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“I know, I know. She’s at the party right now, talking to my family and friends and introducing herself as my girlfriend. Lil, current status is definitely up shit creek, paddle missing, current flowing fast.”
Lily swore on her end, and there were several clicks of a lighter.
“I thought you quit smoking.”
There was a pause and a slow exhale. “Well, for today, I haven’t.”
In the fog of my post-Ainslee sex disaster, my twin radar was warning me maybe something was up with my sister.
“According to your Insta feed, you’re all yoga and sunrises these days.”
“Today, I am slightly hungover, and yoga can fuck itself, too.”
I chuckled. Lily always served any teasing back in spades. Whatever was going down in her world, Lily wasn’t sharing today.
We let the silence fill our phone call for several beats, content to listen to the other breathe. Lily took a drag of her cigarette. “I’m sorry I’m not there. I’ll be out soon for wedding stuff, Tom. Just need to take care of a few things. Tonight, you need to make sure you set your friend straight.”
“Yeah, I know. Just another birthday disaster to join the long list of birthday disasters.”
“Happy twenty-second birthday, Tom-twin.”
“And happy twenty-second birthday to you, Lil-twin.”
“Hey Tom, before you go.” Lily cleared her throat and sang softly into the phone. “Let the call of the night be your guide for matters of the heart.”
“Always did like those lyrics of yours.”
“’Night, Tom. Good luck.”
* * *
I’ll give my family credit that the party was pumping. Entering the shearing shed, the crowd greeted me with another cheer, and I found I couldn’t recognise anyone easily.
Ryan walked past in a green jumper and brown pants, with a stuffed parrot on his shoulder. At my frown, he simply shrugged, saying, “Tree.”
Right. He was dressed as a tree.
Someone bumped into me on my right. “Sorry, mate—hey, Tom Cat!” Dr Harry Cain shouted.
I took in Harry’s outfit and immediately snapped my eyes back up above his waist. “Ah, Harry, you’re in a stretch bodysuit. With a string of pearls.” I blinked at his head. “And a top hat. With a black curly wig.”
“T-Rex,” he said before taking a long pull of his beer and unashamedly standing tall and proud in his wine-red, skin-tight body suit with a deep V cut down his chest.
I simply stared.
“Marc Bolan, lead singer of T-Rex.” He frowned. “Greatest 70s band ever. Modelled on his outfit when he playedThe Midnight Special.”
I raised my eyebrows and shook my head.
Harry was about to launch into further explanation when Stacey sidled up to him, wearing a costume of orange and black fake fur and cat ears. “Tell me you are wearing some sort of underwear under that.” Stacey put her arm around Harry’s waist to pull him closer to her. “Oh god, Harry, are you commando?”
“It was a tight fit,” he answered, nuzzling her neck and grabbing her butt at the same time. “Besides, it shows off my arse.”
Stacey gave it a playful slap, and Harry growled.
She giggled, and I groaned. “Stace, why are you in a tiger onesie?”
My sister glanced up. “Because tiger,” she said, as if that explained everything.
