"Bane has nice hands, doesn't he, Maxie?"
I don’t respond.
"You like when he touches you like that. I can feel it."
Ican’trespond.
"You getting wet, baby?"
I—
"Margot," Bane says, calm as a glass of water, "where do you keep the olives?"
"Top shelf of the pantry, darling, behind the artichokes."
Bane disappears into the pantry.
Zero is suddenly behind me at the cutlery drawer. Chest against my shoulder blades. Mouth at my ear. He’s fiddling with something as if he has a reason to be next to me other than to fuck with me.
His voice drops to barely above a whisper.
"He's making you a sandwich, baby."
"Zero—"
"He's going to slice it down the middle and put it on a plate and bring it over and you're going to eat it and act normal."
"I am going tokillyou. I fucking swear."
"You're going to do it while sore."
"Zero."
"Sweetheart. You went and got fucked by my brother and smell this good. You really think Bane and I aren't going to make you sit at this island in front of your mother and feel every inch of it?"
I—
"Boys," Margot says from the other side of the island, "Max, baby, would you do me a favor and grab the iced tea from the fridge?"
I get the iced tea with my back to Margot and my face on fire and Zero three feet away, not looking at me, plating cheese. The pitcher goes on the island. I sit down.
Bane is back from the pantry with a small dish of olives that he sets in front of me like he’s placing a chess piece. Zero slides onto the stool next to mine and reaches over me for the salt, letting his arm brush, lightly, against the bond mark at the side of my throat. I don't look at either of them. The sandwich is, possibly, the only safe object in the room.
It's a very good sandwich. I eat it.
Margot's talking about next Sunday’s dinner with Wren—she's decided on roast after all, she'd like to know if any of us have opinions about side dishes—and I chew very slowly because every time I shift my weight on the barstool I feel the soreness, and every time I feel the soreness Zero's eyes are on the side of my face.
He's not even pretending to look away. He's eating a slice of apple and watching me with rapt attention.
"Boys," Margot says. "Can I ask you something?"
Bane looks up from his sandwich.
"Mm?"
"This is going to sound strange. I've been thinking—I'd like to bring a little bit of your mother to the table on Sunday. Something she used to make. Something the three of you wouldrecognize. I don't know what she cooked. Your father doesn't talk about her much and, well, to be fair I’ve never asked him this. But if there's a side, or a dessert, or—anything. I'd like to do it."
The room goes quiet in a different way than it has been quiet all morning.
