Page 53 of Secrets on Ice

The Sullivan house smells like roast pork and my teenage years. I spent half my life at this kitchen table, doing homework with Cassidy, stealing food off Sully's plate, and being told off by Maureen for sitting on the counter. Walking in today feels like being handed a version of myself from before everything, and I'm not sure whether I want to hug her or warn her.

"There they are." Maureen meets us at the door with a dish towel over her shoulder and pulls me into a hug before I'm fully through the door. “It’s been too long since you all have been here together.” She then spots my mom. “Clara.” Maureen goes and gives her a hug. They’ve been friends for years because of us. "Patrick, they're here!" She calls out to her husband.

Patrick appears from the living room and hugs Cassidy first. It’s one of those long dad hugs where he rests his chin on top of her head, then he gets to me and does the same. He doesn't say anything. Patrick Sullivan has said maybe four hundred words in the entire time I've known him, but the hug goes on a beat longer than usual, and that's a whole speech.

“Come in,” he says, ushering us inside.

“Who wants drinks?” Maureen calls out.

“I think we could use some bubbles, Mom,” Cassidy says.

“Lucky I have them. Patrick, can you pop the champagne for us?”

“Go settle in, I have some things to finish up,” Maureen says.

“Do you need help?” Mom asks.

“No, I’m all good. Relax,” she says.

We head into the dining room, where everything is beautifully set. The table is set with china, silverware, and candles burning. We take our seats, and moments later Patrick comes in with the bottle of champagne and starts pouring it into our glasses.

“Boys, did you want a beer?”

“I’ll grab them, Dad,” Sully says as he gets up from his chair and heads back into the kitchen, grabbing three beers and bringing them out. Maureen follows with roast pork, perfect crackling, and salads. She places it at the head of the table, and Patrick starts carving. She comes back with gravy and sauces and then takes a seat.

“Maureen, this looks delicious, thank you,” my mom says to her.

“It’s nothing, I’m so happy we are back together again.” She smiles, taking her seat.

Patrick carves the pork and serves it as we pile up our plates with food.

“I still can’t believe those boys,” Maureen says when there is a lull in the conversation. Her cheeks are flushed, I think the champagne might be working. “Trevor hasn’t contacted Cassidy all week since sending the papers. And then has the audacity to send the boxes to our front door.”

“Kevin did the same thing.” My mom gasps.

“He did? What little weasels. How dare they after everything they have done to our girls.” She shakes her head in disgust.

“Did we ever really know them? I feel duped,” Mom adds.

“Me too,” Maureen agrees.

The moms continue talking about the boys while Cassidy and I eat our lunch. They all have valid comments about the boys, and honestly, getting the leftover boxes, plus more stuff I had left at the house, was a kick in the guts, especially since we agreed to us keeping the houses. They should be the ones packing their boxes, but they still have four months to get the hell out of our homes before they become ours.

Cassidy and I went into the office earlier in the week to tie up some loose ends and say goodbye to the staff. That was hard because we were still protecting the boys by not outing them. Everyone in the office was confused, but us ghosting the business for a week, which is so not us, made them realize something was up. There were tears because the four of us grew this business to what it is today, and it’s not our employees fault that our husbands stepped out on us. As hard as it was and as sad as it was, it felt like closure. The last piece of the boys and our old lives severed. Not going to lie, I cried in my room when we got back because we are homeless, jobless, and with no idea what our futures are going to hold, and that is a scary thing.

Sully's phone starts ringing in his pocket. Maureen shoots him a look across the table that could strip paint.

"Sorry, Mom. I've been waiting on this one." He checks the screen, pushes his chair back, and disappears into the hallway.

"Waiting on what?" Maureen asks the table.

"No idea," Cassidy says. "He's been glued to that phone all week."

"It's probably a woman," Emmett says.

"It's not a woman." Cassidy scoffs.

"How do you know?" Emmett asks.