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“I guess that’s technically what he is, but really, we’re closer than that. He’s like my big brother.”
“Right, right. Duncan said you’ve made yourself a found family.” She smiled at her son. “We all understand the beauty of that.”
Suddenly, a riotous burst of noise erupted from across the room. Phoebe looked in that direction and saw a large dog on the other side of a set of French doors.
Jenny laughed. “I don’t think Rowdy can stand another second of being left out.”
“I got him,” Duncan said. “C’mon, babe. I got somebody else for you to meet.”
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~oOo~
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She met Rowdy, who was, in fact rowdy, and also sweet and goofy. After the dog got his greeting cuddles and settled down, Dex put Ethan in an electric swing, and Kelsey put Tildy in a big high chair, and everybody sat down to dinner. The meal was beautiful, though Vin would probably have called it ‘basic’: grilled chicken breasts, the roasted squash, a tossed salad, and white rolls.
Phoebe thought Vin would have revised his critique upon tasting: the chicken was nicely seasoned, and the roasted squash had a warm, cinnamony tang. It wasn’t basic at all.
There were two bottles of chilled white wine on the table, but only the women drank it. The men drank beer, or whiskey, or just ice water. Since Phoebe had a long drive home, she had only one glass of wine and stuck with water after that.
For most of the meal, the conversation was lively and diverse. There was, of course, the ritual interview of the new person, but Phoebe discovered that Duncan really had talked a lot about her, so all the questions started off like second or third-stage queries. Kelsey was particularly interested in her rescue work—and, surprisingly, so was her husband—and for fifteen or twenty minutes, they were in danger of overwhelming the table with shop talk. It turned out they knew a lot of the same people, and had formed a lot of the same opinions of some of them.
For instance, Kelsey knew Lydia Copperman. It helped immeasurably to see Kelsey, who came off as sweet and gentle, roll her eyes dramatically at the bitch’s name. She had not heard that Copperman was trying to blackball Phoebe, but she said she wasn’t surprised. Phoebe didn’t want to talk about the issue in any depth at this dinner, so she found a way to return the conversation to small talk.
They talked about the club a bit, mostly light gossip, and anecdotes about family, especially about Tildy and Ethan. Phoebe felt comfortable and content. She liked these people, and could feel they liked her.
Eventually, as seconds were disappearing from the plates, Hannah got a turn in the spotlight.
Already, Phoebe had marked the little sister as the family black sheep. For one thing, the way Duncan had spoken of her—with something like affectionate confusion—indicated that he didn’t totally get her. Now having met her, Phoebe saw that she was a little off step with the rest of her family. She was obviously loved and included, but still. She was just a little bit different.
Her hair was dyed solid, deep black, and cut so short it was basically a high-and-tight. Her eyebrows were dyed platinum. She was dressed in baggy green chinos that might have been old uniform pants from the Bulls’ Sinclair station—Duncan had come to her straight from work once wearing the same pants—and an enormous black hoodie that probably could have fit her and Duncan inside together. She had several facial piercings: a thick ring through her septum, barbells through the bridge of her nose, and a labret ring. But her ears, as far as Phoebe could see, weren’t pierced at all. With all her baggy clothes, Phoebe didn’t know how much ink Hannah had, but there were delicate little designs between the first knuckles on all her fingers. And chipped black polish on her bitten-to-the-quick nails.
Hannah Helm looked like she wanted to be noticed for anything but her actual self. With a physical presentation like that, Phoebe would have expected her to be sullen and resentful, but she was a lively participant in the table talk, giving and taking shit, laughing or groaning loudly at jokes, offering opinions, fully engaged with and interested in her family. Phoebe was fascinated by the littlest Helm.
Everything was going great until the meal was over and everybody pitched in to shift the table from the dregs of dinner to the promise of dessert. Phoebe sliced the pie and laid pieces on fresh plates, Duncan dropped scoops of vanilla ice cream beside each slice, and Hannah made a messy avalanche of Reddi-Wip on each one. Then everyone dug in, and Phoebe got a contact high from the effusive praise for Vin’s pie.
And then Duncan ruined it all.
“Hey Dad,” he said around a swallow of pie and ice cream. “I’ve got a question. This trouble that Copperman bitch is causing for Phoebe ...”
Phoebe flung her head around and stared at him. “Duncan, don’t.”
He completely ignored her. Didn’t even look at her.
“She’s not just trying to blackball her. She’s also got the health department up Phoebe’s ass.”
“Duncan, shut up!”
This time, his eyes darted to her, but he kept going. “She’s got less than a month to raise over a hundred thousand to make repairs or they’re gonna shut her rescue down.”
“It’s nothing!” Phoebe said to everybody else at the table. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it handled.” She wanted to add, And it’s none of Duncan’s fucking business! but this was his family, and even while mortification and fury flooded her veins, she didn’t want his family not to like her.
“I just want to ask the question, baby,” he said. To his father he said, “I just want to know if there’s anything we can do to help.”
“I fucking told you no,” she muttered back, staring at her plate. The ice cream was melting into a puddle under the pie.
The table had gone completely silent. Phoebe couldn’t lift her head; she knew they were all looking at her. All these people with their perfect lives, their happy family, mothers and fathers adoring their children, snug in this huge, pretty house. They were looking at her and seeing how broken she was.
