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“Oh, eat a dick, Mom,” she says, rolling her eyes. Amanda sputters her coffee and Timothy’s loud laugh is joined by Hazel’s, but Celia just smacks Jessie’s arm and helps herself to a gingerbread. Timothy steals one and points it at me before walking out.
I breathe a sigh of relief. For a minute, I’d thought he was on to me. If anyone in this house could look at me andknow, it would be him.
How hasn’t he figured it out yet? Maybe he’s too distracted by Mina.
Celia aggressively bites the tip off her gingerbread dick and all laughter stops. William is standing in the doorway, coffee cup in hand, eyes wide. Without a word, he backs out slowly.
Celia, queen of TV cooking programs, swallows, draws herself up straight, and announces with dignity, “Not the worst dick I’ve had in my mouth.”
Everyone loses it, but when Jessie’s eyes meet mine for a second, my laugh shrivels.
My normal is broken—or I am. I can’t find it in me to glare or carry on our usual performance antagonism. If it weren’t for Timothy’s wedding, I’d fake some excuse and catch the next flight to LA.
“Better put those gingerdicks somewhere the kids won’t find.” Celia suggests, and Jessie nods, getting up to hide the cookies.
The day drifts by at odds with the storm inside me. I should feel relaxed after sex. Curiosity satisfied. Instead, I feel lost. Like the world should’ve crashed down on me for my sins and it hasn’t but I can’t stop looking up and wondering why not.
Amanda and Hazel take the kids out for the day and Celia and William likewise disappear. The house is oddly quiet. Jessie and Mina take over the kitchen table with their bachelorette party preparations, and I find a dozen excuses to wander through, even though I’m supposed to be helping Timothy prepare for his party.
“Oh, hey, Nic’s back,” Mina says pointedly. “Again.”
“Stocking the bar,” I say, stepping into the butler’s pantry. Shit. I can’t keep doing this. I need to talk to Jessie. I lean against the door. “Hey, Jessie, can you show me what bottles we’re allowed?”
She doesn’t glance up from the tiara she’s hot glue-gunning pink rhinestones penises on. “Ask Mina.”
Mina laughs. “I don’t remember. You show him. In the butler’s pantry.” She picks up the Tinsel Tits mug Jessie gave her this morning and takes a knowing drink.
Maybe Timothy’s not the one I have to watch out for.
Jessie gives her a long look, but sets the glue gun aside and gets to her feet with a sigh. She walks right past me to the small selection of wine Celia keeps in the butler’s pantry. The wine-cellar downstairs is off-limits to us.
When I get close to her, she freezes. “Can we talk?” I ask.
“I’ve said all I wanted to say.” She pulls out a couple of bottles and hands them to me.
“I haven’t.”
She won’t look at me. “Your actions said enough.”
“Jessie—”
“We’re good, Nic.” She turns to give me another bottle, looking annoyed when I have to shift the two I’m holding to take the third. “We’re back to normal. Like we both want.”
I want that. Right? I don’t know. “But—”
“Our normal is we hate each other. It’s not hard.” She adds another bottle to the ones I’m holding.
I don’t hate her. I’ve never hated her. She gets under my skin and makes me uncomfortably aware of all my shortcomings and we’ve never managed to be near each other without fighting, but that’s not hate. “I want—”
“What do you want, Nic?” Timothy asks from the doorway.
I nearly drop the bottles. Goddamn, he’s sneaky. “Champagne?” My voice sounds weak, but it’s the first thing my eyes land on.
“That’s ours,” Jessie says, crossing her arms.
“Nic wants champagne,” Timothy says, mimicking her pose.
“Nic needs whiskey.”
