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Twenty-Nine
Magnolia
A few days later, it’s Christmas Eve Brunch at the Wolseley — it’s a tradition. Every year since we were fifteen, except last year.
Henry warned me that the boys have gone mental over Jack-Jack, and I know I’m not going to hear the end of it.
BJ’s been — somewhat predictably — very silent, but Jonah and Christian have been texting me questions around the clock.
When I walk in the Hemmes boys cheer. Not Beej though, he takes a well-timed sip of his Bloody Mary.
I roll my eyes at their immaturity and fluff the fire engine red high-waisted gown maxi skirt I’m wearing from Carolina Herrera. It’s very dramatic but I felt like making an entrance. Monogrammed waistband sporty crop top from Louis Vuitton and the Carretto-print canvas clogs with bejewelled appliqués from Dolce & Gabbana to really drive my theatrics home. I am completely unmissable and entirely intentional about it. I also wear my hair up so BJ can see the hickey on my neck.
I sit down between the Hemmeses because that puts me directly across from Beej, who’s Jordan-less (ee!). I turn and squeeze Taura’s hand over Jonah because I haven’t seen her in a few days between her being at Jo’s or Henry’s and Jack-Jack staying an extra night or two. Also it gives me a great reason to flash BJ my neck.
He stares at it from across the table, blinking twice. He looks hurt and it doesn’t thrill me how I want it to, but I don’t think I understand anything anymore.
Those green eyes of his cloud over.
I’ve struck a nerve.
He’s never seen a mark on my body he didn’t put there.
I want to reach for his hand under the table, I want to slide my foot up his leg and rest it in his lap, but I can’t because he has a girlfriend he’s apparently living with, so I flash him my neck again instead.
Beej shrugs off his red Louis Vuitton baseball jacket and drapes it over his chair. His stormy eyes pinch as he nods his chin at me.
“Look at you. Still here…” He raises his eyebrows. “Your mate didn’t give you enough reasons to go back?”
I glance at him, face pleasant. “No, he gave me plenty.”
His eyes go to slits.
“Alright, out with it, Parks.” Jonah tosses an arm around me and I snuggle into his black Walter logo-print nylon-blend bomber jacket from Enfants Riches Déprimés. “Are you fucking Jack-Jack Cavan?”
I am loving this attention. Loving in particular how cross it’s making BJ and how overt his crossness is to everyone.
“Well.” I clear my throat and glance around delicately. “Not right now.”
Jonah smirks. “But you are?”
I leave it hanging there for a few seconds, wanting to milk it for all it’s worth.
“I was. I — we dated.” I glance at Henry, who nods once. “Back in New York.”
“Bullshit.” Christian blinks and glances at Henry. “And you said nothing?”
Hen shrugs.
“Jack-Jack Cavan?” Christian shakes his head at us, sitting back in his chair.
“He’s the shit right now—” Jonah tosses an apologetic glance at BJ who glares at him. “—Sorry. I mean — er— fuck — um, I meant—”
“So you dated in New York?” Henry says loudly even though he already knows.
I nod once.
“How long for?” Christian asks.
