"Pleasant?" Poppy repeats, like I've just told her I enjoy collecting toenails.
"Yes. Pleasant. It's tingly and warm and nice." I take a sip of my coffee.
"Pleasant," Poppy echoes, like she never heard the word before.
"Lily." Erin sets down her cup like someone about to deliver a TED Talk. "Good sex is all-consuming. It's the kind of thing that rewires your brain and makes you forget your own name. It's..."
I hold up my hands, stopping her before she can finish that sentence. I glare at her with every ounce of revulsion I can muster.
"You shut your mouth, Erin Scott."
She blinks at me, almost hurt. Poppy just chuckles.
"I know exactly where all your experience comes from, thank you very much," I continue, because apparently I need to say this out loud, "and I do not consent to hearing a single word about it. Not one. Not a syllable. Not a facial expression that implies a syllable. You hear me?"
Poppy is shaking now. Both hands over her mouth, shoulders trembling, zero sound coming out.
"That is my brother." I'm still pointing at Erin like she's committed a crime. "My brother. The man who taught me to ride a bike and packed my lunches and sat on the bathroom floor with me when I had food poisoning in seventh grade. And whatever you are about to describe him doing to you in a bedroom, I need you to understand that I will literally never recover from it. I will leave this town. I will change my name."
"I wasn't going to say anything about the bedroom specifically," Erin says, like I'm the one out of line.
"I'm going to be sick," I say.
"You asked," Erin says,grinning now.
"I did not ask. Poppy askedme. I was sitting here having a pleasant conversation about pleasant sex and you ruined it."
"See, that's the problem,” Poppy says. ”You keep using the word pleasant and it keeps making us sad."
I frown at her. "Sad? What's so sad about pleasant sex?"
"Pleasant is how you describe a walk in the park, Lil. Or a scone."
"I like scones."
"Nobody's saying you can't like scones. We're saying that if a scone is the best comparison you have for sex, then you haven't had the right kind of sex."
I pick up another fry and chew it like I have a point to prove. "Fine. Poppy, you may tell me all kinds of things about Ramsey. As many details as you want. Weird details. Specific details. I'm open to it. In fact, I encourage it."
"Noted." She looks extremely pleased, shooting Erin a smug look.
"You, on the other hand," I turn the fry toward Erin, "I swear to God, if you utter another word about what happens between you and my brother, I will reach across this table and end you."
Erin frowns and sits back, arms crossed, pouting. She is absolutely bursting at the seams to tell me things. That is not going to happen.
"Can I say one thing?"
"No."
"It's not graphic."
"I don't trust you."
"He's really..."
"Erin."
"...good with his hands. In the kitchen. Breakfast. Hemakes great breakfast." She finishes quickly, throwing her hands up like she's completely innocent.
