" to share. The fact that there is not a permanent nuclear crater somewhere along the I-35 corridor from the fallout of that parenting decision still amazes me.

We also fit the stereotypes perfectly. Jenn is the unquestioned leader, I'm the overly dramatic people-pleaser, and Jess is the youngest child who somehow got away with things Jenn and I never would have attempted. We've been fighting and squabbling for as long as I can remember.

Yes, as adults too. And yes, physical fights too. And no, it's not always me doing the smacking.

A few years ago, our cousin had a gorgeous wedding in Austin. I bought an expensive dress that was objectively too short. I knew it when I tried it on, I knew it when I tried it on again at home, and I knew it while getting ready for the wedding. Bubs even gently suggested I might want to consider another dress, and I practically bit his head off.

I wore it anyway.

The problem was that I spent the entire wedding either sitting down or keeping Bubs positioned behind me so I wouldn't accidentally moon the reception with my bare cheeks. Jenn and Jess thought this was the funniest thing they had ever seen and mocked me relentlessly. Finally, during a standing toast I'd already been dreading, I turned around and hissed, "Shut the fuck up."

Jess responded by reaching up under the dress and pinching me so hard on the butt that she broke the skin.

So that's the background. We fight like feral raccoons, but I love my sisters more than I can possibly say.

Case in point: on Tuesday the three of us spent seven straight hours cuddled on the couch watching the new season of America's Sweethearts on Netflix. We cried our eyes out when Kleine announced her retirement. Longtime readers know we're convinced she's some sort of distant cousin. The family records suggest it, but honestly the stronger evidence is that she looks exactly like us. She's not a natural blonde, but especially in the childhood pic they showed of her--the pointy noise and the huge blue eyes--she looks exactly like us. Apparently we can set aside our differences and cuddle and cry together when someone who may or may not be our cousin retires from cheerleading. 

So yes, even in the middle of a fight that had already become physical, we were still crying together on a couch.

And then the credits rolled, and we went right back to cold shoulders, sarcastic comments, and recruiting allies among the rest of the family, who are clearly exhausted by the drama.

Bubs arrived Tuesday night, and of course I unloaded the entire saga onto him during a walk on the beach. His opinion was that yes, Jess had been rude and weirdly petty over a video, but I could probably go a long way toward restoring peace by apologizing for hitting her.

I hated that he was right.

So I swallowed my pride and decided I was ready to do my part.

Fate, however, had other plans.

When we got back from our walk, we heard that Jess and her husband Paul had walked to the little grocery store down the road to get ready for dinner. I needed a few things and texted them both, but when I didn't hear back, I drove over myself. Inside the store I spotted them in another aisle. They hadn't seen me, but I could hear them arguing.

"Paul! I know I started it, but you know she's better than me at keeping it going!"

"Jessica, you started this over a TikTok video you weren't even going to post. Do you hear yourself?"

"She hit me, Paul."

"You two have been smacking each other for as long as I've known you. Get over it."

"Fine. I'll apologize to her. But if she doesn't apologize for hitting me, we're driving home."

I stood there like a Russian spy, absolutely delighted with the intelligence I had just gathered.

She was going to apologize to me.

Victory.

I made a point of "running into" them in the store and politely asking whether they'd gotten my text. Paul said no. Jess glared at me. I could practically see him nudging her to apologize, but she stayed silent.

Fine by me. A public apology at dinner would be even more satisfying.

I spent the entire meal waiting for my moment. In my head it was going to be something like a gentle clink on a wine glass and Jess standing up to say, "My dear family, I've made a terrible mistake and owe my sister an apology." I would graciously accept, demonstrating remarkable humility and maturity.

Reader, this did not happen.

Dinner came and went. No apology. Jess and I ended up on dish duty together, where we continued bickering about dish soap and the correct way to load a dishwasher. Finally I snapped.

"Do you have something you want to say to me?"

"What, Danielle, could I possibly have to say to you?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bubs and Paul silently begging one of us to take the off-ramp.

"I don't know. Maybe that this whole vacation has been ruined because of the fight you started."

I heard Bubs say, "Hey, want to try that scotch I brought?" and Paul reply, "Yeah, sounds good," as they made their embarrassed escape.

"Oh, the whole vacation is ruined? Everyone but you seems to be having fun. And let me remind you—you hit me."

"I was trying to get your attention because you were being rude and started a fight over nothing!"

"Danielle, I swear to God, if you don't stop, Paul and I are taking the kids and driving home tonight."

"You should go! Everyone would appreciate the peace and quiet. But leave Kylee and Jacob—they've been a joy."

Even I knew I had crossed a line with that one. One thing we've actually been good about as sisters is keeping our kids out of our arguments.

Unfortunately, the rest of the family could see Jess's nostrils flaring, and this version of the fight was heading somewhere ugly. Before I knew it, my younger brother had picked me up around the waist, carried me into my bedroom, and told me to cool off.

From the kitchen I could hear my parents telling Jess how ridiculous the fight had become and how disappointed they were in both of us. A few minutes later my mom came into my room and gave me essentially the same lecture.

The truth is, we're both being staggeringly hypocritical.

I've said plenty of things to Jess over the years that are every bit as hurtful as "You never do anything cute for me." She's been physical with me plenty of times. Neither of us is exactly claiming the moral high ground here.

I honestly don't know why I can't simply walk up to her and say, "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have hit you. You hurt my feelings, but I tried my best." And because of my little grocery-store espionage mission, I know she admits she started it. So I also don't know why she can't apologize to me.

What I do know is that I'd be genuinely sad if she left. I'm also staying at her house when we get back to Texas, so I'm not entirely sure what driving home would accomplish.

I know she reads this blog—though maybe not while on vacation—and I'm hoping that if she does see this, we won't need some dramatic formal apology. Maybe she'll remember, as I'm trying to remember, that our history together is too funny, too messy, and too full of love to spend much time genuinely hating each other.

And Jess, if you're reading this: it was Jennifer who asked whether I was using your broom for my shoulder stretches this morning.

Let's get that bitch.