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“If only it were possible.” Mom folded the dishtowels. “What are you making?”
“A pear-cranberry galette. Drew dislikes pumpkin pie.” I glanced at her. “It’s a childhood thing.”
“Ah. Okay. I won’t ask.” She found her sifter and got out the measuring spoons.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course, hon. I’d like this to be a happy, drama-free Thanksgiving.”
I laughed. “Well, I’lltry.”
16
THE MESS SHE CAN’T FIX
The next afternoon,Mom stole Aithan and Drew retreated upstairs to write. I sprawled on the guesthouse couch, happy to eat carob chip cookies while readingTits on Titan Five.Until Greer waltzed in without knocking. She looked perfect, as usual. Blonde hair in a flawless chignon, chic white trapeze dress with a pink bow at the collar. Matching dark-pink pumps showed off her shapely legs. She was a dainty poodle, but only on the outside. Inside, she was a friggin’ Rottweiler.
“So. Pretty Boy and the tattooed freak are still sniffing around your skirts.”
I sighed, stood, and brushed crumbs off my sweater. Even wearing new clothes, I still felt schlubby compared to her. “I thought the goodies from Pure Lee were an apology. Guess I was wrong?”
“Yes. They were comfort foods to get you through the week after those two went out for cigarettes and never returned.”
“Surprised to be wrong?”
“Maybe a little. Then again, I hear you suck cock like a champ.”
Christ on a crutch, what waswrongwith her? “Wow. And I thought you were aiming low the last time I saw you.”
She leaned back against the closed front door. “I am done trying to protect you from yourself, Zelda.”
“Well thank fucking God for that. I’ve only been telling you to get your damned nose out of my business since I was sixteen.” I folded my arms. “I hear your own home life is a mess. Maybe focus more on that and less on mine?”
Her cool expression iced over and so did her voice. “Fall on your face. See if I care.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me about your divorce?” I really wanted to throw Mom’s suspicions in her face, but I’d promised to keep my mouth shut, so I swallowed those daggered words.
She arched a perfectly waxed brow at me. “Because my baby sister doesn’t need to know every little thing about my life.”
“Except this is a major thing you hid for no apparent reason.”
A shadow of emotions darkened her expression and her jaw set. “I have reasons.”
I tilted my head. “Which are?”
Her gaze jerked from my face to over my shoulder and I knew Drew had crept down the stairs like a sneaky motherfucker. “Not your business.”
I scowled. “I don’t believe you’veformallymet the tattooed freak.” Turning I held out my hand. “Greer, this is my boyfriend, Drew Katterman. Drew this is my sister, Greer Gordon-Rosinski.” Using her married name was bitchy, I’ll admit, but it felt good to see her flinch.
A smirk curved his lips as he clasped my hand and pulled me to his side. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, Greer, but I don’t lie.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard. My understanding is that you three spend a lot of timelayingaround.”
“Lying around,” he corrected. “Lie is what you do when you relax. Or when you mislead people about your love for them.”
Greer’s eyes widened and, I swear, she looked ready to bolt. It was weird; I’d never seen her react that way to anyone before. Especially not when challenged. She usually saw that as an invitation to pick people apart and strew their pieces across the floor, kicking a few under the couch just out of spite. She put on the weird neutral face she used with clients, said, “Mother wants to know if you’re staying for dinner,” and left.
“Wow.” Drew cocked his head. “Where to start unpacking that?”
