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They’re totally going to have sex later.
Dear lord.
This family really is crazy.
It goes on like this for at least another forty-five minutes: arguing, talking, laughing. More arguing. More storytelling. Argue, argue, story. Laughing. Arguing.
And so on and so forth, until,
“Dipshit, how are you getting home?”
I glance up from the piece of cheesecake in front of me with interest. Buzz is pointedly staring at his brother and Tripp is scratching the back of his scalp.
“I was going to Uber.”
What are they talking about?
“Is that how you got here to pick up my car?”
Ah—now it makes sense. I saw the black BMW sports car Tripp had borrowed parked in the driveway out front, which means he must have driven it here, but I didn’t notice the pickup truck I rode in after the wedding rehearsal.
“Yes.”
“And you plan on Ubering home? Instead of having someone drive you?” Buzz’s gaze quickly shoots to me and if I hadn’t been watching him speak, I would have missed the gesture completely.
“Yes. That was the plan.”
“That’s dumb—any one of us can drive you home.”
“Oh no dear, we’re not leaving until the morning,” their mother hastily tells the table, fake dismay upon her brow. She looks at her daughter. Then looks at me.
Then looks at True.
Then sighs as if her heart is heavy and there is little hope.
“Mom. It’s fine.” Tripp reaches over to grab a tart, jamming it into his mouth in one bite and chewing. He licks his fingers then reaches for another dessert.
“Unless…” Mrs. Wallace again. “Chandler, dear, where do you live?”
“Mom—no.” Tripp finally gives her the courtesy of his attention. “I can take a cab. It’s not a big deal.”
“Chandler doesn’t mind, do you, Chandler?”
Everyone in the room is watching me, and the moist cheesecake in my mouth suddenly goes dry—impossible to chew and even more impossible to swallow.
“Do I mind taking him home?” I dab at my mouth with the napkin. “Of course I don’t mind.”
Tripp knocks me with his knee beneath the table where no one can see.
“That’s a great idea! Since you’re both going the same direction.” Hollis grins widely, the matter having been settled.
“We’re not even close to being in the same direction,” Tripp grumbles. “I don’t want her driving twenty minutes out of the way because I was dumb enough to not arrange a ride.”
He has a valid point. However, glancing around at the suspiciously innocent faces of the Wallace clan, a nagging feeling creeps up, and I can’t help but wondering…
Is this a setup?
“I can give you some gas money for the inconvenience,” Buzz tells me, reaching around to his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and throws it on the table. “This should cover it.”
I bite back a laugh knowing that beside me, Tripp is fuming.
Instead of a retort, he leans forward and snaps up the cash, shoving it in his pants. “Thanks.”
“That’s for Chandler!” Buzz shouts.
“Give me a break—you threw that down to make me feel like a twelve-year-old who needs a ride home from the movies from his babysitter.”
Buzz leans back in his chair and purses his lips to acknowledge the barb. He tips his head. “Fair enough, fair enough.” Pauses. “Give me back my money.”
“No.”
“Give it back, Tripp.”
“Boys!” their mom says, sensing yet another argument brewing. She rises, pushing in her chair, and feigns a yawn, despite the fact that it’s barely even seven o’clock. “Well, I’d like to take a shower and put my pajamas on.” She begins collecting plates from the table. “Buzz, sweetie, why don’t you see your brother off while Dad and I clean up.”
“Well, I guess we’re done with dinner,” Buzz smarts, earning himself yet another sour look from his mother. “Come on, Tripp, let me walk you to the door.”
What is happening right now?
How did I get railroaded into driving this man-child home when there are five other capable adults present, all of whom like him way more than I do and haven’t been splashed across the news as a result of being around him?
I cannot believe no one mentioned it. Not once.
Shocking, really, since Buzz loves throwing embarrassing facts into his brother’s face to humiliate him, and vice versa.
They live to torture each other—I can’t imagine what it was like with them growing up, or what it was like raising them. They’re absolute monsters—and True isn’t that much better!
She hugs me goodbye, as does everyone who isn’t being corralled out the door in an effort to push Tripp and me together, and don’t think for one second I don’t realize Mrs. Wallace is playing matchmaker, as messed up as it seems.
They actually think I’m a good match for their son? Seriously? The woman who karate-tossed him? The woman he was photographed making out with, on the ground, in the rain, on the sidewalk?
