## **Contents**

Publication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

A Stupid, Defiant Dream Copyright 2019 Delcesca Newby

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Chapter One

I adjust my modest, borderline childish-looking sweater. I received it six years ago on my birthday and have worn it only twice: once the very day it was gifted to me and then on Christmas that year. Since then, the sweater has gathered dust in the far reaches of my closet. I cleared away the years of neglect, and it looks brand new, but every few moments I keep inspecting it in the floor-length mirror beside my dresser like I expect it to become disgusting and faded when my attention is elsewhere.

I must admit I look cute--like the ever-lasting little girl my father sees every time he glances at me. I also think I appear to be trying too hard to curry my father's favor. In no version of reality will he fall for my obvious intentions.

The debate that started early the night before rears its annoying head. Should I stick to invoking my father's nostalgia or present myself as an adult on equal footing with him? Which route will guarantee success?

A knock on my closed bedroom door draws me from my thoughts. I turn from the mirror. "Yes?"

The door opens and my mother sticks her head into my room. "Darling, your father's meeting has finished."

My stomach somersaults. "Okay."

I take the portfolio I've spent the past two months creating from its place on top of my dresser. The bulk of it comforts me. The amount of research I hold could rival one of my father's many notable papers. At the very least, my father will admire my hard work.

My mother edges her way into the room. As I watch, I fight the urge to demand she leave. Since it came out four months ago that my mother has been wasting thousands of dollars of my father's hard-earned money on frivolous items she hides in the basement or attic (most unused and still in their packaging), I can't stand being around my mother for more than a few seconds. Yes, my mother clearly has a problem that requires professional help, but it's been going on for fifteen years out of my parents' twenty-two-year marriage. She should have sought aid long before she got caught.

Maybe then my parents wouldn't be on the verge of divorce.

They haven't mentioned the idea, but, since my return home from college two weeks ago, they've fought every night. They call each other increasingly horrible names, and just last night my mother told my father she hated him. Once, I swear I heard something break, but I can't be sure which parent would have gone that far.

I know both my parents' behavior needs adjusting, yet I can't help but put all the blame on my mother. Why can't she control herself? Why doesn't she go to therapy like she keeps promising?

My mother's full lips turn up in a big smile, and the wrinkles around her grass-green eyes crinkle. For a second, she doesn't look as tired or old as she has for days. "You look nice."

I glance away at my four-poster bed covered in the Slytherin comforter set Grandpop, my paternal grandfather, got me the Christmas of my junior year in high school. "Thank you."

"Darling...I really wish you'd reconsider my suggestion."

"I have, on several occasions." The edge in my voice makes my mother wince, and I want so badly to smirk but don't indulge my rude tendencies. Someone must act like an adult in the house.

"What's so wrong with it?"

Finally, I meet my mother's gaze. "It reeks of cowardice."

"But your father--He's not--Just wait 'til you graduate."

"No."

My mother sighs. "Another year can't hurt, can it? By then my and your father's issues--Everything will be back to normal."

"Can't tell that from your arguments," I say under my breath.

"What?"

I shake my head. "Nothing, Mom. I've got to go."

I race across the room and out the door before my mother utters another syllable. I don't slow as I reach the end of the long hallway and take the steep staircase to the first floor.

My father's study sits off the living room and offers him a great view of the peach orchard beyond the spacious backyard. The study was initially a simple patio, but it was remodeled shortly after my father got a job as a pediatric cardiologist at Duke University Hospital and moved his young family to Hillsborough. He had a professional come in and decorate the room, so it reeks of determined masculinity, but it doesn't distract from the important tasks he completes inside.

Besides my own room, I consider my father's study the best place in the house. The dark wood paneling softens the bright sunlight the garden window allows in without making the room seem like a vampire's lair. The lush beige carpet promises a soft, comforting experience not soon forgotten. Bookshelves cover three-fourths of the walls, all packed with books; mostly ones needed for my father's research, but the books I loved as a child take up their own section.

As I step into my father's study, I inhale the ever-lingering scent of the chocolate truffle coffee my father special orders from overseas. Though I dislike the taste of coffee, the familiar aroma soothes me. It reminds me of the rainy days I spent reading or drawing while my father worked. We didn't talk much, but we didn't need to. Unlike the rest of the household, my father and I find solace merely by being in the presence of the people we love. To chatter non-stop would ruin our joy.

The computer desk rests in the middle of the room. As always, my father sits on a massive black exercise ball; his fingers tap out a furious rhythm on his keyboard. As a child, I couldn't understand the ball and why my father liked looking silly. Now, I recognize its benefits but still think the distinguished man just shy of sixty looks a little funny at his desk.

My father works a few moments longer before raising his head. Despite the stress of his job and the issues with his wife, his square, proportioned features don't reveal any of it. In fact, my father appears ten years younger, closer to my mother's age.

He nods for me to fully enter the room. He waits until I'm settled on the loveseat across from his desk before he asks, "What brings you here, Princess?"

"Daddy, I--" I catch herself. I can't speak to my father like I usually do, not if I want him to listen to me. "We need to discuss my education. About where I'll continue it," I continue in the tone I use at college when I present projects.

My father's thin eyebrows (the same as mine) rise. "Oh, is that so?" He stands, clasps his delicate, hard-working hands behind his back, and paces. "You've been doing so well at Harvard, though. Why do you want to leave?" His eyes, the color of bitter chocolate, pierce me. "Are you having problems?"

I want to glance away from my father's penetrating gaze, but I know I can't back down, not if I hope for success. "No. Everything's gone better than I could have ever hoped."

"So, what is it?"

"I need a change of scenery."

I don't tell my father a lie, but my admittance only dips its toes into the pool of truth. I hate I must ease my father into the conversation instead of just laying it before him. My father favors the more direct approach when it comes to his work, but I learned years ago my father doesn't share the preference at home.

The suspicious glint doesn't leave my father's stare, but his jaw and shoulders relax. "Just bored, eh?" He scratches his clean-shaven chin. "Well, you're young--I understand." My father smiles. "I suppose a transfer to Stanford wouldn't be so horrible. Unless you have somewhere else in mind?"

I stand, adjust my portfolio, and approach my father's desk. "Yes, I do."

My father grimaces, though smiles to show me only kids. "Let's have it, then."

I take two deep breaths before I say (not with the level of confidence I'd like), "I want to go to The Institute of Culinary Education."

My father's good humor drains away and leaves behind a baffled expression. "You...want to learn to cook?"

My mouth open, but before I utter a sound, my father burst into laughter. My stomach sinks through the floor. It's not his usual heartwarming chuckle. No, the noise he makes is the same he made when my older sister told him she planned to move to California to pursue acting.

My father's laughing fit ceases, and he clutches his chest. "Good one, Princess. But be careful. My poor heart can't handle many more jokes like that."

"It's not a joke. I really want to go to culinary school. To get a pastry degree."

A wall slides over my father's features, make it impossible for me to gauge his thoughts. "You want to be a pastry chef?"

"Well, no. I want to open my own bakery." I place the portfolio on the computer desk and open it. I point at the top page, which breaks down the expense of my changing career paths. "I have it all worked out. If I knew how to bake, I could just skip school." Shame fills me. "But I can't."

Not an entirely accurate statement. I can make simple things, like sugar cookies and one-note brownies, but I didn't learn how until this past October. Up until then, I've been content with a private cook providing my meals.

When I discovered my passion for baking, I realized I should've taken Margrett Snow's, the cook who's been with my family for years, multiple teaching offers she made in my youth. But neither of my parents pressed the need for the valuable skill. What did it matter? Anything they can't do for themselves they can hire someone to do for them.

My father smirks. "A bakery?" He shakes his head. "Do you know how absurd you sound?"

"It may seem a bit nutty, but I honestly think I can succeed." I gesture to the portfolio again. "It's all in here. Just look. Please."

"Who put this stupid idea in your head?" His eyes flick to the study's open door.

"No one! And it's not stupid."

My father snorts. "Throwing away a promising career as a cardiologist to make doughnuts for a living is what a child would suggest doing."

My throat burns and my eyes sting, but I refuse to cry. I won't act like the kid he just accused me of being. I must remain firm, to not give him an inch. If I stick to my guns, my father's initial shock will diminish, and my maturity will win him over.

"Dad, I'm only asking you to examine my research right now."

"No. I'm not going to entertain this a second longer. You're not going culinary school. You're going to stay at Harvard, graduate, and follow our plan--the sensible plan."

Anger gripes me, and before I consider the consequences, I say, "Your plan. I don't want to be a cardiologist. I never have."

The fact has always been in the back of my mind, but my need to please my father, to hold my place as his favorite daughter, has kept it at bay. But as I baked more and more, I evaluated my life, and the following conclusion left me queasy for weeks: for as long as I can remember, I have let my father steer all my major life decisions. Somehow, I grew complacent to my father treating me like an extension of himself.

Now, at twenty-four, I can't march forward like my father wants me to anymore. I need to step outside of his shadow, to show the world I'm more than my father's daughter. Baking promises the freedom I crave.

My revelation drains the glow from my father's face. "So, you've wasted the past six years of your life, my money, and the time of many people? Is that what you're telling me?"

"I just want to chase a dream. Why is that such a bad thing?"

"Your sister thought the same thing, and now look at what she's become."

I jerk as if my father struck me. "I am not Nicole. I won't end up like her."

My father waves away my statement, and his gaze hardens. "If you're truly set on this, I want you out of the house. I won't support you destroying your life."

"But--But where will I go?"

"Why not join your sister?"

My father's cruel tone shakes my core. The look he pegs me with is no better. I've fallen from grace and now exist alongside the dregs of society. From experience with Nicole, I know nothing will change his mind.

Yet, still, I try.

I pick up my portfolio and close the distance between me and my father. I shove the papers at him. I forget about remaining an unmovable force and bawl. "Look! Please, look. It's all in here. Please, Daddy. Please."

My father turns from me and focuses on the window. I cry louder. When he continues to ignore me, I scream at him. For my efforts, I only get a sore throat.

My hysterical pleading lasts for a solid ten minutes. Then all my fight abandons me. I drop the portfolio at my father's feet and flee. Tears stream down my face as I thunder upstairs to my bedroom. I intend to fling myself on my bed but stop short.

In my absence, the comforter set has been removed. I gaze around my room and spot that my drawers are open and emptied. Many of the clothes from my closet have disappeared. My crying ceases in surprise, and fury mingles with my sadness.

This must be my mother's work. How could she do this? Though we don't share many traits or interests, and I made it clear years ago which parent I prefer, my mother has always treated me the same Nicole. Has it all been an act? Can this be my mother's form of revenge? Or is this my mother's attempt to please her husband?

Regardless, the sight of my partially cleared-out room pushes me to my limit. I drop to my knees in the middle of my bedroom and bury my face in my hands. Violent sobs shake me, and a hollow, eerie moan claws from my throat.

"Oh, darling!"

My mother's voice startles me, but I don't drop my hands. Instead, I curl into a tighter ball. My bawling now resembles a banshee's.

My mother's thin, strong arms wrap around me. Though I resist, my mother has little trouble pulling me into her lap. She rocks me and murmurs reassurances.

Her soft words once more spark my rage. I draw my head from my hands and shove at my mother until she lets me go. "You bitch!"

"I--"

"Couldn't wait to get rid of me, could you?" I stand and scramble to the opposite side of the room. "What did you do with all my stuff?"

My mother slowly rises to her feet, and I refuse to acknowledge the grimace that accompanies the action. "I packed what I could into your luggage and put it in your car."

"So, that's it then? Good riddance?"

My mother shakes her head; sends her blond corkscrew curls flying. "I don't want you to go, but we both know your father. It's...it's best if you go away and let him calm down."

My shoulders droop. "Where do I go?"

I can't join Nicole in California. For one, I don't know where my sister lives. Two, even if I did, I refuse to involve myself in the risky lifestyle Nicole has pursued instead of acting.

I made plenty of friends at college, but none can take me in. They either still live with their parents or they live on their own and struggle to get by. It wouldn't be so bad if I could pull money from my trust fund as I did all throughout college, but I know my father will cut me off--if he hasn't already. Also, I'm aware of the job market and the difficulty I'll have at obtaining anything substantial.

My mother removes a pile of folded papers and a stack of money from the back pocket of her jeans. She holds them out to me. "Here are the directions and enough cash to get you to Derbinwood, Pennsylvania. I contacted your great aunt, Veronica. She's recently been diagnosed with cancer, and, since her husband died last year, she could use the company and help around the house."

I frown. "Aunt Veronica--Isn't she a horrible person?"

"No, she's not. She's...an acquired taste, but perfectly fine. She and your father just don't get along well."

I almost laugh at the understatement. My father and his aunt haven't spoken or seen each other in nineteen years. Before their fallout, I was only around Aunt Veronica twice, and even as a small child I could tell the pair could barely tolerate one another.

The idea of living with a woman I hardly know in a place I've never visited unsettles me, but what choice do I have? I won't make it long on the streets, and I refuse to beg for forgiveness. I've done nothing wrong. My father overreacted--he needs to apologize to me.

But he won't. He hasn't to Nicole, and, by his choice, he hasn't seen his oldest daughter since she walked out of the house eight years ago. My father only mentions her when he wants an example of poor decisions.

I meet my mother's gentle gaze. "For how long?"

I hope my mother will give me a sappy, optimistic answer, to lessen the blow of this horrible ordeal, but my mother says, "I don't know, darling. Prepare for...awhile."

More tears pool in my eyes as I grab the money and directions from my mother. I don't bother to look at them; can't bear to fully face reality yet. My mother pulls me into a hug, and, for the first time in two weeks, I don't resist.

"I love you," my mother whispers and pats my shoulder-length, honey blond hair. "Your father does, too. He'll come around. He must. You're his fav--He loves you."

Though I want to believe otherwise, I know being my father's favorite won't matter. In fact, it probably makes him that much more furious. If he can go nineteen years without talking to someone he's never liked to begin with, what will stop my father from ignoring me until he dies?

Chapter Two

The predicted length of the journey from Hillsborough to Derbinwood, with a stop at a decent motel to recharge, is seventeen hours. I don't risk stopping for anything other than gas and make it in a little over ten hours. At times, I push my Forte5 Hatchback well past the legal speed limit, but since I travel late at night when only truckers roam, I have no hassle from the police.

As I pass the dented sign announcing my destination, I glance at my dashboard's clock. I sigh. I can't show up on my great aunt's doorstep at six in the morning, especially when I'm not expected until early afternoon. My mother gave me Aunt Veronica's phone number, but I don't want to wake the poor woman from much-needed sleep.

What can I do to pass a few hours that won't result in me getting lost?

On my right, I spot Darla's Eatery, a small diner next to a twenty-four-hour gas station. The lights blaze in the huge front window. Though no cars occupy the parking lot, people well into their meals sit at booths.

A painful rumble erupts from my stomach. I haven't eaten anything in almost two days. Due to anticipation, every time I tried yesterday, I felt sick. On the drive to my new home, my whirling mind never considered food.

Now, hunger drives away all my doubts and cloying sadness. Without a second thought, I pull into the diner's parking lot. I take a few twenties from the three thousand dollars my mother gave me.

The amount still staggers me. My mother doesn't work (hasn't since her college years) and my father certainly hasn't given her a red cent since finding out about her spending and hoarding problem, so that leaves only one option: my mother sold off some of her vast collection. I wonder how my mother did it so quickly, but my gratitude for the gesture keeps me from pondering too hard.

I tuck the rest of the money into the purse my mother packed for me, then exit the Hatchback. I lock the doors and notice a middle-aged man with a face covered in scars laughing as he watches me. I roll my eyes. The 'Welcome to Derbinwood' sign boasts a population size a third the size of Hillsborough, but, just like Hillsborough (which also takes pride in its small population), crime still happens. Where is the humor in taking steps to avoid it?

With a straightened spine, I march to the door. I push it open and a chime that sounds like Michael Jackson's "Thriller" tinkles. A few customers glance my way, but otherwise, my arrival goes unnoticed.

A large counter sits before the visible kitchen. Two cooks, a tall, older woman (no younger than seventy) who moves twice as fast as her much younger partner, work in unison. The only waitress in sight wipes down the coffee station in the corner.

The waitress looks over her shoulder, and her wide mouth turns up in a practiced grin. "Just you?"

"Yeah."

"Sit wherever you want. The menu is on the board above the grill. I'll be with you in a sec."

I prefer a booth, but all are taken. I claim the closest stool to the cash register and place my purse on my lap. While I wait for service, I examine the diner.

Clean and a hodge-podge of decorations (most notably plaques featuring various quotes) and types of themed wallpaper, the place won't win any awards for beauty. Before college, I wouldn't have come to a place that looked so eclectic. My father taught me not to trust an eatery if the owners couldn't even decide on cohesive decor, because if they can't do something so simple, how can they maintain good food quality? But a late night out, half drunk, with my friends my freshmen year convinced me otherwise.

The waitress approaches with pad and pen in hand. Up close, I read her nametag, Meg. On closer inspection, Meg can't be more than five years older than me, but the sallow tone of her olive skin and the dark circles under her amber eyes make her appear two decades older.

Meg flashes another of her calculated smiles. "Have you decided?" She peers harder at me. "Looks like you had a long night? How 'bout you start with some coffee?"

"No, thank you. I don't much care for it."

"That's a shame," comes a deep rumble with a mid-western twang from behind me.

I turn and meet the lightest gray eyes I've ever seen. They sparkle even at this early hour and are a pleasant contrast to the man's ruddy dark skin. He winks at me and displays his large, straight teeth in a smile that warms a bit of my cold heart.

The man places a dollar and some change on the counter. "Meg makes the best coffee."

"No thanks to me," the elderly cook says without turning away from the grill.

Meg and the man laugh. A few of the customers observe the scene. More than one seems indifferent, but the scarred man's eyes narrow, and I swear he hisses, "Sinner!"

Faster than a bullet, the woman cook whirls around and slaps the spatula she holds against the counter. Her round, grandmotherly face flushes bright red as she points at the scarred man. "Fuck it, Stan! What did I say before?"

"Darla, it's fine," the gray-eyed man says.

Darla whacks the counter with her spatula again. "No, it's not, Adam." Her pointer finger leaves Stan and finds a plaque on the opposite wall, above the wide front window. "Can you read that?" she asks Stan.

Stan drops his attention to his plate of pancakes.

"Darla, enough," Adam says.

Darla ignores him. Her intense black eyes blaze. "Read it!"

"'No assholes will be tolerated'," Stan mumbles, and a woman at the first booth chuckles.

"What do I do to assholes?" Darla demands.

"I'll just--I want to finish my breakfast," Stan says. He picks up his fork and spears a previously cut pancake piece. It appears hard for him to bring the food to his mouth, but he does, all while avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.

Darla watches him for a minute, harrumphs, and returns to the grill. Meg and Adam murmur good-byes to each other, then Adam leaves. Meg sighs and looks back at me.

"Sorry 'bout that. Still want to eat here?"

"You won't regret it, honey!" Darla calls. "Even if some of the company is shit."

I study the menu board. All the choices sound great. "Why don't you pick for me?" I tell Meg.

A genuine grin lights up the waitress' face. "Be prepared to have your mind blown."

***

An hour later, I waddle out of the diner; stuffed to the gills and happier than I've been in days. The poutine home fries and hot chocolate French toast hit the spot, and for the first time, I feel the stirrings of tiredness. I go to my car, unlock the doors, and crawl into the driver's seat. I consider sleeping right there (sure no one will disturb me) but don't want to put off greeting my great aunt any further.

I recheck the directions, put the Hatchback into drive, and travel further into Derbinwood. The spacious town has the same quiet, timeless air about it as Hillsborough, and I relax. Spending a few weeks in this place won't be terrible. Hell, I might even find a bit of fun.

The road I need to turn onto comes before the tiny nursing home next to the decent-sized high school. The number of houses decreases as the road takes me away from the heart of town. I pass an alpaca farm, a horse ranch, and many signs advertising different Amish shops.

After ten minutes on the road, another road appears on my right. I take it, and twenty yards later turn onto a street to my left. This one seems more a driveway, and not a well-cared for one, either. The uneven dirt and many potholes jerk me around, and my breakfast threatens to resurface.

A large farmhouse on a slight incline sits at the end of the road. Fields extend beyond a fence on the house's right, while trees go on for what seems like forever at the back of the house. A two-car garage is attached to the house's left side, and I pull into the grassy driveway in front of it.

I cut the juice to the Hatchback and exit the car. On the drive up, I thought I spotted someone on the front porch, so I make a beeline for it. As I walk, I gawk at my surroundings. Though everything has a sense of age, nothing looks in ruin. The greenhouse fifty yards away teems with life. A flower garden nestled beside the greenhouse is full of two dozen or more colorful plants. Three ducks wander the property, though I can't see where they make their home.

After several minutes, I tear myself away from sightseeing and focus on the front porch. I was right. A figure sits in a rocking chair in the shadow of the porch roof. It waves at me, and a clear, commanding voice says, "Well, don't stand in the front yard like an idiot. Come here."

I take the short stairway on the left side of the porch and step into the crisp morning shade. Though I don't want to be rude, I stare at the woman who agreed to share her home. The image of my great aunt I conjured on my way to Pennsylvania doesn't hold on close inspection of the real deal.

For one, Aunt Veronica doesn't have the size I remember. Sure, my five-year-old self thought anyone considered an adult was huge, but something about my great aunt always gave me the impression Aunt Veronica was bigger than everyone else. Instead, my great aunt looks to be just below average height and has the bulk of a hummingbird. My great aunt doesn't give off the air of fragility but can't weigh more than a hundred pounds.

Second, my memories of Aunt Veronica's sour appearance and hard eyes are off the mark. My great aunt has a relatively smooth, attractive face for a woman her age, and her blue-hazel eyes have a schoolmarm-ish glint to them. She certainly isn't the hag my father's descriptions conjured over the years.

Aunt Veronica's downturned lips purse as she scrutinizes me in turn. She takes twice as long as I did with her. When done, she leans back in her chair.

"Let me guess. You're pregnant."

Chapter Three

Surprise jolts me. "Excuse me?"

"That's why your mother was so eager for me to take you in, right?"

"No! I'm not pregnant."

Aunt Veronica eyes me again. "You don't look like you have a drug problem."

"No...That's Nicole..."

Aunt Veronica sighs. "Then why did you get kicked out of your house?"

I fidget. "My dad--He, um, doesn't--"

The sound of a car traveling at breakneck speed cuts through the calm of the early morning. The ducks all cry out. The smallest of the trio, a white one with a black stripe down the back of its head, smacks into the greenhouse in a confused flurry of action.

The cause of the disturbance--a red Corvette--zips down the road I turned off to get to my great aunt's house. It reaches the end and takes a right. The Corvette doesn't get far when a police car appears out of nowhere and flips on its lights. In an instant, the Corvette's driver slows and pulls over on the side of the road.

Just then, Aunt Veronica jumps up; a megaphone she had under her chair clamped in her left hand. "Oh, come now!" she shouts into the megaphone, and her voice carries over the short distance from her porch to the road. "Run that ugly piece of shit like you always do. Why're you scared, you son of a bitch?"

The police officer scrambles out of his vehicle and faces Aunt Veronica. He cups his hands around his mouth. "That's enough, Mrs. Allen. I can handle it from here," he calls. He turns away just as a teenager no older than seventeen exits the Corvette.

"You'd better, Jim," Aunt Veronica says still through the megaphone. "I'm sick and tired of his entitled ass disturbing the peace and quiet."

The police officer doesn't react and continues to speak to the teen.

Aunt Veronica turns off the megaphone and places it under her rocking chair. She grins at me and looks every bit the bitch my father lamented about. "That'll teach that bastard, Teri Terry. If not...Well, next time I won't bother with the police."

I mouth "Teri Terry" to myself. I can't believe someone's parents would be cruel enough to name their child that. What kind of people live in Derbinwood?

Aunt Veronica chuckles. "Oh, yeah, that's his real name. He's the youngest of five, and, honestly, I'm not surprised his parents couldn't come up with a better name. They're the most brainless people I know." She smirks. "Next to your father."

Anger flushes my cheeks red. How dare my great aunt? At least my father made something of himself. He isn't going to die in a one-horse town like--

My thoughts come to a painful halt. Why do I feel compelled to defend a man who abandoned me merely because I want to change the direction of my life? My father doesn't deserve my devotion when he so easily threw me to the wolves.

My great aunt nods like she heard my internal monologue. She points at the front door. "I need a drink."

She goes inside. I take three deep breaths before following her. I step into a dining room that spills into the kitchen. To my right, a set of closed glass doors display a well-decorated living room. A few short feet from the glass doors is a set of steep stairs. On my left, an open door offers me a peek of the white-tiled bathroom.

Aunt Veronica bustles around the kitchen. From a cupboard near the sink, she retrieves two glasses. Then Aunt Veronica removes a carton of milk from the small, red refrigerator. She sets the items on the wood table in the far-left corner nestled by a window. Lastly, Aunt Veronica grabs the pan of cinnamon buns from the stovetop and places it next to the milk and glasses.

She turns to me. "You going to sit?"

As a response, I cross the weathered wood floor and take the chair in front of the window. Aunt Veronica sits on the opposite side and pours us both a tall glass of milk. Afterward, she offers me a cinnamon bun, but I decline and explain I ate at Darla's Diner.

My great aunt shrugs as she grabs a cinnamon bun and rips off a chunk. To my surprise, Aunt Veronica dunks the pastry piece into her milk, holds it there for fifteen seconds before popping it into her mouth. She frowns when she catches me staring at her. "What?"

"Oh, just that's...weird and all," I lie for I figure it unwise to mention my father does the same thing with, not only cinnamon buns but all sweet pastries.

"My mother used to do it."

The glint in Aunt Veronica's eyes makes me wonder if my great aunt knows what I chose not to say.

The idea that Aunt Veronica may possess mindreading powers unsettles me. It reminds me of my father, and the last thing I want is to move away from one too-observant asshole to live with another.

"That's...interesting."

Aunt Veronica chews another milk-soaked cinnamon bun piece. "Indeed. So, back to why you're here. Did you burn down a church?"

"No."

"Run an underground hobo fight club?"

"No."

"Kill someone?"

"No. No, nothing like that at all."

"Then I don't see why you've been banished to Derbinwood."

I play with the condensation on my glass. "I, uh, pissed off my dad. He wants me to be a doctor like him, but I...I've decided I'd rather own a...bakery."

I wait for my great aunt to laugh, to call me stupid. The ridicule never comes. Rather, Aunt Veronica's face flushes as red as it did when she yelled at Teri Terry.

"He kicked you out of the house over that?"

"Yeah. He says he won't support..." Tears welled in my eyes. I fight them back, but just barely. "I'm ruining my life, and...he doesn't want to be part of it."

"If you're not an idiot, pursuing a dream won't ruin your life."

"It did my sister."

Aunt Veronica shakes her head. "Your father's behavior messed your sister up. It takes a powerful person to brush off the rare dickheadedness your father's mastered."

"But what if he's right?"

My great aunt sets down the remainder of her cinnamon bun. She captures my attention and squeezes my fingers. "Don't let him be. Only you have the power to make him choke on his awful assumptions."

I nod, though I don't believe Aunt Veronica. My father is hardly ever wrong. He wouldn't be one of the best in his medical field if he wasn't.

Aunt Veronica releases my fingers and stands. "You need sleep. Let me show you around, and then you'll take a nap."

I gulp down my milk as I bury my sorrow. When finished, I place my glass on the table and rise. I push in my chair and trail behind my great aunt as I'm shown the entire first floor.

A bedroom rests between the kitchen and the stairs. This is my new room. It doesn't have an attached bathroom like Aunt Veronica's bedroom, so I must use the first-floor bathroom that doubles as the laundry room. My great aunt expects me to keep it clean and will make me shit in the front yard if I don't.

As Aunt Veronica shows me how to use her volatile washer, a huge all-gray tabby hops out of the tall hamper beside the machine. Its appearance startles me, and I yelp. The cat hisses at me and takes a swipe at my left calf before it flees.

Aunt Veronica chuckles. "Careful with Hoss. He's an asshole. I'd keep your door shut. Otherwise, he's going to piss on all your things."

I frown. "Good to know."

"Ah, don't worry. He might warm up to you in a few weeks."

"Might," I mutter.

Aunt Veronica laughs harder and finishes her demonstration of the washer. Afterward, she warns me about the gremlin-like ghost child in the basement and wishes me sweet dreams before retiring to the living room to watch infomercials. I bring in my bags from the car, deposit them by my new bed, then change out of my traveling clothes. I drop my clothes on the floor and go to the bathroom.

I remain in the bathroom longer than anticipated. I didn't shut my bedroom door when I left and instantly regret it. The room reeks of cat piss, and my white blouse has turned a deep yellow color.

"Oh, you rotten beast!"

Aunt Veronica chortles. "I warned you, didn't I?"

I gather my soiled laundry. "Damned brat should know better," I mutter.

"Bitching isn't going to take care of the mess."

Great. Not only is my new roommate a mind reader, but she has the hearing of a bat.

I sigh. Oh, yeah, I'm going to have so much fun in Derbinwood.

Chapter Four

Darla sits my breakfast of caramelized apple fries smothered in cinnamon chocolate sauce and southwestern hash before me. She taps my empty glass. "More milk?"

I nod. "Yes, please."

Darla retrieves the milk jug and fills the glass just as Meg steps behind the counter. "Thought I paid someone to do this," she says, her eyes are focused on her task, but her voice booms to fill the diner.

Tyson Wheeler, Darla's grandson and co-cook, chuckles as he flips four pancakes so fast, my heart jolts. Over the past four days, I've watched him and marveled at his flashy skill. I wonder if I'll ever get so comfortable with my baking, I'll make it look like play. Darla doesn't like Tyson's overzealous work as much as her customers do, and she threatens to grate his ass with a potato peeler if his actions cost her profit, but Tyson has yet to fumble.

Meg rolls her eyes and takes the milk jug from Darla. "Can't a lady pee in peace?"

"Not with Hoss around," I say as I stab an apple fry. Every time I use the bathroom, my great aunt's asshole cat materializes and perches on the bathroom sink; his attention solely on me. If I move too fast, or the natural sounds of toileting myself reach a certain level, Hoss growls like a demon being castrated.

I've complained to Aunt Veronica, and she's told me I need to either scare Hoss so bad he'll think twice before joining me in the bathroom or bribe him. I fear the cat's retaliation if I dare frighten him, so bribery it is. Today, I can't forget the cat treats before I head back to my great aunt's farm.

"Veronica's cat?" asks the woman next to me; the one I've seen every day I've come into the diner. She only orders heavily buttered toast and apple juice.

"Yep."

The woman smiles. "Why, he's just a big old sweetie. When I visit Veronica's for my wellness sessions, he sits in my lap and purrs up a storm."

I eye the woman. She has a flighty air about her, the very sort of person I believe would go to a backyard herbalist instead of a certified doctor for her wellbeing. If Hoss likes the woman, that just adds one more reason for me to feel abhorrence toward the cat.

"Oh, that's...nice," I say as I return my attention to my food. I shovel in forkfuls of the hash to convey I don't want to talk further. The woman watches me for a second longer, smiles again, and attacks her toast.

Halfway through my meal, I open the newspaper I took from Aunt Veronica's porch this morning after being chased out of the house (Aunt Veronica despises the idea of me hanging around the farm all day). I flip to the classifieds, though with little hope. For days I've searched for a job to no prevail. I either don't have the training or the minimum wage pay is beneath me.

After reading every ad, I sigh and shove the newspaper away in disgust. It slides in Meg's direction and might have plummeted behind the counter if not for the waitress' quick intervention.

"I'm sorry," I say as Meg folds the discarded newspaper.

"Hey, no problem. I get pissy after reading the opinions' section, too."

I smirk. "No, it's not that."

"What's got you--" Meg stops as two new patrons walk through the door. She excuses herself to welcome them and returns moments later to retrieve their drink orders. "What's wrong with you?" Meg asks.

"I need a job." An idea strikes me. "Hey, are you hiring?" I ask Darla.

The cook looks over her shoulder at Meg, who has gone back to her newest table with the pair's drinks. Meg now has her order pad and pen out and grins as she explains today's special. "I will if I have to cover any more unscheduled pee breaks," Darla says.

Meg's grin doesn't falter, but her fingers tighten around her pen.

I frown. "Ah, okay."

Darla gestures at Tyson and points at the flat top grill. "Watch these eggs."

"Yes, ma'am."

Darla leans on the counter in front of me. "You picky about the kind of job?"

I think about the Burger King ad I will never consider. "I don't think I'm too picky."

"Can you clean?"

"My, uh, roommates in college never complained."

Darla cocks an eyebrow. "Think a dorm room can compare to a house?"

I shrug. "Don't see why there'd be too much of a difference."

Darla pulls a cell phone out of her back pants' pocket. "Eh, it's not like the Kings can afford to be picky either." She dials a number and presses the phone to her ear. A second later, "Hey, it's Darla." She waits. "Yep, yep. Everything's fine. Nah, I just called with some good news. I found you a new housekeeper." Another pause, this one longer. "I think so," Darla finally says and nods. "Sure, okay. I'll let her know. Bye."

The cook hangs up and returns her phone to her back pocket. Then she finds a napkin and pen and writes down an address with directions. When done, she hands the napkin to me. "Now, the Kings are incredibly busy this week. They're only available tomorrow at ten for an interview."

I feel genuine happiness for the first time in days. "Yeah, that's no problem."

"Well, you can't be late, not even by a second. Jenna is--isn't one to tolerate tardiness."

My happiness dims. "Is she...bad?"

Darla pats my wrist. "Just stay out of her way, and you'll do fine. I hear she's not home a lot, so it shouldn't be horrible."

"Oh, okay." I smile. "Thank you so much."

Darla waves me off. "Wouldn't want you to go without money, would I?" She winks. "You're quickly becoming a regular."

I rub my stomach. "I'll be a fat one in no time."

Darla laugh. "Those are the best."

She goes back to her grill, and I dive into my breakfast. A calm has settled on me. Now, Aunt Veronica will stop hounding me, and I can rebuild my self-confidence my father's rejection crumbled. Maybe in a few months, I'll focus on my bakery plans again.

Meg steps behind the counter to give her newest patrons' orders, and to drop off dirty dishes from a couple of tables. She nods at me. "So, I still have my job?"

"Yeah. Darla got me something else." I show her the written-on napkin. "See? I'll be a housekeeper here."

Meg reads the address, and her lips purse. "Oh, that's--Sure you want to work there?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Meg's eyes widen. "You haven't heard about the Kings yet?"

"No."

"They are--"

"Meg, shut your trap," Darla calls.

Meg turns toward her boss. "She has a right to know."

Darla shakes her head. "It's not our business."

"But--"

"Besides, she'll discover it soon enough. The Kings aren't secret about it."

I glance at the napkin, and my stomach churns. "Maybe I shouldn't..."

"Now don't let stupid town gossip get to you," Darla says as she loads a plate with food. "The Kings are good people who pay well. You keep that appointment, and you won't regret it."

Meg rolls her eyes. "Say that to their previous four housekeepers," she mumbles just loud enough for my ears.

Darla shoves the full plate of food into Meg's hands. "She won't regret it."

***

Though I don't feel the best, I finish my food and leave the diner. I debate taking the napkin, but in the end, my need for money overrides my apprehension. Plus, Meg and Darla have sparked my curiosity. What about the Kings would make me not want to work for them? I ponder the question on my way to Aunt Veronica's house, and none of my answers fit Darla's assurances the Kings aren't the devil and Meg's shock.

As I pull into the driveway, next to a Kia I haven't seen before (I'm not worried for I assume the car belongs to another of Aunt Veronica's clients, like the woman in the diner), I wonder if I can get the information from Aunt Veronica. She must know about the Kings. She might seem like a hermit out of touch with the world, but from my few days with her, I know that assumption couldn't be farther from the truth.

I enter the house just as my great aunt's client leaves. The lanky man wears too many layers for the time of year, and won't meet my eye, but he smiles at me and wishes me a good day before stepping onto the front porch. I watch him get into his car and drive away before I search for my great aunt.

Aunt Veronica sits at her kitchen table with multiple binders and a five-inch thick book on herbology. She chuckles when she catches my frown. "You know you look just like your father."

I force a neutral expression. "Don't you feel bad about keeping people from seeing a proper doctor?"

Aunt Veronica smirks. "You have no idea what I do. Why not take five minutes and find out?"

"I've got more important things to do than listen to debunked remedies."

Aunt Veronica laughs again. "Now you sound just like your father."

I feel my cheeks redden. "Whatever." I turn around. "I'm going for a run or something."

"Why not look for a job?"

I whirl back to face my great aunt. I slam the written-on napkin on the table. "Got an interview for one."

Aunt Veronica studies the napkin. She bursts into laughter so hard she snorts, and she can't breathe for thirty seconds.

"What's so funny?"

My great aunt wipes her eyes. "Of course, you'd get involved with them."

"That's a joke, why?"

Aunt Veronica shakes her head and waves me away. "I don't want to spoil the surprise."

I snatch the napkin and march to my room.

Chapter Five

It takes five minutes to get from Aunt Veronica's to the Kings', but it seems as if I've stepped into another world. While my great aunt looks like she lives in the middle of farm country, the Kings' house appears lifted from wealthy suburbia. They even have a long, winding driveway complete with a gate I have to buzz someone to open.

As I roll toward the five-car garage, I gawk at the shrubs in the shape of various mythical creatures. Some stand alone and majestic, and others hold battle poses like they'll attack their neighbor at any moment. Flowers adorn many of the shrubs and give the creatures clothes or armor or hair.

The house, a periwinkle two-story French chateau, has an intricate fairy garden before it. An Olympic-sized pool sits to the right of the house, and near that, I spot a tennis court. Large, colorful mosaics decorate the path that leads through the garden to the house.

I've witnessed many displays of wealth, but nothing as pretty or odd as the Kings' home. My father would think it gaudy, a clear sign of poor breeding, and my mother would love it. Before moving to Derbinwood, I'd have agreed with her father, but now I study the house and grounds with a fresh eye and try to silence my father's voice listing criticisms in my head.

After a moment, I nod. The house has its own charm, and though the decorations surprise, they don't disgust. It isn't like penises and vaginas litter the grounds.

With four minutes to ten, I park in front of the garage. I check my bag for my updated resume, adjust my makeup and top, and exit my car. I don't run to the front door, but I move with purpose, in case the Kings watch from a window. I ring the doorbell and don't fidget as I wait for an answer.

A woman a half a foot taller than me opens the door. The deep wrinkles in the center of her forehead furrow as she takes in me on the doorstep. "Are you here about the housekeeping position?"

The woman's clipped, haughty tone doesn't faze me. I hold out my hand. "Yes. My name's Whitney."

The woman frowns. "You're late."

"Oh, but I thought--"

The woman smooths the expensive suit she wears. "It's a good thing my meeting got moved to this afternoon." She looks me up and down once more. "I won't tolerate tardiness again, understand?"

Despite only a few years between us, I feel in the presence of someone lightyears older. In an instant, I know I'll never like the woman before me. She can cure cancer and rescue every lonely puppy in the world, and I still wouldn't want to be in a room with this woman for more than five seconds.

How can I handle the woman as my employer?

But, if I get the position, I'll have to. Not much exists for a college dropout forced to live in a new town. Unless I want to flip burgers and smell like cheap grease, I need to make nice with the woman.

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman covers her ears. "Ugh, never call me that again."

"Sorry..."

"Jenna. Always refer to me as Jenna."

"Okay."

Jenna motions for me to move forward. "Come on. Let's go see what my other third thinks of you."

Her statement catches me off guard, but I can't place why. Before I can think about it further, Jenna glances at me; her eyes are daggers. I forget what she said and step into the chateau.

The inside looks as fantastical as the outside, though glimpses of elegant conformity mar the effect. The two different tastes try dominating the space and ruin an otherwise gorgeous house. I don't consider this as a good sign of the Kings' marriage.

Jenna takes me to a sitting room toward the back of the house. The bright room holds so many windows a light is unnecessary, though an ornate chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Various hobby tools litter the area: an easel occupies one corner, a chess set waits in the opposite corner, and a glass cabinet full of knitting supplies takes up a significant portion of the room. I notice a tiny bookcase, but the print on the books is so small I can't read them.

A familiar man sits on the loveseat in the center of the room. He smiles when Jenna and I enter the room. His captivating eyes twinkle. "Why, hello again."

Jenna stops mid-stride. She looks from me to Adam. "You're new to town, right?" she asks me.

"Yeah. I just moved in with my Aunt Veronica."

A close-lipped smile puckers Jenna's mouth, and with her red lipstick, she appears a demon about to dispense punishment. "So, dear, how do you possibly know this young woman?"

Jenna's question and its strong implication hang in the air so long I want to bolt from the room. What good cheer Adam expressed on my arrival disappears. A flash of disgust darkens his eyes, soon replaced by apathy.

"She was at Darla's the other day," he finally says.

Jenna's smile turns into another frown. "Oh."

Adam turns to me, his expression lively. He extends his hand. "What's your name?"

I glance at Jenna before I take Adam's hand and shake it. "My name's Whitney Davis."

He squeezes my fingers for longer than appropriate. Adam doesn't look at his wife, but I know he can feel Jenna's gaze boring into us. "Nice to meet you." He offers me a sensual smile I would like if I didn't know he's a married man and his wife didn't stand five feet from us.

I untangle my grip from his. "Nice to meet you, too." I include Jenna in my statement.

Jenna's cheeks have grown enflamed. "Did you bring a resume? We won't consider you without one."

I fish the paper out of my bag. I put it in a folder to keep it free of wrinkles, and, after my brief time with Jenna, I can't be happier with my decision. Everything about the woman screams precision.

"Here you are." I give Jenna the resume.

Adam tries to read the paper over his wife's shoulder, but she jerks out of his line of sight. He sighs and shakes his head. "Would you like anything to drink, Ms. Davis?"

"No, I'm--"

"She's not going to be here long enough for that nonsense," Jenna cuts in, her nose still buried in the resume.

Adam sighs again and reclaims his spot on the loveseat. He twiddles his long, thick fingers, and gazes at everything but Jenna. More than once his stare lingers on me, and when I catch him, he flashes me an encouraging grin. I want to smile back but fear what his wife will think of the gesture.

Six minutes pass before Jenna looks up from the resume. "Are all these numbers current?"

"Yes."

"I can call all of them?"

I want to roll my eyes. Why else would I list them if the Kings wouldn't be able to? I might be in my early twenties, but that doesn't make me stupid.

"Yes, you can," I say instead.

"Good. Good." Jenna's eyes flick to the resume and then to me. "So, would this be your first job?"

"Kind of. I did some work at college when I could."

"Have you completed college?"

Adam glares at his wife. "Jenna!"

Jenna shrugs. "What? She put it on the resume, and just mentioned it." She smirks at me, but honey drips from her voice as she asks, "It doesn't bother you when I ask about it, does it?"

Even if it did, I won't admit it. No doubt, Jenna runs a successful company or takes care of the affairs of the person who does. She exploits weakness daily, and from the glint in her round, mustard brown eyes, I know Jenna loves every second of it.

"Nah, I'm an open book."

The glee fades from Jenna's gaze. "Well, good to hear."

Adam doesn't successfully hide his smile.

Jenna straightens. "So, did you graduate?"

"No, I dropped out."

"Why? You seemed to have a promising career ahead of you. You were going to be a doctor, right?"

I nod. "A cardiologist like my father."

"What made you give that up?"

Adam slides closer to the edge of the cushion he sits on. He appears genuinely interested, and I speak more to him than his wife. "I discovered it wasn't what I really want to do with my life."

"What do you really want to do?"

"I, uh, like to bake, and want to...do something with that." I don't want to confess my bakery desire, not to someone like Jenna. She reminds me too much of my father.

Jenna grimaces. "I...hope it works out for you."

"I bet it will," Adam says, and his input gladdens me. His gaze locks with mine yet again, and for the second time, I hate that he wears a wedding band.

"I demand perfection," Jenna says and draws all attention to her. "Can you give me that on a constant basis?"

The way Jenna watches and speaks to me finally makes me snap. I put on my fakest, brightest smile. "I'll try." Then, with as much cheer as I can muster, I add, "But even if I fail, from what I've heard, you don't have many other options."

Jenna jerks as if I spat gum into her short, golden locks. "Yes, well..." She sets my resume on the coffee table in front of the loveseat. "We have your information."

Suddenly, my annoyance with Mrs. Kings evaporates. I can't ruin this job opportunity. I search for words to correct my mistake, but nothing comes to mind before Jenna excuses me.

"Today, please," Jenna says when I don't move fast enough.

"Y-yes." I look between the Kings. "Thank you for...seeing me."

Jenna crosses her arms and taps her foot. "You're going to make me late for a meeting."

Adam waves at me, though I can't read his expression. "Goodbye, Ms. Davis."

"Goodbye."

I all but flee from the house. My urgent movements don't stop when I reach my car. My sinuses burn, and I long to scream, but I don't want anyone who glances out the window to see my breakdown. I won't give Jenna the satisfaction.

Once away from the Kings' property, I pull over and put my face in my hands. What the hell was I thinking? Don't I care about my future at all? Do I want to prove my father right?

***

That night, I drink a hot toddy (Aunt Veronica's suggestion and I didn't bother to question it) while I make homemade candles; a task I've done since my fourth-grade teacher showed me how. The tea doesn't contain a high level of whiskey, but it has enough that, after consuming a quarter of it, I'm tipsy. I shouldn't make candles in my state, but I figure since Aunt Veronica checks on me each time she comes into the kitchen, nothing terrible will happen. Even if it does, she'll fix it.

As I cut soy wax into small chunks, I try to keep my thoughts as far as possible from the disaster I created this afternoon. If I don't, I'll cry again like I did most the afternoon, and I can't handle another headache.

I just placed my wax into the glass measuring cup I've used for years when my cell phone rings. I consider not answering it, but I've gone so long without talking to anyone outside of Derbinwood that I don't want to miss the opportunity to connect with my previous life. I pick up my cell phone from the kitchen table and study the unknown number for a long second. Then I shrug and accept the call. Maybe one of my friends got a new phone.

"Hello?" I say and prepare to hear Sabrina Tials' voice--a woman I worked well with on projects at college, but I can't stand Sabrina's habit of jumping topics mid-sentence.

"Ms. Davis?" responds Adam's voice.

I sober. "Yes?"

"We discussed it, and we'd like you to take the job."

"Seriously? Even after...today?"

"You can't talk to Jenna like that again."

"I didn't plan on it."

"Then you got the job. We need you Monday through Saturday, seven in the morning until four. We'll pay you ten-fifty an hour since you're so inexperienced. But if you do well, in six months, we'll raise your pay to thirteen dollars an hour. Then we'll give you raises yearly. That all right?"

The news stuns me. Maybe this isn't real. Did I get drunk, pass out, and now dream the Kings want to hire me?

"Ms. Davis, you still there?"

"What? Oh, yeah." I shake my head. No, I'm not dreaming. This is really happening, and I need to pay attention unless I want my employer to think me brainless. "Sorry."

Adam chuckles. "Do you like the details?"

"Yes, they're perfect."

"Then you'll take the job."

I grin. "I'd love to."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ms. Davis."

"Thank you!"

Adam's laugh deepens before he ends the call.

I power down my cell phone and do a silly dance around the table. On my third pass, I see Aunt Veronica step into the kitchen. She watches me with a crooked smile.

"Are you losing your freeloader status?"

I stop before my cut wax. "Yep."

Aunt Veronica nods. "Just keep it, okay?"

"God couldn't turn me away from this job."

Chapter Six

Only one seat remains in the cooking room of the recreational center when I arrive. I've come fifteen minutes earlier than the start of class because I worried I'd get lost, but with ease, I found the room. Now I stand in the doorway, shocked at all the people I see. How do so many people have such little to do on a Friday night that a cooking class sounds fun? If I didn't need the practice, I wouldn't be here.

The open seat is at the second cooking station beside a woman old enough to be my mother. The tan, overweight woman gestures to me with a huge grin plastered across her square face. I shrug and step into the room, aware multiple sets of eyes trail me as I approach the cooking station. I don't meet any curious gazes but hope I don't look too much like a bitch. Nicole always told me I look like I have a mile-long pole shoved up my ass when I'm uncomfortable.

"Uh, hi," I say once I reach the free seat. I smile. "I'm Whitney Davis."

"Veronica's niece?" The woman has a soft voice at odds with her large body.

"Yep."

The woman stands and wraps me in a bear hug that knocks the breath from me. "Nice to meet you, honey. I'm Molly Greeley."

I pat Molly's back. "Nice to meet you, too."

Molly releases me and points at a cubby underneath the cooking station. A cloth bag the size of a toddler and a screaming-red color already takes up much of the space. "You can put your purse there."

I stuff my purse beside Molly's, and we take our seats.

Molly hasn't lost her smile. "What have you been doing with yourself?"

"I got a job."

"Doing what?"

"I work for the Kings, on Milled Street."

Molly's bright tawny eyes widen. "As the housekeeper?"

"Yeah..."

Molly pats my hand. "I'm going to pray for you."

I frown. "Are they that bad?"

"Jenna is." Molly's gaze narrows, and her open expression vanishes. "My cousin worked for them in April. Jenna made her cry every other day. Told her a dozen times, at least, that her cleaning sucked, and she should be ashamed. My cousin ran the cleaning department of a nursing home for ten years. That place sparkled because of her."

"Yeah, Jenna is..."

I think back to earlier in the day. Jenna came home at noon (same as the past two days) and went through the clothes I folded and put away that morning. I put Adam's pants in the wrong dresser drawer, and Jenna bitched me out for ten minutes.

Like Jenna, Adam dropped by to check on me all week, though he never inspected my progress, just asked me about my day. Today, he heard Jenna's rant and pulled her upstairs into their bedroom where they proceeded to yell at each other. I made myself scarce.

An hour later, Adam found me in the basement vacuuming the too-white carpet. He assured me Jenna went back to her office before apologizing for his wife's obnoxious behavior. I shrugged it off, though Jenna's overreaction shook me. A sane person didn't freak out about clothes being in the wrong place.

"Jenna can be...difficult," I say.

Molly grunts but doesn't comment on Mrs. Kings further.

Our conversation turns lighter. I listen with half attention as my station partner describes her five children's hobbies, ages, and school accomplishments. The rest of my focus locks on the rest of the class. Most talk like I and Molly do, but many haven't stopped looking at me since I entered the room.

At first, I didn't mind the attention, but now the scrutiny makes the back of my neck itch. I fight the urge to scratch. Nothing has been done to justify my anxiousness.

A few minutes after class is scheduled to start, the teacher strolls into the room, and my nerves relax a fraction. I didn't expect him, but his presence doesn't surprise me.

Tyson shrugs off his hoodie and puts it on the coat rack in the corner by the door. He steps before the single cooking station at the front of the room and claps his rough, blemished hands together. The class quiets. "Sorry about the delay, guys. My car argued with me about starting tonight."

A woman at the station to my right, dressed in a shift dress better suited for a girl under ten, raises her hand. "Bring it to my husband tomorrow."

Tyson shakes his head, and the red highlights in his light brown hair catch flash in the fluorescent lighting. "Nah, I don't need to bother Roy. My car's fine."

The woman crosses her arms. "Now, boy, you're going to do it. It's the least he can do for all you've taught me." She grins around the room. "Roy will agree with me."

Some of the older people laugh.

"Fine," Tyson says. "Thank you."

The woman waves away his graciousness.

Tyson claps his hands again. "Okay. We're going to practice knife cuts." His squinted blue gaze travels over the room. "Now, I know some of you are worried about the knives, but I promise--" He pauses when he spies me. "What brings you here?"

Twenty or so pairs of eyes nail me in place. "Well, I, uh, need to learn all this," I say, almost too low for my own ears.

"Never too late to." Tyson points at a man older than dirt in the back. "Isn't that right, Mr. Nelson?"

Mr. Nelson nods. "One of the best things you can do."

"Right. So, the lesson." Tyson produces a knife, cutting board, and Spanish onion. First, he explains the different parts of the knife. Then with sure, nimble movements, Tyson shows us how to remove the outer, inedible layer. Afterward, he demonstrates a cutting technique called 'the slice'. Once done, he passes out an onion to every student as we retrieve the cutting boards and knives from our stations.

Each student has their own tools, and all try our hand at 'the slice' when Tyson gives us the order. Right away, the woman in the shift dress loses control of her onion, and it rolls off her station to the floor. It takes a total of five minutes for her to retrieve her onion and to stop laughing.

When everyone manages to strip our onions, we move on to the cutting part. Two people nick their fingers, and the lesson has to pause while Tyson tends to their shallow wounds. A woman just out of high school doesn't want to touch the knife after that, so she sits out the remainder of the class, and texts on her cell phone.

Forty-five minutes later, all of us that participated have completed 'the slice'. Most have done all right, me one of them. I didn't have as difficult of a time as some, but I didn't do as well as I like. A part of me feels like a failure. If I can't master a task as simple as cutting an onion, how can I successfully grasp the art of baking?

Half the class asks if they can take off, and Tyson tells them they can leave once they clean their stations. They go, and Tyson passes out more onions to the remaining members. Molly and the ancient man challenge each other to a competition to see who can make the best onion slices in the shortest time. Everyone, I included, cheer them on. Even Tyson partakes, though he remains poised for action in case the event takes a sour turn.

By a few seconds, the old man beats Molly. He grins, and Molly kisses his cheek as she congratulates him. Tyson awards the old man a ten-dollar gift card to Darla's Eatery and makes the rest of us promise we won't tell those who left about it.

"On second thought, do it." Tyson smiles. "Maybe a little jealousy will convince them to stay longer."

Everyone chuckles and Tyson alerts us to the end of class. While we wash our knives and cutting boards, Tyson gathers all the chopped onion into freezer bags. When he catches me watching him, he explains he'll repurpose the onions at home.

After the class returns the room to its original state, people file out. Molly hugs me again, wishes me luck with the Kings, and flees the room. I bend down to grab my purse, pull too hard, and its frayed strap brakes. I curse, claim my ruined bag, and sit back in my chair.

"Of course."

Tyson leans against my cooking station. "Have fun tonight?"

I point at my purse. "Does this look like fun?"

"Yeah, that sucks. But the lesson, you liked it?"

"Actually, I did."

"Why do you sound surprised?"

I pick at my purse strap. "I don't have much confidence I can do this--learn to cook and bake."

"Why? You did great tonight. For your first time, right?"

"Yeah."

Tyson grins. "Give it a few months, and I bet you'll be able to run a class better than I can."

I roll my eyes but smile back. "Maybe I'll take your job at Darla's, too."

Tyson nods. "Maybe. Gran always threatens to replace my annoying ass."

I laugh, and Tyson joins me. The ease with which we speak makes me regret my earlier thoughts on a community center cooking class. Overall, I love the activity. I was too harsh before, judged it as my father would.

The realization numbs me.

"Well, I should head out." I clutch my purse and stand.

"Okay. Will I see you next week?"

A shred of glee perks me up. "Oh, most definitely."

"Good. Good." Tyson sees me to the door. "Night."

"Night."

Chapter Seven

I scrub the dried-on egg residue from the imported, super-expensive nonstick pan that if I put the tiniest of scratches on, Jenna will skin me alive. For the third Saturday in a row, I've thought about pitching the pan out the kitchen window. I wouldn't hate it so much if not for Jenna purposefully leaving an inch of scrambled egg in it. The woman gets up at the ass-crack of dawn to make breakfast so the dishes crust over before I come to work.

For this, more than any other offense, I pray each night for karma to bite Jenna in the ass.

On multiple occasions, I've wanted to complain to Adam. He'd understand, but I don't want to cause any more friction between the Kings. Already, on the days they both come home before I leave at four, they fight. Most often Jenna starts them, though Adam has burst through the door in search of an argument a handful of times.

Sometimes, their quarrels make me want to quit. The Kings' fighting reminds me of my parents, and at least twice a week I bawl myself to sleep worrying about my parents' marriage. Yes, my father's rejection still stings, but I don't want him to abandon my mother. At one point, they were happy and so in love, and so was our family.

But I stick out the job. I won't give Jenna the satisfaction of watching me give up. Plus, I need to prove Aunt Veronica wrong.

A week into the job, I came home and mentioned my sore back and the blisters on my feet. Aunt Veronica popped her head out of the living room, looked me over, told me I won't last a month, then returned to shucking corn while she watched CSI: Miami.

In just a few days, I can rub my success in my great aunt's face.

After twenty minutes, half the egg residue sloshes off the pan. I sigh, too tired to feel any sense of accomplishment. I stayed late at the cooking class the night before to help Tyson clean up a flour fiasco, and then Hoss meowed at my door until four this morning. I'd kill to be at the spa having my troubles pampered away, but, no I have six more hours of hell to endure.

"Oh, Whitney!" Jenna calls from the dining room.

I groan. "Yes, Ma'am?" I yell back, sure to stress the "ma'am."

"I need to speak to you. Now." Jenna's voice has lost its fake cheeriness.

I drop the sponge and pan back into the basin full of hot water, strip off the yellow plastic gloves I wear and check my clothes for water stains. I don't need Jenna to ridicule me for sloppiness (again). Happy with my appearance, I go to the dining room.

Jenna stands before a hardwood cabinet full of linen and fine china that have fairies and goblins painted on them. I wonder about the china, much like I do about the other magical-creature-themed items in the house. Neither Adam nor Jenna seem the sort to like fairytales. Adam loves lacrosse and building miniature boats (one of my least favorite things to dust), and Jenna either spends all her time on conspiracy theory websites (Adam isn't allowed to know that) or making wish lists on Amazon.

But if neither one has any interest in magical creatures, why do they dominate so much of their surroundings?

I've considered asking Adam, but I don't want to stick my nose where it doesn't belong. Also, what does it matter how they've decorated their house? The Kings pay me to clean, not critique their tastes.

Jenna puts her hands on her hips. "What did I tell you to call me?"

"Sorry, Ms. Jenna. I had a long night, and I forgot."

Jenna smirks. "That's not really my concern. You come here ready to do all I ask you or don't show up at all."

For the first time in my life, I have to stop myself from throat-punching someone. If I do it, maybe Jenna will never talk again. The idea almost makes me smile.

Instead, I say, "Yes, Ms. Jenna."

Jenna nods and then turns to open the cabinet's bottom doors where the tablecloths sit. She waves for me. "Come here."

Not as quickly as I know Jenna wants, I go to stand beside her. "What?"

Jenna gestures to the tablecloths on the top shelf. "What's wrong with these?"

I glance at the shelf. The tablecloths seem sound. I ironed and folded them the 'right' way. I even managed to get the wine stain Jenna let set in the one used on the Fourth of July.

"I'm not sure..."

Jenna sneers. "I'm sure I showed you how to put these back, right?"

"Y--"

"Then explain that." Jenna points at the tablecloths again.

I study them once more. What the hell is the woman talking about? Everything looks perfect. What does Jenna me--?

The colors. I put the wrong tablecloths on the wrong shelves. I was so busy the day I cleaned them--thanks to Jenna and her never-ending list of demands. I wasn't given time to pee, let alone think about the color-coded shelving.

"It was a mistake," I say, unable to keep my frustration at bay.

Jenna cocks her head. "How stupid are you?"

I open my mouth to retaliate but never utter a sound. At that moment, Adam bursts into the room; his hair and swimming trunks drip with water. He slams the cabinet doors shut and the china inside rattles.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he demands; his furious gaze on Jenna. "Why would you talk to Whitney like that?"

Jenna's face reddens. "Well, she can't have much of a brain if she can't even put tablecloths back right."

Adam wears a disgusted expression. "Seems you're the one without a brain."

"You really think that, huh?"

"More and more lately."

"Must be true, since I stay with you." Tears gather in Jenna's eyes. "I'm going to my sister's."

"Good. Maybe Whitney can finally get some peace."

Jenna flees the room.

Adam watches her leave before collapsing in one of the dining table chairs. He rests his forehead on an open palm. "I'm sorry." He doesn't look at me. "You shouldn't be berated like that."

"I-I'm okay." I feel anything but, yet don't want to make the situation worse.

He glances at me. "Why do you keep coming back?"

I shrug. "I have my reasons. Though mostly for the money."

Adam manages a small smile, and it softens his features. "After today, you deserve a raise."

I take the chair across from him. "Sounds like a plan. What are you willing to pay?"

Adam sits back and regards me. His gaze lingers so long, I squirm in my seat. Just as I think I've made the wrong remark, Adam asks, "Is it wrong that most days I regret ever meeting Jenna?"

"Uh..."

I really don't want to give my boss relationship advice. For one, I don't want to jeopardize my job by putting my nose where it doesn't belong. Second, I don't think myself qualified to comment on marriage. My only committed relationship was in high school, and all through college, I was too focused on my studies to even consider more than a one-night stand. Third, the one example I can pull from is currently in worse shambles than the Kings' relationship.

Adam shakes his head. "No, don't answer that."

More uncomfortable than I've been in years, I leave my chair. "I'm going to get back to cleaning."

Adam sighs. "Do you mind going home? I'll pay you for the full day, plus seventy-five bucks for Jenna's bullshit. I just need to be alone right now."

I hope my relief doesn't show as I say, "Sure. T-thank you."

Mr. Kings closes his eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your weekend."

"You, too, if you can."

His hollow laugh follows me as I exit the house.

***

Aunt Veronica frowns at the television. On it, the ladies of Hell's Kitchen flirt with Gordon Ramsey. "Disgusting. Don't you think?"

I don't respond, my thoughts still focused on earlier that morning.

Aunt Veronica tosses a broccoli stalk from her salad at me, and it bounces off my left breast and hits the floor. Hoss runs out from under my great aunt's recliner and pounces on the broccoli. The cat swats the vegetable around the room as if possessed.

"You all right?" Aunt Veronica asks.

I shake myself. "Yeah. I've just had...a day."

"Ah. You know the cure for--"

Aunt Veronica's complexion pales. She sets her bowl of salad on the stand beside her and hops out of her chair. She darts for her bedroom; almost steps on Hoss. I trail her just in time to see my great aunt vomit into her toilet. It churns my stomach, but I don't leave.

"Is it the chemo?"

Aunt Veronica nods, then barfs again.

"How can I help?"

My great aunt holds up a finger, pukes a little more, then swallows three deep breaths. Afterward, she flushes the toilet, washes her hands and face, and rinses her mouth out. When she steps out of her bathroom, color has returned to her cheeks.

"How can I help?" I repeat.

Aunt Veronica marches past me. "I'm good. Let's get back to the show."

"But--"

Aunt Veronica reclaims her chair, though ignores her salad. She turns up the volume on the television and laughs when Gordon Ramsey screams at the contestants. Hoss abandons the broccoli and jumps into Aunt Veronica's lap.

I can't believe how calmly my great aunt handled what just happened, and her cancer, in general. Often, I forget my great aunt's sickness, for Aunt Veronica never mentions it. Plus, she looks healthy, her appetite has shrunk a little, and she only takes an extra nap a day (she's the opposite of how Gram-Gram, my maternal grandmother, was when she had stomach cancer).

"How are you handling this?" I ask as I creep back into the living room.

Aunt Veronica glances at me. "The cancer? I'm fine."

"You know if you ever need to talk, I'm more than willing--"

"I know your father didn't overcome being an asshole and teach you, but your mother must have ingrained in you some manners." Aunt Veronica shakes her head. "I'm trying to watch TV. Can you shut it for a while?"

At once, I feel insulted and concerned in equal measures. "I'm going to go to my room."

"Great idea. Then I can watch TV in peace."

While I leave my great aunt, I mutter about crotchety old ladies. I know Aunt Veronica hears me, but she doesn't comment. As I reach my door, my cell phone rings. I take it out of my pants' front pocket and half-expect the caller to be one of the Kings. It isn't, and the number I read forces my heart to jackhammer in my chest.

I accept the call. "H-hello?"

"Hey, darling."

My mother's voice both gladdens and upsets me. I haven't heard from my parents since I left North Carolina. I don't think my father will contact me (though I wish for it more often than I'll admit), but why hasn't my mother until now? Shouldn't my mother want to make sure I arrived in my new home safely, that I'm adjusting to my surroundings?

"It's been..."

"Too long, darling, I know. Things here have been...complicated, and I haven't--I'm sorry it's taken until now to call you."

I sigh. "No, it's...okay."

"So, are you liking it there?"

"Yeah."

"Done anything exciting?"

"I got a job and take a cooking class on Fridays."

"Good for you!"

"Thanks." I'm dying to ask about my father, but I won't let myself express concern for someone who treated me so heartlessly.

"I miss you, darling."

"Yeah. Mom, I've got to go."

"Oh."

The dejection in my mother's voice almost makes me retract my statement, but I can't stay on the phone. It hurts too much. "We'll talk later this week," I say.

"Sure. I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom."

I hang up.

Chapter Eight

Jenna opens the refrigerator. "Both trays are in here, all set to go. All you need to do is pop them in the oven once it's ready. Then put on the timer for forty-five minutes. Got that?"

I nod but make a show of writing it down in the small notepad I've taken to carrying around with me. It helps to get Jenna off my back a little. Whenever Mrs. Kings accuses me of not following her orders, I shove physical proof of Jenna's words in her face. Jenna always tries to find a way around the presented truth but only manages to do so a quarter of the time.

Jenna shuts the refrigerator door. She moves to the dining room where I set the table for that night's dinner party; three placemats. I prepare myself for Jenna to complain, but she doesn't. Mrs. Kings studies the arrangement before turning her attention to the floor. She frowns.

"When did you last vacuum in here?"

"Monday. You told me not to worry about it yesterday."

"Well, do it while the food cooks."

"Yes, Ms. Jenna."

Jenna's gaze grows unfocused. "Are the bathrooms good?"

"Yes."

"The master bedroom?"

An urge to smack Jenna grips me. Just that morning the two of us spent three hours cleaning every nook and cranny. Why Jenna has taken the sudden intense interest in her bedroom, I can't say, but I don't like the change.

Since I came back to work on Monday, both Jenna and Adam have acted strangely. They've both become too attentive to details. I figure this is their way of trying to show they can make their relationship work, but I wish they found another avenue.

"I can't do anything more in there," I tell Mrs. Kings.

Jenna picks at her lip for a second. "Okay."

Adam steps into the room. He dangles his car keys. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Jenna says, and approaches him. She links her arm with his, and they both look pleased with the other's company for the first time since the start of my employment.

Adam smiles at me. "You did a good job."

"Thank you."

Jenna shakes her head. "Yes, yes." She steers Adam out of the room. "Oh, we should be home by the time the food finishes cooking," she yells over her shoulder.

I don't respond and wait until their car leaves the driveway before I move from the dining room. I take out my cell phone, plug into it the earbuds I keep hidden in my pocket and turn on the phone's music player. Nineties alt-rock invades my ears, and I return to work.

I pop the premade chicken and vegetable dinner and apple pie into the oven, put on the timer, and check the kitchen for a stray dish or smudged appliance. Tonight, the house has to gleam, and though the Kings haven't told me why, I assume they're entertaining one of their bosses. Though, if so, why does Jenna care so much about how her bedroom looks?

Maybe the Kings swap wives with the visiting boss.

I gag as I picture Jenna with a wrinkle-y old man and will the thought away. I don't need my sleep plagued by nightmares.

Once sure of the kitchen's pristine condition, I tackle the dining room floor. I keep my eye on the big clock hanging on the wall opposite the cabinet as I vacuum. Though I work better with music, Jenna doesn't agree. If Mrs. Kings catches me again, I'll lose my job.

More than anything, it seems Jenna hates her underlings listening to something other than her commands.

Vacuuming takes longer than I like, but I don't want to leave a speck of dirt for Jenna to find and flip out about. As I wind up the vacuum cord, I glance toward the windows that offer an excellent view of the tennis court and spot a smear. I shake my head. How did Jenna manage to miss that in her inspection? Maybe God is on my side today.

I return the vacuum to the cleaning-supply closet and collect paper towels and the 'organic' surface cleaner Jenna buys at a specialty store in town. I sing along to Tonic's "If You Could Only See" as I turn away from the closet, and almost run into a tall, black-haired woman. I yelp and jump back; bump against the closet door. The force knocks the paper towels from my hands and the left earbud from my ear.

The woman covers her dainty mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry!" Her low voice has an attractive drawl like Adam's. "I thought you heard me. I called when I got inside."

My chest heaves as I pick up the paper towels. "I was..." I yank out my other earbud and shoves the headphones into the pocket with my cell phone. "Um..."

The woman shrugs. "I don't care." She smiles. "It sounded like awesome tunes. Tonic, right?"

"Yeah."

"I loved them in high school." Her grin widens. "I even went to see them in concert."

"Awesome."

I really want to ask who the hell the woman is. Adam always locks the door when he leaves, so the stranger has to have a key, or at least know where the Kings hide their spare one. Do the Kings expect her? Can she be who they planned the dinner for? If so, why didn't they tell her to show up when they were home?

The woman unwinds the thin yellow scarf she wears and tosses it on the floor. Then she squeaks and retrieves it. "You're the new housekeeper?"

"Yeah."

"Again, I'm sorry. It looks great in here, and then I come in and slob all over the place." She sighs. "Some first meeting this is."

"No, it's...uh..." My mind jumps to Jenna. "I've had worse ones."

The woman chuckles. "Me, too. You'd think I wouldn't in my line of work, but CEOs are just as awkward as everyone else."

I study the woman harder. Can she be one of the Kings' bosses? If so, why does she feel so comfortable dropping her clothing on the floor? Are the Kings best friends with this boss?

A vague thought drifts into my conscience. Maybe the woman feels so comfortable in the house because it's hers. Is she related to one of the Kings?

The woman stands taller than Jenna, and just under Adam's impressive height. Both Jenna and the woman share a similar peach complexion, though this woman's skin tone seems natural while Jenna struggles to keep her skin tinted. Mrs. Kings and the woman have round faces, though the woman's cheekbones protrude more, and she has a cleft chin while Jenna's is pointed. But their noses hold no resemblances. Jenna's looks almost snout-like, the way it upturns. The woman's nose is thin and slopes downward.

Maybe the woman is Jenna's distant, very distant, cousin. Yet I won't bet money on it.

"Who are you?" I blurt, unable to contain my curiosity further.

"Crystal," the woman responds like it should be obvious. She holds out a hand. "What's your name?"

I give Crystal's fingers a light squeeze. "Whitney."

"I'm so glad you're here. We've needed a housekeeper forever. With the schedules we keep, we just can't do it ourselves."

"Yeah." I scramble to find the words to ask Crystal her relationship with the Kings without sounding nosey, or stupid.

Crystal examines the table and glances around. "Is anyone home?"

"No, the Kings are out right now."

Crystal's right eyebrow hikes up her wide forehead. "The Kings?"

"Yes." I watch Crystal. She must know who lives here. So, why does she seem confused? "Mrs. Kings said they'll be back shortly.

Crystal smiles. "You're kidding me, right?"

I shake my head.

Crystal's grin disappears. "Do you not know?"

"What?"

"I can't believe you don't."

"What?"

"I'm Mrs. Kings."

Chapter Nine

A surprised giggle escapes me. "How can that be?"

Crystal chews on her bottom lip; smears her lipstick to the corners of her mouth. "Are you thirsty?" she finally asks.

"Um..."

"I need a drink." Crystal hurries to the kitchen.

I place the paper towels and cleaner on the floor beside the closet and follow on her heels. "Are you going to explain?"

Crystal ignores me as she gets out a glass, orange juice, and the champagne meant for tonight. She opens the champagne bottle with the fancy opener I've almost broken on multiple occasions and fills the glass mostly with champagne. She tops it off with the orange juice and down the drink in one gulp. She makes another and points at the ingredients.

"Are you sure you don't want one?"

"My shift's almost over."

Crystal leans against the kitchen island. "Of course. Of course."

The oven timer goes off, and I remove the pans. The food sizzles and smells wonderful. Of all Jenna's faults, cooking doesn't make the list. If I liked her better, I would ask Jenna for tips, and maybe a lesson or two.

"Ugh! Seeing that makes me so hungry." Crystal sips her drink. "I didn't eat on the plane. I can't do it. It makes me sick."

"Me, too." I want to smack myself. She needs to get to the bottom of what is going on. "Back to--"

My cell phone rings. I groan and answer the call.

"We're going to be late," Jenna says.

"Oh, okay. Well, I have to--"

Crystal shakes her head. "No, keep me a secret," she whispers.

"Yes?" Jenna demands.

"I...uh...just took the food out of the oven."

Jenna sighs. "Let it cool, then put tinfoil over it. I'll take care of it when I get home."

"Okay."

"Did you finish cleaning?"

"Yep."

"Then go." Jenna hangs up without my reply.

I place my cell phone on the counter. "Not even a thank you."

Crystal snorts. "Sounds like my Jenna."

"So, you know about Adam and Jenna?" The question churns my stomach, but I can't beat around the bush anymore.

Crystal's expression loses its merriment. "You know, I still can't get that no one has told you." She plays with the condensation on her glass. "I guess I should be happy, but...the last clueless housekeeper didn't handle the news well."

"So, your husband's mistress lives with you. That's not too odd."

I lied. It's one of the strangest arrangements I've heard of. I don't see how all three of them can be happy under the same roof, but maybe the Kings didn't get married for love, but for money reasons, so Crystal doesn't mind him sleeping with someone else.

But why do they flaunt it? I wouldn't want to make up a good portion of the town gossip as the Kings do. It can't make life easy.

Crystal snickers. "She's not his mistress."

"But they're sleeping together." I found the evidence, sometimes in places that make me think Jenna planted the proof to rub it in my face.

"I wouldn't expect them to stop just because I took a business trip."

I rub my temples, tired of the circles Crystal makes. "You need to spit it out. I'm so confused."

Crystal finishes her drink and puts the class on the island. "You're right." She breathes deep. "Adam and I are polyamorous, and Jenna is our girlfriend," she says as she exhales.

I blink. "You're all in a relationship together?"

"Yes..."

I process the information. Why didn't I come to that conclusion before? It makes perfect sense and honestly isn't that bad. I like it better than thinking the Kings live with Adam's mistress.

"Do you still want to work here?"

The question draws me out of my thoughts. "Why wouldn't I?

"It's not exactly...conventional." Crystal frowns. "A mockery of God, as some have put it."

"Genocide and child slavery are mockeries of God, not being in a relationship with more than one person."

"So, it doesn't...disgust you?"

Even if it does, I won't tell Mrs. Kings, and I won't walk away from my job. "How I may feel won't impact my work," I tell Crystal. When Crystal frowns, I add, "But no, it doesn't."

Crystal's smile dazzles, and I find I like it as much as Adam's. How can they date a nagging sour-puss like Jenna? Sure, the woman looks pretty when she doesn't yell or demean, and maybe her sex skills rival the best porn star alive, but that can't be enough to keep Jenna around.

Mrs. Kings pours herself a glass of orange juice and repositions herself against the kitchen island. "Are you new to town?"

"Yeah, I moved here in June."

"Where are you staying?"

"With family."

"Anyone I know?"

"Mrs. Allen?"

Crystal's eyes widen. "Veronica?"

Annoyance rears its head, but I hold it down as I say, "Yeah."

"One moment." Crystal puts her glass on the island and sprints out of the room. Thirty seconds later, she runs back into the kitchen and hands me a tiny jar of face cream with French words covering it. "Tell her 'Thank you' for the foot powder. I can actually stand to be around Adam now when he's not wearing shoes."

"Will do." I pocket the cell phone. "I think I should head out now."

"Yes, go. Enjoy the rest of your Wednesday." Crystal flashes another perfect smile. "Nice to meet you!"

"Back at you."

"See you tomorrow."

"Certainly."

***

I slam the front door, and on cue, Aunt Veronica speaks up. "You're not too old for me to take a switch to your ass."

My great aunt's voice comes from my bathroom, and I go to her. Aunt Veronica bends over the washer, her top half inside the machine as she roots around for the clothes at the bottom. She doesn't glance at me as she asks, "Do you need a reminder of how to act when you're in my house?"

"I have something for you."

Aunt Veronica shimmies out of the washer, damp socks in her hands. She drops them in the full laundry basket at her feet before she turns to me. "Well?"

I produce the face cream. "Mrs. Kings says, 'Thank you for the foot powder.' She can put up with her husband now."

Aunt Veronica looks at the jar then at me. "So, you know now?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Yes! I looked like an idiot today." I shake my head. "You should have given me a warning."

"The Kings don't need me talking about their business. They've put up with that bullshit ever since they moved here, and it hasn't let up for six years." Aunt Veronica scowls. "Everyone in this damn town has their own problems, but no, they have to concern themselves with people who only want to live and be left alone."

I think of Darla. "Well, not everyone..."

My great aunt nods as if she read my thoughts. "No, a few decent people exist." She regards me. "You still their housekeeper?"

I hold Aunt Veronica's gaze. "As long as they'll have me."

"Good." My great aunt plucks the face cream from my hand and points at the laundry basket. "Hang this up, will you? My shows are about to start."

I groan but do as asked.

Chapter Ten

I rap my knuckles on the stovetop and draw the attention of Aunt Veronica and her client, the woman who sat beside me at the diner when Darla set up my housekeeping interview. Aunt Veronica glares, but the woman waves. I give her a tight-lipped smile.

"Did you happen to get the mail today?" I ask my great aunt.

The anger drains from Aunt Veronica's face and is replaced by calm indifference. She gestures to the counter by the sink. "You...have some things there."

My stomach knots as I approach the stack of mail. Can good news await me? But would my great aunt look as she does if that's the case?

The mail has been separated into two piles, one large one for Aunt Veronica and a small one for me. My pile consists of three letters. My hand shakes as I reach for the letters and read the envelopes.

It takes me a solid minute before my mind processes what I read. When the words make sense, my racing heart stops. My stomach drops to the floor.

Once a week for the past three weeks, I've sent a letter to my father. All the letters have, in clear, black ink, 'return to sender' printed on the front. They've never been opened.

I figured my father would do this. He did the same to Nicole--still does when she writes him the odd letter. But I hoped he wouldn't with me, not to his baby.

"Are you all right?" Aunt Veronica asks.

Sudden anger overrides my sadness, and I tear the letters to shreds. I toss them into the trash with a vow to never buckle again. "Yeah," I say and pick up the brownies I made the night before for the Kings to thank them for giving me a ride home last week when my car refused to start. I head for the front door. "I need to get to work. I'll be home later."

***

At the Kings', I push myself. I clean like a maniac, partially to make up for the time I lost by accidentally sleeping-in that morning, but mostly to keep my thoughts away from those letters. If I slow down, I'll feel the full impact of my father's rejection again. I've come too far in the past two months to reduce myself to the shell I was when I first arrived in Derbinwood.

My plan works until I take my lunch break. I want to skip it, but I haven't eaten yet, and I don't want to get sick. I get myself a plate of the leftover lasagna from Thursday (left in the refrigerator just for me) and intend to eat it as fast as possible. Yet once I sit down, I can't touch my food. In a giant wave, the feelings I've tried to wall off all day crash into me, and I burst into tears.

How can my father act so callously? Do I mean that little to him? Why can my father turn off his love so easily without concern for whom it harms?

Ten minutes into my cry-session, Crystal appears in the dining room doorway. She drops the shopping bags she holds and rushes to me. "What's happened? Did Jen--What's wrong?"

I wipe at my eyes, but my tears won't stop. "N-nothing. I'm f-fine."

Crystal sits in the seat next to me and takes my hands. "Please, don't. Talk to me. Maybe it'll help."

"I don't--It's stupid."

"It can't be that stupid if it's got you this upset."

I swallow hard. "I, um, didn't leave home of my own choice. My...dad kicked me out."

Crystal's jaw tightens. "Why?"

"You know how I dropped out of college to pursue other options?"

"Yeah, you want to open a bakery."

The fact that Mrs. Kings remembers that, when I only mentioned it once, surprises me. But my misery buries the emotion as I say, "My dad thinks that's terrible, and told me I'm ruining my life. Now he doesn't want anything to do with me. I...I wrote him a couple of times, and he had the letters returned to me, without even reading them."

Crystal doesn't answer for a long moment. Her expression remains troubled, but she doesn't drop my hands, and I'm glad she hasn't. The kind gesture soothes my raw nerves, and, in time, I can control my sobbing. It doesn't stop altogether, but my body no longer heaves with my sadness.

"Do you think you've made the wrong decision?" Crystal finally asks; her eyes on me.

"I-I don't know. Most of the time, no, I don't believe I did. I...love baking more than most anything in my life."

"But?"

"What if my dad's right? What if I never make my dream a reality? My sister tried to follow her dreams, and now she's a homeless druggie. I don't want to wind up like her."

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

Crystal smiles. "You adapt well when life throws you curveballs. I don't see you letting anything stand in the way of what you want to accomplish. You might not reach your goal the way you expected, but you will reach it."

Mrs. Kings' words wrap around me like a warm blanket, but they can't kill one nagging point. "My dad is almost always right."

Crystal smirks. "So is my mom, but I haven't let that stop me. Every day I strive to prove her wrong." She chuckles, but the sound holds no cheer. "I've had a six-year-long winning streak."

The topic of Crystal's mother floors me. On more than one occasion, Crystal has gone out of her way to avoid any conversation dealing with her parents. Once, Crystal, who never yells (not even when she fights with Jenna), snapped at Adam when he pushed the issue of holiday plans with their families a little too hard.

"Does it get easier to deal with?" I really want to ask about Mrs. Kings' problems with her mother, but I won't put Crystal in that position.

Crystal shrugs. "That's all up to you."

"Okay..."

Crystal produces a packet of tissues and gives it to me. "That's the spirit."

I dry my face and blow my nose. Done, I hand back the packet. "Thank you."

Crystal leaves the tissues on the table. "Don't mention it." She pats my arm. "Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, I can work."

Mrs. Kings waves my comment away. "I'm not worried about that. You do such a great job, so what if you miss a day because you have to?"

Tell that to Jenna, I think, but will never say out loud. Unlike Adam, Crystal doesn't criticize Jenna's behavior, at least not when I'm around. If Jenna acts poorly, Crystal tries to reason her out of it, sort of like a tired parent does with their tantrum-throwing toddler. Nine times out of ten, Jenna ignores her, so Crystal has taken to showering me with small gifts.

"I'm glad it's appreciated."

Crystal grins. "More than you know."

The glow in Mrs. Kings' gaze makes me want to fidget, but I pick up my plate of uneaten lasagna instead and stand up. I need the food, but I no longer have the stomach for it. Maybe I can force down a couple of crackers. They'll at least tide me over until I return to Aunt Veronica's.

Crystal jumps up. "I'll leave you to eat."

"No, I can't...This isn't good for me right now."

"I can make you something. I'm not as good a cook as Jenna, but I can heat up a mean can of tomato soup."

I laugh. "That doesn't sound half bad."

"Good." Crystal takes the lasagna and dashes toward the kitchen. "How's a grilled cheese sandwich sound?"

I trail after her. "Just the soup."

"Your wish is my command."

I chuckle harder and watch as Crystal puts the lasagna back into the refrigerator and retrieves the proper pan for the soup. I offer to help, but Crystal won't allow me to lift a finger. She pours me a glass of milk and orders me to enjoy it while she cooks.

I feel a little uncomfortable about my boss taking care of me, but I really enjoy the gesture. It reminds me of when Nicole used to watch me when our parents went out of town; when I liked my sister. A rush of nostalgia floods me, but I don't let it drag me back into my misery.

Ten minutes later, Crystal sets a steaming bowl of soup before me. I thank her and dig into my lunch. It doesn't taste as good as the lasagna would have, but it's pleasant nonetheless.

While I eat all my soup, Crystal asks me questions about my future bakery. At first, my answers shake with hesitation, but by the fourth question, I find her stride. No one, not even Tyson, wants to know more about my dream once I tell them about it. I haven't realized how much that bothers me until now, confronted with genuine interest.

"So, what kind of goodies do you plan on selling?"

I point at the container of brownies by the microwave. "Stuff along the lines of those."

Crystal grabs the container. "What's in here?" She pops off the lid and gasps. "Are these homemade?"

"Yeah. They're...my way of saying...thank you for last week."

"You didn't have to repay us." Mrs. Kings takes out a portion of brownie and tosses it into her mouth. "Oh, but I'm glad you did," she says as she chews.

"How are they?"

Crystal licks her lips and snags another brownie. "One of the greatest confections I've ever had." She shoves the whole brownie into her mouth.

"They're about the only thing I can do well."

Crystal swallows her mouthful. "So far." She puts the top back on the brownies and tucks the container under her arm. "I think I'll keep these for myself."

I smile.

"Now, you've made trouble for yourself."

My grin falters. "Oh?"

"I want something tasty like this every Saturday." Crystal winks. "It'll give me a reason to go to the gym."

"Yeah, I can do that."

Another of Crystal's mesmerizing smiles holds me in place. "Every day I find another reason to adore you, you know."

Crystal's statement sends a jolt through my full stomach. I drop my gaze and shove my empty bowl toward Mrs. Kings. "I think I should get back to work. Thank you, again, for lunch."

Crystal's mouth opens but then snaps it shut just as fast. "Okay. Oh, and you're welcome."

I try not to run from the kitchen.

Chapter Eleven

As August rolls into September, my confidence in baking increases. On Friday nights, I drill Tyson for recipes and spend all day Sunday making what he suggested. When I perfect the recipe, I take a batch to the Kings the following Saturday. Adam and Crystal fawn over my food, but Jenna won't even look at it. I don't care. The Kings' compliments matter more than any false positive word Jenna could manage.

Aunt Veronica complains about the increased heat and waste of pantry staples (though I replace them), but always does the dirty dishes I create. Twice, she tries to eat the heavy desserts I make, but fifteen minutes later my great aunt vomits it up.

Most of what I produce goes to Aunt Veronica's clients, who rave about the food.

My mother's phone calls increase, and I look forward to them more and more with each passing week. We don't talk about much, never about my father or the state of my parents' marriage. From my mother's tone, I suspect my parents' relationship has taken a darker turn. I often wish I was in North Carolina to mediate between them, but I don't let that desire impact my daily life.

Work improves. Jenna stays home less and less. The Kings tell me their girlfriend always gets super busy around this time of year, but I don't believe them. The rare moments the trio spend together around me, I sense a thick wall between the Kings and Jenna that grows with each day. I know Adam and Crystal have stopped sleeping with Jenna (I overheard Crystal complaining about it on the phone with a friend).

With Jenna's absence, I notice Adam spends more hours at the house. I try to avoid the thought, but I believe he specifically hangs around to be with me. He doesn't do anything outright inappropriate, but his gaze lingers on me when he stands across the room, and when we talk, he always finds a way to touch my hand or arm.

I want to hate the attention. He has a wife and a girlfriend. Plus, I can't date my boss. I don't need any more drama in my life.

But I love every minute of his focus. Adam stimulates my brain in a way no man has, not even in college. His intelligence is parallel to my father's but without my father's arrogance. I don't feel pressured to force a conversation with him like I do so many others, and, more times than not, we just hang out in companionable silence.

If Adam outright pursues me, I'll have a hard time turning him down. It horrifies me, that realization. I like to think I have more respect for myself than that, but, alone at night, I know I don't.

***

Crystal smooths the tablecloth, a brand new one in Jenna's favorite shade of red. She's done this twice already in five minutes. "Is the tablecloth too much?"

I look over the dining room table, ornamented with roses and gold-accented centerpieces. To me, though the decorations cost a decent chunk of change, they're too flashy for a small birthday party. Yet, Adam mentioned, Jenna won't accept anything less. He then laughed, but it sounded angry and sarcastic.

"No. I'm sure Jenna will...love it."

"She'd better," Adam says as he finishes setting up the gift table.

Crystal sticks her tongue out at him and points at a bag on the chair nearest her husband. "Can you put all those presents on the table?"

I hand Adam an enveloped card. "Here's mine."

"Oh, how sweet of you!" Crystal says.

Adam smirks, but takes the card and puts it with the dozen gifts the Kings bought. "I'm sure she'll appreciate the gesture."

The card has a long-haired cat on it, and inside I put a fifty-dollar gift card to Olive Garden. I overheard Jenna proclaim her hatred for both cats and the Italian restaurant chain and hope my present pisses Jenna off. The woman doesn't deserve anything nice. She's done everything in her power to be a thorn in my side for the past three months.

I beam. "I think she will."

Crystal nods at the kitchen. "Whitney, can you get the cake? I want it in the center of the table."

I spring to action, and a minute later I carry the three-layer masterpiece into the dining room. I worked hard the previous night to get the butter rum cake and cream cheese frosting just right. Then I got up an hour early today to race the cake over to Darla's so Tyson could cover it with hand-piped roses.

"We can't thank you enough," Crystal says as I set the cake in its place.

I shrug. "I didn't mind."

I tell the truth. I don't care what Jenna might think of the cake; I made it to get more feedback about my baking ability. The Kings invited twenty of Jenna's closest friends (I'm still surprised they found one), and Crystal assured me they all loved cake.

Crystal grabs both my and Adam's hands and pulls us to the front of the room. She breathes deep. "I think we did all right."

Adam and I murmur our agreement.

"Now--"

"What's going on?" Jenna's voice asks behind the trio.

Crystal spins on her heel. "Why are you home so early?" She makes a weak attempt to hide the dining room. She tugs on Adam, but he refuses to join her endeavor.

Jenna smirks. "Rodger got the board to settle on a solution sooner than expected." She glances over Crystal's shoulder. "Good thing, too. Is this a surprise party?"

Crystal frowns. "Well, kind of."

Jenna nudges past her partners and slowly walks around the dining room. She stops at the gift table, examines them, then picks up my card. Jenna removes it from its envelope (ignores Crystal's weak protest), and her lips purse. I notice a vein pulse in her neck when she removes the gift card.

"Wasn't that nice of Whitney?" Crystal prompts.

Jenna grunts.

Adam frowns. "She didn't have to and deserves an actual thank you."

Crystal's grip on her husband's hand tightens. "Jenna's just overcome with emotion. I'm sure she'll thank Whitney once--"

Jenna points at the cake. "Did you get that from Shrub's Bakery?" A shred of pleasantness has crept into her tone.

Crystal edges closer to Jenna. "No. Whitney made it."

"I had a friend put on the roses since I suck at artsy stuff like that," I add.

Whatever happiness Jenna expressed vanishes. "But you know I only like a cake from Shrub's Bakery."

Crystal frowns. "I thought this would be nicer, and Whitney's just as good as anyone at Shrub's. Plus, this is a good experience for Whitney. This way, two birds have been--"

With a cry, Jenna shreds the card I got her and its envelope and snaps the gift card in two. Before I or the Kings can respond, Jenna advances on the cake. She shoves it off the table, and it crashes to the floor. On impact, cake and frosting go flying and coat the rug, tablecloth, closest chairs, and nearby wall.

The sight of the mess pulls me and the Kings from our daze. I break into giggles. Crystal covers her face and Adam storms toward Jenna.

"What the fuck did you do that for?"

Jenna glares at her boyfriend. "I'm sick and fucking tired of hearing about Whitney. With the way you and Crystal go on about her, you'd swear she was the fucking second coming of Jesus. It's disgusting."

"So, you feel because of that, you get to treat her like trash?"

"Guys, please don't," Crystal says, her words muffled by her fingers. "This is supposed to be a nice day. Can't we--"

Jenna gets in Adam's face. "Since she started working here, it's like I no longer exist." She pegs both Kings with her searing gaze. "You prefer her to me."

Adam's top lip curls into a snarl. "You know, for once in a really long time, you're right. She's not a bitch like you."

Crystal breaks into sobs. "Adam! Jenna! Stop."

Jenna's expression twists into one of pure anger. "If that's how you feel, fine. Bye, assholes. I'm done with you all." She runs past the Kings but stops in front of me. She licks off the frosting she got on her fingers and spits it on my left shoe. "It tastes like shit, like everything you've ever made or ever will."

My hand twitches as I envision wrapping my hands around Jenna's throat and strangling her unconscious, but I keep my cool. "I can live with that. At least I'm not a cunt."

Jenna shoves me out of my way and stomps out of the house; forever, I hope.

In her absence, Crystal bursts into hysterical crying. Adam shakes, and his eyes flash with malice, but he comforts his wife the best he can. I long to console them but don't know how. So, I tell them I need to leave.

Neither of the Kings respond, and I flee the scene.

Chapter Twelve

When I walk through the front door of my great aunt's house ten minutes later, Aunt Veronica offers me a mixed drink heavy on coconut liquor. I don't ponder how my great aunt seems to know what I need, I just swallow the drink. It burns my throat and hits my stomach with the force of a hurricane, but I ask for a second. Aunt Veronica complies, though warns me to go easy this time around.

I don't want to, but I take my great aunt's advice and sip my drink. Now the alcohol seems nonexistent, just the way I love my cocktails. My jarred nerves settle, and after a quick sandwich, I explain what happened at the Kings'; about all I've seen and heard with the Kings' and their girlfriend since working there. Aunt Veronica listens without asking questions.

"I sort of feel bad," I conclude.

"Why?"

"What if Jenna's right and I ruined the relationship?"

Aunt Veronica frowns. "Did you sleep with either Adam or Crystal?"

I recall my belief that Adam flirted with me but don't mention it. As far as I know, I never made an outward display of reciprocating his intentions. "No."

"Did you in any way convince the Kings to lose interest in Jenna?"

"No, but--"

"Then you carry no blame. Jenna's made the bed she's now sleeping in."

"I know I didn't help matters."

Aunt Veronica leans back in her chair. "It does seem you tried hard to piss Jenna off whenever you could."

I swallow more of my drink. "She deserved it."

"I'm sure she did. That woman is one of the biggest bitches I've ever met."

I sigh. "I guess I should look for a new job tomorrow."

"Why?"

"Well, the Kings can't possibly want me back."

"Because their girlfriend flipped her lid? That's no reason to get rid of good help."

"I know, yet--"

Aunt Veronica touches my hand. "You should go get some rest, okay? You'll stop saying stupid things."

"I don't think that's going to happen."

Aunt Veronica smiles. "Probably not. Stupid is a hard disability to overcome."

My eyes widen, and my great aunt bursts into laughter. Despite my dejected mood, I giggle a second later. Tension loosens from my shoulders and I down the remainder of my drink.

"Okay. I'll take a nap."

***

At eleven-thirty that night, my cell phone rings. I bolt out of bed, and search, half-asleep, for it. I find it in the pocket of the pants I wore earlier, pull it out, and answer the call.

"What?" I sound like an ornery ninety-year-old man.

"Hey, it's Adam. Sorry to bother you so late."

His voice clears away my mind-fog. "Oh, no, it's fine. Um...What's up?"

"I need to head out of town tonight. My mom's been in an accident and needs surgery. But I don't feel comfortable leaving Crystal alone after today. Can you...come over, to keep her company?"

"Well, I, uh..."

"I'll pay you. Please. She really needs someone right now. I'd call one of her other friends, but no one's close-by."

I smile when Adam calls me Crystal's friend. Then it disappears as quickly as it came. Why did that simple statement bring so much happiness?

"Um, okay. I guess I can."

"Thank you so much! You don't know how amazing you are."

Adam's compliment makes my heart skip a beat, but I write it off as a residual surprise from being woken up so abruptly. "Yeah, sure. I'll be by in a few minutes."

"Well, I got to leave at this moment, but no worries. The door's unlocked and Crystal is still up."

"Okay."

"Thanks again."

"You're welcome."

We hang up.

In a flash, I change into the sweats I wear on my period, slip on a pair of flip-flops, and retrieve my purse. At the last minute, I decide to leave Aunt Veronica a note, though I figure my great aunt won't care where I go as long as it doesn't land me in jail. Once done, I creep out of the dark house, and head for the Kings'.

All the lights are on when I pull into their driveway, even the lights in the garage. I itch to turn them off (a habit born from years of my mother screeching every time someone left an empty room illuminated for longer than two minutes), but I barrel through the front door instead. Crystal pounces on me as soon as I step into the house; almost spills the drink she holds.

"Hi!" Her voice has a familiar too-high pitch, and I can safely guess the dark liquid in Crystal's cup isn't juice.

I set my purse on the small table in the main hallway and turn to Crystal. She doesn't look good. She hasn't bothered to wash off her makeup, and her crying has smeared it all over cheeks. Her nose and eyes have a red tint, and repetitive tugging from fingers has turned Crystal's hair into a knotted mess.

"Hey." I want to add more, maybe apologize for earlier (though I know Aunt Veronica was right about me having nothing to feel guilty about) but decide against it. I fear upsetting Crystal, the very opposite of what Adam would want. "So, um, want to watch a movie or something?"

Crystal's bottom lip trembles. "Jenna and I liked watching movies together. You know she's a big screen junkie, right? She can tell you anything about any movie, actor, or--" She sobs.

"Uh, okay, no movie. W-what do you like to do?"

Crystal rubs her eyes with her free hand and sniffles. "I like games."

"Like Boggle?"

Crystal frowns. "Boggle?"

"A game where you look for words in little tiles in a set amount of time."

Crystal shakes her head. "Never heard of it. No, I prefer games like D and D."

"Oh. That wasn't allowed in my house."

"Seriously?"

"My dad thinks games should only be played that have real-world applications. Anything else turns your brain to mush, so he says."

Crystal snorts. "Oh, he'd hate me then. D and D is my life. I even started a club for it, both in high school and in college."

"Sounds..."

"Geeky, I know."

I smile. "A little, maybe."

Crystal giggles and seems more tipsy than happy, but I don't complain. It sounds nice regardless. "I'd show it to you but starting a campaign at midnight is ridiculous." She drains her cup and belches. "Oops." She giggles again. "Hey! How 'bout we play Elysium?"

"That is?"

"More complicated than Boggle but easier than D and D. You'll love it!"

Crystal gives me her empty glass and flees into the sitting room where Jenna conducted my job interview.

Before I can decide whether I should follow or not, Crystal returns with a thick, square box with Greek buildings and a woman on the front. She shoves it into my free hand and takes off for the kitchen. In a heartbeat, she comes back, and now carries a full bottle of wine.

"To the bedroom!"

I follow Crystal to the second floor and watch Crystal's every step; her balance has left with her volume control. If she falls down the stairs and brakes a bone, Adam will never forgive me, and likely fire me.

Crystal leads me to the enormous master bedroom, fully furnished with all the fantasy elements Crystal loves. The sheer amount of decor made me laugh the first time I saw it, but then I remembered how much Harry Potter merchandise my own room in North Carolina consisted of and my amusement faded. I might not be as big of a geek as Crystal, but I'm not far behind.

In the bedroom, Crystal arranges pillows on the floor. Then she flops down on her ass, reaches for Elysium, and sets it up after I hand it over. Once done, she gestures for me to join her.

I sit and eye the game. "This looks difficult."

Crystal pours herself another glass of wine. "It's deceptive. By the second run-through, you'll have it."

She's wrong. Half-way through the first epoch, I've fully grasped the game. I do well, but in the end, lose the game by three points. I agree to play again and do better my second time, though I don't feel victorious. By the end of the first game, Crystal consumed most of the wine. I have no clue how she's still conscious.

As we play, I try to keep the conversation away from anything that will remind Crystal of Jenna. Mostly, I needle Crystal with questions about D and D. For a while, my plan works. But then Crystal gets full-blown drunk, and at one point during the second game bursts into tears.

I console her the best I can, but I'm a failure. I was never the one my friends went to for comfort after a break-up, and I don't have enough personal experience to pull wisdom from. My one and only relationship ended on good terms.

Crystal rubs her snot-covered nose. "What did we do w-wrong?"

I shrug. "Sometimes people...uh...drift apart. No one's at fault."

"But everything was fine before I left f-for Paris."

I doubt that. The way Adam and Jenna fought told me they had serious problems for a few months, at the least. Maybe both put on a front for Crystal, but neither seems the type to hide their feelings. Crystal had to have suspicions. She's too smart to not see the obvious.

I think of my parents. My father should have caught on to my mother's spending and hoarding problem, no matter how busy he got over the years. My mother hid it from him, but not with any skill.

No, even smart people run from reality.

"I'm sorry," I tell Crystal, unable to think of anything better to say.

Crystal drinks the rest of the wine straight from the bottle. "It'll get...b-better...right?"

"If you want it to."

Crystal's brow furrows and I want to kick myself. That's not what upset people want to hear. They need reassurance, especially when the unhappy person is your boss.

"I, uh, meant you will--"

"Can you help me to bed?"

I set aside the wine bottle. "Sure."

I pull Crystal to her feet and half-drag her to the bed. Crystal doesn't bother to assist, but I don't expect her to. The fact Crystal can still form intelligible words surprises me.

As I tuck the comforter around her, Crystal reaches up and grasps my face between her hands. In an instant, she brings me close and kisses me on the lips. Shock freezes me in place.

Crystal pulls away with a smile. "I knew they'd feel like that."

She sighs, closes her eyes, and falls back against her mattress.

The snoring that quickly follows makes me jump. In a daze, I take care of the game and turn off Crystal's light. Then I drift across the hall to the guest bedroom where I know I won't sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

I crack open an egg the way Tyson taught me into the large bowl in front of me. I toss the eggshells away and wash my hands. Then I mix together the eggs with the other ingredients in the bowl and soon have a perfect pancake batter.

I don't think about my actions as I make breakfast. My mind hasn't moved away from the kiss last night. I don't yet know how to feel about it.

On the one hand, it upsets me. Crystal's girlfriend just broke up with her. Kissing me was likely an accident, and I've been one-too-many people's rebound flings to like the situation.

But though the kiss tasted of fruity wine going sour, it was one of the best I've ever had. Crystal's lips were soft but firm, and I instantly wanted another. Hell, once my surprise melted away, I considered propositioning Crystal for more than a simple make-out session. But I can't go after someone in distress, especially not when they're drunk, too.

So, where does that leave me? Do I bring it up to Crystal, to Adam? If I do, what will I want their response to be? Am I better off keeping my mouth shut? Can I pretend like nothing happened?

The questions weigh heavily on me, and I wish I had someone to talk to. Since moving to Derbinwood, I haven't spoken much to my friends back home. My days are so busy with work and improving my baking skill, I barely find time to sleep. Yes, I've made new friends in Tyson and Molly, but I don't feel comfortable telling them about my dilemma with my bosses. Aunt Veronica won't be any help, either.

I ladle the pancake batter onto the preheated griddle and sigh. "What do I do?"

"You're cooking?" Crystal's voice calls from the kitchen doorway. "For me? Even though I acted like an ass?"

My heart picks up pace at the sight of Crystal. She's showered and now wears a blue summer dress I've seen before, but I never noticed how well it fits Crystal until now. She hasn't put on makeup yet, and she looks like she didn't have a comfortable night, but that doesn't diminish her God-given beauty.

"Uh, yeah. I hope you like pancakes."

Crystal gets herself and me a glass of orange juice. "I'd take almost anything. I didn't eat much yesterday."

I flip the two cooked pancakes onto a waiting plate and go to butter them, but Crystal beats me to it. "Can't say I blame you," I say as I put more batter on the griddle. "I'm surprised you have much of an appetite today."

Crystal shrugs. "I'll get sick if I don't have food. What good will being more miserable do me?"

"True." I turn the pancakes and decide to change topics. "Have you heard from Adam?"

"Yep. He called me just a little while ago to say he reached Oklahoma City fine."

"What about his Mom?"

"She was still in surgery when we talked, so I don't know. The doctor didn't really tell him much."

I gesture for the plate of finished pancakes and add the new ones to the stack. I start more. "What exactly happened? He mentioned an accident but didn't elaborate."

"A truck ran a red light and struck her."

"Oh, shit!"

Crystal retrieves the maple syrup and guava jelly from the refrigerator. "Yeah, Janice's car is wrecked."

"Did anyone else get hurt?"

Crystal shakes her head. "No, just Janice and the truck's driver."

I place the third batch of pancakes onto the others and turn off the griddle. More batter remains, but I know Crystal, on a good day, will only eat three pancakes, and I don't feel too hungry. I don't think I'll down one, but I need food as severely as Crystal does.

Crystal separates the buttered pancakes into two stacks and puts one on a new plate which she gives to me. I drip a little maple syrup on them, though I want more. Usually, I drench my pancakes in syrup, but I don't want Crystal to think I'm a pig.

"There isn't a syrup shortage," Crystal says as she smears guava jelly onto her pancakes. "Use more."

I pour a bit more on my stack, and Crystal frowns. After Crystal finishes with the jelly, she covers her pancakes in at least a cup of syrup. She winks at me before passing me silverware.

We dig into our breakfast, and conversation wanes. Occasionally, one of us will make a comment, about the food or the sight outside the window, but nothing that leads to a full-blown discussion. To me, it seems we both make it a point to avoid anything serious.

As the meal continues, I examine my feelings for Crystal. I never considered her a romantic prospect before last night, so what does that mean? Can one kiss change my previous idea of Crystal? Do I deep down crave physical attention that much, no matter from whom? Is that what my reaction was?

"You know, I really have to thank you," Crystal says, and cuts her remaining pancake into three smaller pieces.

I find it difficult to look Crystal in the eye, but I manage. "For?"

"It was lovely of you to come over last night and be with me."

"Well, Adam did promise a hefty bonus."

Crystal offers a half-smile. "You definitely earned it." She grabs my hand and my stomach knots. "What you did means the world to me."

"Oh, I, uh, don't--It was no problem, really."

Crystal squeezes my fingers. "Is there any way I can repay you?"

Another kiss would be nice.

The thought drifts into my mind so fast I almost utter it out of sheer shock. At the last moment, I catch it, and instead say, "No, I don't need anything."

"How about a couple of days off? Paid, of course."

"But what about--" I think over my next statement with care. "Uh, won't it be...lonely while Adam's out of town?"

Crystal removes her hand. "I think...some quiet time is what I need. I seem okay right now, but you saw me last night. There's much more of that to come until I feel better. You don't need to be subjected to that rollercoaster. It's never pretty." Her gaze drifts away from me. "Plus, I have a habit of saying or doing stupid things while in that state."

So, Crystal does remember the kiss, and she considers it stupid. My sinuses burn, and it takes all my self-control to not cry.

Why wouldn't Crystal think the kiss was a foolish error, though? She doesn't want me, and even if she does, she wouldn't consider it just after Jenna left. Crystal isn't the type of person to hurry from one person to the next.

Where was my common sense the past few hours? What possessed me to fixate on that kiss for so long? Why did I act worse than a teenager with my first crush?

I pick up my empty plate and glass, glad for the distraction. "Um, do you want me to do the dishes?"

"Only if you want to."

I place the dishes in the sink and turn to almost face Crystal. "I'm not sure--I think my aunt would like me to...get home."

Crystal nods. "Then don't worry about it. I'll take care of everything."

I march toward the front door. "Thanks. I, uh, hope you...feel better."

Crystal grunts a nonsensical reply.

It amazes me that I manage to avoid sobbing until after I pull away from the Kings' house.

Chapter Fourteen

Adam returns home three days later; his mother on the quick road to recovery. Before his arrival, Crystal calls me and asks for help getting the house back in order. At first, I want to refuse. I still feel out of sorts about the kiss Crystal regretted, and I don't think it wise to show my face. I don't want to risk crying or saying something idiotic.

Then Aunt Veronica sticks her head in my room and demands to know when my lazy ass will get out of the house. That decides me, and I get ready for work. I swear I see my great aunt smile at me before I leave.

During the trip to the Kings', my mind whirls. What if the situation gets so awkward, I quit, or the Kings fire me? Despite the hell Jenna put me through, I enjoy housekeeping. The job keeps me busy, but not so much I ever grow overwhelmed. Most days, I hardly have to focus on the tasks to complete them and instead think about new recipes or questions I'll ask Tyson at the next cooking class. If I must change professions, will I still have that luxury?

At the Kings' house, I swallow my apprehension and go inside; convinced I can handle whatever happens. Crystal greets me with a warm smile and swears she's gotten over most of the initial sadness of Jenna's leaving. Crystal does look in a better state, and though I want to discuss the kiss, it's easier than I feared to ignore it and go on as if nothing odd occurred between us.

As we finish cleaning, Adam arrives, and life falls back into a familiar routine.

***

Without Jenna, I don't dread work and relax further around the Kings. We speak more often, and I come to think of them both as friends. Occasionally, I can't help wondering about the kiss, but I don't let it dampen my mood. The Kings make it clear they want nothing more than friendship from me.

Or that's what I believe until the middle of October, and I start to notice them watching me more. When they catch me staring, they look away. Often Crystal will start and stop a conversation, then giggle nonstop until she leaves the room. Adam has returned to finding an excuse to touch me whenever we speak. More than once, they invite me out for drinks after work.

I never take them up on their offers, not because I don't want to but because I worry I've read too much into their actions. All sense points to the Kings flirting with me, but I don't trust my assumptions. I want their romantic attention, so maybe I'm making it up. I'm pathetic enough to create a fantasy.

***

The Wednesday before Halloween, I sit out on the back patio with Crystal. Crystal skipped work for a dentist appointment, and after she returned, convinced me to forgo my duties to help her finalize the plans for the Kings' upcoming Halloween party. We order Chinese food and spend more time joking around than talking about the party.

"By the end, Mr. Mavenrick's beard looked like a chopped salad," I say, regaling Crystal with a tale from last week's cooking class.

Crystal shakes her head as she spears a piece of broccoli. "No one said anything to the poor man?"

"It didn't matter. As soon as he removed one food item, three more took its place." I smile. "At least he had a sense of humor about it."

"You'd have to if you were that messy." Just then, a piece of beef tumbles off Crystal's fork and down the front of her expensive shirt. She groans. "Speaking of which..."

I hand her a handful of napkins. Crystal thanks me and wipes at the sauce trail. It helps, but the shirt needs serious care or else the stain will become permanent.

"Can I throw that in the wash for you?"

Crystal sighs. "You know, I'd like to get through one meal without needing a bib." She shimmies out of her shirt, and I glance away. The tank top Crystal wears underneath hugs her subtle curves, and the pastel shade makes her skin glow. "I appreciate it."

I take the shirt. "No problem."

I dash into the house and toss the shirt in with the clothes I planned to start before I played hooky with Crystal. I take my time starting the load, then walk at a snail's pace back to the patio.

Crystal's cheeks look flushed when I approach. Her eyes won't meet mine. "You take such good care of me."

I reclaim my seat and pick at my sesame chicken. "Well, I, uh, like to."

"Yeah..." The silence stretches for a minute before Crystal focuses on me, wearing a giant smile. "Hey, are you busy this weekend?"

"Besides setting up for your party, no."

Crystal shakes her head. "Oh, no. You're not doing that."

"I'm pretty good at it..."

"I can't have my guests doing that."

I pause poking my food. "Guests?"

Crystal nods. "Adam and I want you to come and have fun."

"Are you serious?"

"Yep." Crystal studies me. "I have a couple of costumes you could fit into."

"You just keep a number on hand?"

Crystal smirks. "They serve multiple purposes."

I blush. "Uh..." I bury my attention in my food.

Crystal laughs. "So, will you attend?"

"Yeah, sure."

***

My cheeks still feel hot when I return to Aunt Veronica's later in the day, and I completely ignore the unfamiliar car in the driveway. I can't stop thinking about Crystal in cute outfits, and more than once I even envision Adam in a costume. I tell myself to ignore my thoughts, but the more I try, the more vivid they get. By the time I'm standing at the front door my underwear is soaked, and not for the first time since taking notice of my attraction to the Kings, I need to do more than wash in the shower.

"Hey, I'm taking a shower," I call as I approach the bathroom.

"How about you hold off on that for a minute?" Aunt Veronica responds. "You need to come into the kitchen."

I sigh but comply. If I don't, my great aunt will stand outside the door while I bathe and talk nonstop. Also, if Aunt Veronica suspects I crave alone time (though I pray my great aunt never knows when I'm horny), she might bother me until I go to bed.

Aunt Veronica sits at the kitchen table and faces me. A second person accompanies her but has their back turned. No folders cover the table, and Aunt Veronica doesn't look too pleased with her guest.

I move faster toward the kitchen. Maybe an old, disgruntled client has dropped in and holds Aunt Veronica hostage. I glance around for an item suitable to defend myself and Aunt Veronica if it comes to that. The only noteworthy object I spot is the butter dish on the counter across from the refrigerator. I reach for it as I pass.

Aunt Veronica frowns. "What are you doing?"

I push the butter dish away. "Nothing. Um, what do you want?"

Aunt Veronica gestures for me to get closer. "You need to say hello to our new housemate."

I scramble to the table; my thoughts spinning. A new housemate? My great aunt hasn't hinted someone will move in. "I wish you would have told m--"

The breath catches in my throat as I spy the newcomer, a woman in her late twenties. She hasn't bathed in days if not weeks. She smells sour, and dirt clings to her gaunt face and too-thin arms. The woman's dark brown hair hangs in uneven strips, and circles so prominent they look drawn on ring her green eyes--the only trait she inherited from our mother.

"Oh, Nicole..."

The words tumble out of me and carry the full weight of my surprised pity and deep-rooted disgust. My sister looks like a warm corpse, almost unrecognizable, and I have trouble believing this ghost used to be one of my closest friends. How could Nicole do this to herself?

Nicole grimaces. "I know I'm not...well."

I glance at Aunt Veronica. "Why would you want a druggie living here?" I point at the needle marks on Nicole's arms. "Some of those look fresh. I bet she's got a stash of heroin on her right now."

Terror contorts Nicole's sickly features. "No!" She grasps Aunt Veronica's hands. "I swear it's all gone. Check my car if you want."

Aunt Veronica shakes her head. "It's okay. I wouldn't have let you in my house if I thought you had any drugs with you." She fixes me with a seething glare. "I expected better from you."

"Me? Do you know how she's lived the past eight years?"

"She can't want to change?"

"I do," Nicole says, and tries to smile at me, but the movement makes her appear more grotesque than ever. "I want a better life."

I roll my eyes. "How many times have you told that to Mom?"

"I mean it this time!" Tears spill down Nicole's cheeks. "I'll die if I continue like this, and I don't--I just want to get my life on track."

"Sure."

Aunt Veronica snaps her fingers at me. "Hey, she's staying here. If you don't like it, you can go."

"But--" I groan. "What if she falls off the wagon? Or turns this place into a drug den?"

Aunt Veronica squeezes Nicole's fingers, and then says, "It won't happen," with conviction so strong God would believe her.

I march out of the kitchen and to my bedroom. "You're making a mistake," I say before slamming my door shut.

Chapter Fifteen

Hell would have been preferable to the two days that follow.

Nicole sleeps all of twenty minutes in those forty-eight hours, and I'm lucky if I got half of that. For the first day, my sister paces the house. Whenever she crosses me or Aunt Veronica, Nicole pleads for us to take away her pain, the pain, she says, has infected her bones. Aunt Veronica allows her a few ibuprofens but otherwise keeps the more intense medication locked away (including the pain pills her doctor prescribed for her cancer. Nicole swears multiple times Aunt Veronica doesn't have to worry about theft, but before I leave for work the first day, I catch my sister nosing through cabinets and drawers).

The second day, Nicole hurls abuses and can't stop shivering, even covered in three blankets. More than once, violent leg spasms make Nicole trip. Most times she catches herself, but the times she can't result in large bruises and a cut on her chin that bleeds for hours.

Throughout it all, Aunt Veronica remains calm and acts as if her life hasn't taken a dramatic change. She keeps a close eye on Nicole but doesn't hover. Aunt Veronica talks to Nicole like she would me and doesn't let any strange comments brought on by the withdrawal faze her.

I wish for my great aunt's patience. I hate being at the house, and almost cry when I must leave work at the end of my shift. Unfortunately, Adam and Crystal stay late at their jobs both Thursday and Friday, and I don't feel comfortable remaining at the Kings' without them. I do my best to avoid Nicole, but when I can't, my words come out short and thick with malice. Aunt Veronica reprimands me, yet it does nothing to alter my tone.

On Saturday morning, just as I'm about to fall into a deep sleep, my bedroom door bursts open. I leap out of bed and switch on the light in time to witness Nicole vomit all over my floor. The crackers Aunt Veronica coaxed Nicole to eat splatter in every direction; the mushy chunks cling to ever surface.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Nicole bawls and stumbles toward me; her feet trek through the vomit. "Help me."

I flatten myself against the wall. "Stop! Ugh, it's going everywhere."

Nicole reaches for me. "P-please. I need--"

"Get the fuck out of here!"

"What's going on?" Aunt Veronica demands from the doorway. She already wears a plaid dress and flats, which doesn't surprise me.

"Look at the mess she made!"

Nicole stops inches from me and covers her face with her hands. Her wailing dissolves into wet hiccups. Every three seconds she moans about "the ache".

Aunt Veronica edges her way into the room. "It wasn't on purpose, you know that."

"She shouldn't fucking be here."

Aunt Veronica's footsteps pause. Red stains her cheeks, and she looks like she wants to set me on fire with her eyes. "Your sister came here for much the same reason you did."

I snort. "Did I destroy your house?"

"No, but you've made Hoss mighty uncomfortable."

"Oh, fuck your stupid cat!"

Aunt Veronica gestures at the door before she eases Nicole into her arms. "Out, and I don't want you back here unless you can act like less of a bitch."

"Fine."

I charge past my great aunt and sister and almost step on Hoss, who has decided to sprawl out before the front door. He hisses and runs for the bathroom. I slip on my shoes and thunder outside, hop in my car, and speed out of the driveway.

Once away from Aunt Veronica's, I let out the scream I've suppressed since Nicole's arrival. Unintelligible curses follow, with an encore of tears. I have to park on a secluded, dead-end road when my vision blurs.

How can I be considered the bad guy for getting pissed at Nicole for waking me up and vomiting? Yes, I upset Aunt Veronica's life when I arrived, but I didn't tear it to ruins like Nicole has in under seventy-two hours. Plus, I've made myself useful. What can Nicole do while she attempts to overcome her heroin addiction?

Part of me wants to sympathize with my sister. Though Nicole has made her own trouble, I don't like seeing her suffer. As much as I try to ignore it, the thought that withdrawal can kill Nicole hovers in the back of my mind. Also, what if my sister has done permanent damage to herself?

What will become of Nicole?

As my temper cools, my rotten attitude collapses into regret. All I've wanted for years is for Nicole to overcome her demons, and here I am acting against my sister's best efforts. How can Nicole get better if everyone turns their backs on her?

I consider returning to my great aunt's house but can't muster the courage. What if Aunt Veronica won't let me back in? What if my lousy behavior rears its ugly head again, and I make the situation a million times worse?

No, I'll wait a bit before going back. I turn on my car radio and adjust my seat into a better position. I close my eyes and fall asleep.

***

Hunger forces me awake around four in the afternoon. I jerk to consciousness with a start, and it takes a heart-stopping five seconds for me to realize why I've come to in my car on a random dirt road. Once I get my bearings, I decide to head over to the Kings for the party. While I feel calmer than I have for days, I figure Nicole and Aunt Veronica can use more time away from me.

The Halloween party won't start until eight tonight, but I can lend a hand with any last-minute details. Also, Crystal asked me to arrive early so she can help me create the perfect costume.

People mill about the yard when I arrive. Some bedeck the shrubs so it looks like the mythical creatures wear costumes. Others make the outside of the house resemble a haunted house. Crystal wanted to turn the house into one or create a murder mystery for the guests to solve, but anything other than cheesy Halloween decorations freaks Adam out.

A few of the workers give me an odd look when I pass them, but I can't figure out why until Adam answers the front door. He cocks an eyebrow and flashes a bright smile.

"Now that's a costume! Though the shoes throw it off a little."

"What..." I glance at my outfit and squeak. I forgot I ran out of my great aunt's this morning without changing, so I now stand on my bosses' doorstep in nothing but a green and silver negligee. "Oh, this is an accident. I didn't--My day started out strange."

Adam's smile widens. "Seems so."

I blush, unable to meet Adam's eye. "I'm sorry. I can go home and--No, never mind. I can't."

Adam takes my hand, and the sudden contact draws my attention to his face. Concern replaces his amusement. "Is everything all right?"

I sigh. "I've made a complete ass of myself."

"Well, how 'bout you explain it to me. Crystal's in the shower right now, and she'll kill me if we start looking for a costume for you without her."

"You're going to help?"

Adam pulls me into the house and herds me into the living room. "Of course. Who do you think is going to do the required makeup?"

I sit on the plush sofa. "Um, I believed Crystal would..."

Adam chuckles. "She can do her everyday makeup, but costume makeup is a whole other story. I have to say, I'm not too shabby."

"How'd you get so good at it?'

"My mom used to do it for a living--in Hollywood. She left the profession once she met my dad, but she taught my two sisters and me."

"So, why don't you do that instead of financial reporting?"

"What can I say? Crunching numbers is my passion."

I snort. "Some passion."

Adam shrugs but grins. "Anyway, would you like anything to drink? Maybe a snack? Though nothing too heavy. Crystal had the caterer make a couple of things especially for you, and she'll be upset if you can't eat them."

The admittance flatters me, and a warmth pools in my stomach that I know my cheeks reflect. I focus on my lap. "Uh, I'd like some tea and crackers, if you don't mind."

"No problem."

In Adam's brief absence, I will myself to calm down. Hearing Crystal did a kind act shouldn't affect me so. It doesn't have any significance. Friends do sweet deeds for one another all the time.

After Adam returns with my food and tea, and I consumed a good portion, he asks me about why I arrived in my night clothes. I don't like admitting what an ass I was, but I hate lying to Adam more. I lay out the entire story, as far back as Nicole's leaving because of my father's refusal to accept his eldest daughter's life choice.

Adam listens without comment.

"Am I as bad as my dad?" I ask at my tale's end.

"You plan on apologizing to your sister and aunt, right?"

"Once everything cools down."

"Then no. He sounds incapable of acknowledging his personal failures."

I agree, but I know I've toed the line the past few days. Even though I still love the man with all my heart, I don't want to turn into my father. If he continues as he is, he'll only have his job and colleagues to keep him company.

A brief thought occurs to me: What if my father wants that?

Adam retakes my hand. "Why don't we go see if Crystal's out of the shower? She should be by now."

I nod and let him lead me upstairs.

Chapter Sixteen

With the Kings' assistance, I choose a mermaid costume. Only gloves accompany the skin-tight leotard. Crystal offers me high heels, but I settle for flats. I've never liked high heels and if I wear them, I'll end up falling and twisting her ankle.

While Adam covers my face in swirling colors that compliment the metallics in the costume, Crystal curls my hair. She doesn't believe me when I tell her my hair will need a sea of hairspray to hold body, but she quickly realizes the truth. Somehow, Crystal wrangles my locks into submission, though I warn her, my hair will be flat half-way through the party.

"We'll just have to slow dance then," Crystal whispers in my ear, and a chill scurries up my spine.

He can't have heard his wife, but Adam smirks like has.

"Beautiful," the Kings say in unison once they complete their tasks a few minutes later.

Adam turns me to face the bedroom's floor-length mirror. I can't believe how good the Kings have made me look, especially Adam's attention to detail. Due to his careful hand, delicate scales frame my eyes and dust my bare shoulders. He's performed magic on my lips and they now look plump.

I don't know if I resemble a mermaid, but I sure appear otherworldly.

"You guys are incredible," I gush and kiss both the Kings' cheeks before I realize what I've done. I step back so fast I almost stumble. "Uh, thank you."

The Kings glance at each other before smiling at me. "You're welcome," they respond as one.

"So, uh..." I start for the bedroom door. "I'll just let you guys get ready."

I don't wait for their comment and run down to the first floor. There, to keep my mind from my embarrassment, I help the caterer set up. I discover Crystal ordered mini fish tacos and lemon cheesecake bites, two of my favorite foods I causally told Crystal about months ago.

The sight of the simple party food flatters me more than it should, but I can't help it. Not even my mother, with her excellent memory, can remember my likes and dislikes with food since they don't coincide with hers.

By the time all the food is arranged, and the drinks are chilling, the Kings make their entrance. Crystal looks like a painting brought to life in her tight, Grecian-inspired dress and sandals. Subtle shimmer makeup draws attention to her high cheekbones and round eyes, and she's even put some on her chest to emphasize her cleavage. Adam has decided to dress like a fireman, though one about to be photographed for a sexy calendar. His lanky body doesn't have the hard muscles of those models, but the costume emphasizes his pleasing shape nonetheless.

The Kings strike silly poses when they see me eyeing them.

"How do we look?" Adam asks.

I chuckle. "Wonderful."

Crystal tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Of course, we do." She smiles, and then races to me. She points at the food. "Have you tried anything yet?"

I shake my head. "I'd thought I'd wait until everyone else arrives."

Crystal picks up a stuffed mushroom and pops it into her mouth. "Why? I never do," she says while chewing.

Adam appears beside us and rolls his eyes at his wife. "Ah, the most proper of gracious hostesses."

Crystal sticks her tongue out at him. "Hey, I paid for this. I should be able to--"

The doorbell rings (it's been changed to The Munsters theme song for the occasion).

Crystal smirks. "Besides, the party's started."

***

In quick session, the party hits full swing. Though the Kings only invited twenty of their closest friends, the first floor seems full of people, yet never feels crowded. Various Halloween music can be heard, except in the living room. There, everything has been cleared away to leave a bare dance floor, and music intended to make bodies move blares. After a few mixed drinks, many couples display their dance skill or lack of.

For the first hour, the Kings introduce me to all their friends. Many offer me warm smiles and kind words about my costume. One woman dressed like a tattered Raggedy Ann doll, though, examines me like she would a roach she just crushed with her shoe, then flicks her attention to the Kings.

"Have you heard about Jenna?"

Crystal chokes on her drink.

Adam glares at the woman. "No, and we don't care." He steers me and Crystal away from the horrid bitch. When enough distance has been made, he checks his wife. "Are you okay?"

Crystal waves him away. "I just--It's been a while since--I'm okay."

"I'm going to get you some water, okay?"

"If it'll make you feel better."

"Yeah." Adam looks at me. "Can I get you anything?"

"One of those apple drinks would be nice."

Adam leaves.

I touch Crystal's arm. Her face has yet to regain color, and her eyes glisten with tears. I wish I could get my hands on that woman, and Jenna, for the two of them making Crystal feel so terrible.

"What a friend," I snarl before I can stop myself.

"I should have known Lila would say something."

"Why invite her then?"

Crystal shrugs. "Wishful thinking that she wouldn't." She takes two deep breaths. "Sorry."

"For?"

"It's been months, and I shouldn't have reacted like that." Crystal frowns. "It's not even like I want Jenna back or anything. Most days I don't think about her. But Lila asks one question, and it upsets me."

"Setbacks are expected. You did date her for a long time."

Crystal shakes her head. "It's not that." Her gaze drops to the floor. "I just don't want...you to think...I still care about Jenna."

The statement floors me, but Adam arrives before I can sort through how it makes me feel, and how I should respond. He watches us sip our drinks, then we talk to more of the Kings' friends. Crystal acts as though she didn't make that confession, but she holds my hand the entire time.

I try to pay attention to the conversations the Kings drag me into, but my mind can't focus on anything other than Crystal's previous statement. Why would it matter what I think of Crystal still caring about Jenna? Is it possible I haven't imagined the Kings' flirting the past weeks? Did that kiss mean more than Crystal let on?

Should I ask? What about flirting? To an extent, I have been, but it hasn't been intentional. Should I try? Would it be inappropriate to do at their party? What if I embarrass them in front of their friends?

With my thoughts elsewhere, I don't notice a woman in a Phoenix costume trip until the last second. I can't move away fast enough, and the woman's drink splashes over the front of my leotard. Ice works its way down my cleavage, and I yelp.

"Oh, shit!" the woman cries.

"No! No, it's fine," I say as I squirm. The ice has traveled from my breasts to rest around my bellybutton.

"I got this," Crystal says and tugs me toward the downstairs bathroom. Once there, she shuts the door and grabs the hand towel hanging on a rack by the sink. "Let me get that."

"Okay."

Crystal dabs at the liquid on my front. Luckily, the woman wasn't drinking any alcohol, just flavored seltzer water. I'll smell like blackberries for the rest of the night, but I won't mind.

Crystal finishes and points at my cleavage. "I thought I saw--Do you want me to--I mean--Here." She shoves the towel into my grasp. "I guess I'll let you...get the rest."

I take Crystal's hand and stop her exit. "Why, uh, does my opinion about how you feel about Jenna matter so much?"

Crystal's gaze rests on my chin. "Well, because of how she treated you..."

"What about--" I swallow hard. If I utter my next question, there's no going back. But I can't continue in limbo any longer. "Did that kiss mean anything?"

Crystal mouths "that kiss" and closes her eyes. "Yes."

My heart skips a beat. "Seriously?"

Crystal nods, her eyes still shut. "I'd been thinking about you a lot, long before Jenna left. That's why I felt so guilty. I'd thought I'd pushed her away, but our relationship had been on the rocks for some time. I know I shouldn't have kissed you then." Crystal's eyes open, and a soft smile shadows her lips. "But I'm so glad I did."

My head spins. No, this must be a dream. Maybe I still nap in my car on that backroad. Crystal didn't just admit what I've wanted to hear for weeks.

Yet I can't deny the truth when Crystal kisses me. Even in my wildest dreams, I never imagined Crystal's soft, sure lips in such detail. The kiss steals my breath, and it's every bit as wonderful as our first.

Once my initial surprise wears off, I return the intensity, and Crystal moans. The sound shoots a jolt of warmth to my lower stomach and encourages my hands to roam Crystal's body. Crystal presses against me and tangles her fingers in my hair.

Just then the door opens, and a man fumbling with his zipper bursts inside. We jump apart. The man looks between us, blushes as he mumbles an apology, and leaves.

Crystal giggles.

I clear my throat and smooth down my hair. "I think we've been gone, um, a little too...yeah."

Crystal checks her makeup in the mirror before intertwining her fingers with mine. "Let's party."

Chapter Seventeen

The next three hours pass in a pleasant blur. I overeat, have one too many mixed drinks, and dance with several guests. Except when a slow song comes on. Then either Adam or Crystal holds me close.

Either Adam guesses, or Crystal told her husband about what happened in the bathroom because his flirting hits an all-time high. His brief touches turn to long caresses that make me shiver. When we dance, he whispers in my ear. By the end of the party, I can't remember what Adam said, just how it brought heat to my cheeks. On two occasions I think Adam will kiss me, but he only teases the idea.

During the party, I'm drunk off my giddiness, but it passes once the guests start to leave. Doubt sets in. What do I do now? I don't want to look foolish or too needy by asking to stay the night, but I don't want to go home.

As the Kings thank their guests and wish them a good night, I switch over into housekeeping mode. The partygoers haven't made a terrible mess, but it'll still take a few hours to get the house proper. None of the hired help stayed, so I set to work taking care of the food and picking up the garbage.

I just got the Lysol wipes to clean up the splatters of food on the tables it all sat on when Adam appears. He laughs as he watches me work.

"What are you doing?"

"My job."

Adam smirks. "Is that what you really want to do?"

I stare at Adam. No, we both know exactly what I'd rather do. "But things will get gross if not cleaned."

Adam takes away the Lysol wipes and puts them out of my reach. "Things will get sorted out tomorrow." He grasps my hand. "Come with me."

His voice has turned rough and thick, and I wouldn't have been able to resist his command even if I wanted to. As he leads me upstairs, his free hand drifts over my breasts and ass. Tingles travel from the top of my head to my toes, and what bashfulness infected me as the party wound down disappears. If I didn't know from experience how uncomfortable stair sex is, I would take Adam right here.

In the Kings' bedroom, Crystal sprawls out on their bed and wears only her lacy blue bra and panties. She smiles wide when we appear. "Well, it's about time. Where were you hiding?"

Adam directs me to the bed. "Silly thing was cleaning."

Crystal rises to rest on her knees in front of me. She takes my head between her hands. "You're a dork, you know that?"

"Me? I'm not the one with--"

Crystal crushes her lips to mine, and I forget how to form words.

As Crystal makes-out with me, Adam kisses and strokes my neck. At first, I think he's just caressing my body until my leotard falls from my body. Underneath, I have on only panties (I couldn't have worn a bra with my costume even if I could fit into Crystal's D-cups). Adam's big hands cup my breasts. He twists and pulls on my nipples when I press my ass against his erection.

"Pull harder," I demand after a moment.

After a few trials, I learned I'm one of those women who need a lot of aggressive handling to get any satisfaction from my breasts and nipples being played with. One of my partners even used chip bag clips on me once, which I loved, but I worry what the Kings will think of me if I ask Adam to do the same.

Adam hesitates for a second, and I'm mortified to think I've pushed him out of his comfort zone. Then he tugs with incredible force, better than any chip bag clip, and I moan against Crystal's mouth.

Crystal's kissing drops from my mouth to between my legs. She teases me by keeping my panties in place, which drives me nuts. I go to remove the constricting fabric, but Crystal laughs and slaps my hands away. Just when I can't take it anymore, Crystal drops the hindering material and eats me out properly.

I throw my head back against Adam, and he captures my lips with his. Our first kiss doesn't sucker punch me like the ones I've shared with Crystal did, but what Adam lacks in skill he makes up for with enthusiasm. It helps that I don't mind that he tastes of the Swedish meatballs he'd consumed by the bucketful.

Just as I near climax, Adam, and Crystal move away.

"Hey!" I say, my voice thick with passion. "W-why?"

Crystal smiles; her mouth and chin wet from me. "Can't have you tap out too quickly, can we?"

I want to protest, but Crystal kisses me again and pulls me down on top of her as she lies on the bed. Once on top of Crystal, I straddle her and work on unhooking the front of her bra, a feat I've never been able to accomplish, even with my own bras. Today, luck is on my side, and I free Crystal's round, tan breasts without too much hassle. Crystal rewards my success by sucking and nibbling on my lower lip, which draws a rough growl from me.

I take Crystal's nipple in my mouth and flick it with the tip of my tongue. Crystal moans and then gasps when my fingers slip inside her panties and work with mad intent. The smug glint in Crystal's eyes when she rejoiced in my previous pouting disappears.

From my peripheral vision, I see Adam has stripped naked and stands by the side of the bed. He strokes himself, and I do a doubletake. The length of his member is nothing to write home about, but can a dick really be that thick? Has the alcohol messed with my ability to judge size?

"Looks fun, doesn't it?" Crystal asks; her attention on her husband.

"Terrifying, actually."

Crystal snorts. "You don't think that once it's in you."

"Speaking off..." Adam slips on a condom and crawls onto the bed. He maneuvers me into doggy-style between Crystal's legs and grips my hips. "Ready?"

"I...Yes?"

"Here." Adam gently prods me. "Feel okay?"

Already, he fills me as no other man has, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable. "Oh, yeah."

Adam presses further, and a wave of ecstasy crashes into me. I grab Crystal's thighs to remain steady.

"Just a little bit more...There. How are you doing?"

At a loss for words, I grind against Adam. A throaty sigh escapes him, and Crystal giggles. In revenge for earlier, I press my face to Crystal's center and display a talent with my tongue I never brag about outside of the bedroom.

As I work Crystal into a frenzy, Adam's tempo increases. With each thrust, my body shudders, and it takes all my concentration to not abandon Crystal to fully revel in the sensations rocking me.

Without warning and all at once, my tense muscles release in a sweet, nerve-tingling wave, and I push back hard on Adam.

"Oh, shit!"

He comes a second later, and another powerful orgasm hits me, yet I don't stop tending to Crystal. At this point, Crystal has her hands tangled in my hair and rides my face as hard as Adam did me. Two minutes after me and Adam, Crystal climaxes. I continue to taste her as Crystal falls from her high.

"Enough," Crystal finally cries.

I nip her inner thigh as Adam pulls out of me. "You sure?"

Adam slaps my ass. "Be nice, or I'll make you go again." His dick throbs with the idea.

The thought of another session so close to the first exhausts me, and I move, so I rest next to Crystal. "Fine. I'll behave."

Crystal snuggles close to me. "There's always tomorrow, though."

"Yeah?"

Crystal nods. "I can't--" She yawns.

Adam tosses the condom into a trashcan by the bed. "We've had a night. How about sleep?" He turns off the lamp on the nightstand without confirmation and takes the other spot next to me. He throws his arm around my waist, and from the movements I feel, I know he's intertwined his fingers with Crystal's.

Not long after I hear the heavy snores from Crystal and the deep breathing from Adam, I pass out.

Chapter Eighteen

Around noon the next day, I wake sandwiched between the Kings. I shimmy off the bed with as little disturbance to the couple as possible and go to the guest bedroom. There I piss, wash my face, and tame my tangled hair the best I can with my fingers. Done, I debate about what to wear. My negligee is lost in the depths of Crystal's walk-in closet, and I don't want to put on my costume from last night.

Then I remember how Jenna always insisted the guest bedroom be kept like an upscale hotel room, a complimentary bathrobe included. If the Kings haven't changed anything since I last cleaned the room, it should still hang in the closet. A quick look reveals my good fortune, and five minutes later I putter around the kitchen as I ready coffee and omelets.

While I chop leftover vegetables from the party, I recall the juicer parts of the previous night. Even being pleasantly sore from the thorough fucking, it still seems like a dream. Can the Kings really desire me as I do them? How can I be this blessed?

A question strikes me as I add cheese to Adam's omelet. What happens after this point? In my fantasies, I never get past sleeping with the Kings. Now that I've obtained my goal, I feel as lost as I did when I first discovered I lusted after the Kings. Will they only want sex, or will they propose a more profound relationship? Do I crave anything more from the Kings?

I consider this all through toasting and buttering a stack of toast. Honest with myself, the thought of entering any relationship, let alone with two people, scares me. I have little experience, and I don't want to hurt the Kings. Plus, I don't plan on staying in Derbinwood forever. One day I'll return to Hillsborough, either because I've made up with my father or to rub it in his face that he was wrong about my decisions.

If I date the Kings, what will they do once I decide to leave?

Yet, do I want to pass up on the opportunity to be with the Kings?

Though I've only dreamt of sex, I wouldn't have if I didn't enjoy their company. First and foremost, I consider Crystal and Adam friends. They've been there for me when no one else has, and they've helped me more than I ever thought possible. Why wouldn't I want to be with people like them?

I stack the food, coffee, and tea (for me) on a tray, and my thoughts continue to whirl. Of course, I could be worrying for naught. Maybe the Kings don't want more from me than what they've already gotten. Can I handle that scenario?

A bit dejected, I carry the tray up to the Kings' bedroom. I walk in on the Kings talking in low voices, both still naked on their bed. They stop and wave at me as I approach.

"Hey," Crystal says. "Is that breakfast?"

"More like lunch."

Adam leaps up and took the tray from me. "Go sit. I got this."

I sit beside Crystal. Adam places the tray in front of us and sits on the other side of Crystal. Crystal takes a mug of coffee and dunks a slice of toast into it.

I make a face.

Crystal smirks and takes a huge bite. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."

Adam shakes his head. "I'm not a fan of the idea, either."

Crystal finishes her toast. "You're both uncultured swine."

"Or the only sane ones here," I say and cut into my omelet.

Adam shrugs. "Why not both?"

Adam and I laugh, and Crystal mutters under her breath.

Once we quiet, we settle into our food. We make the odd comment about the Halloween party, but for the most part, we don't speak much. I almost voice the thoughts I had in the kitchen, but I don't want to pressure the Kings to decide. They'll address my concerns in time, I just need patience.

A half-hour later, the plates are all clean, and we sit back to enjoy our drinks. I notice the Kings glance at each other, and then Crystal nods. They both look at me.

"So, we want you to know last night wasn't just a fluke or anything," Crystal says.

"We don't do casual sex," Adam adds.

"Which means?" I ask; my heart in my throat. I can't tell from their expressions what they'll say next.

"Will you be our girlfriend?"

The question, though I hoped for it, stuns me. No, I can't have heard them right. Like with everything over the past twenty-four hours, it must be a dream. My luck doesn't run this long.

"Uh oh," Adam says and grips Crystal's hand. "This much silence can't be good."

"No. No! Sorry." Under my breath, I curse my stupidity. "I'm just--Are you sure?"

Crystal frowns. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"It's--Me."

Adam rolls his eyes. "You believe you're not good enough for us?"

"No, but--Well, you could say I--People will think you left Jenna for me." The comment surprises me as it leaves my mouth. I don't realize that's weighed on me until I speak it.

Adam's gaze narrows and Crystal's hand squeezes her husband's. They don't respond for a grueling minute.

"And?" Crystal finally asks.

Adam nods. "Let the assholes think whatever they want." He cups my cheek with his free hand. "People are always going to talk, especially about us. Do you remember how that guy at Darla's acted the day we first met? Yeah, that happens quite a bit in this town. Will that bother you?"

Honesty bursts from me on its own accord. "Yes."

Crystal bites her lip. "So...?"

I smile and lean into Adam's touch. "I won't let that stop me from happiness."

Crystal squeals. She leaps for me, wraps me in her arms, and kisses me. The moment our lips part, Adam gathers me into a firm embrace and deep kiss.

"But this means things must change," I say once I'm released.

"What do you mean?" Adam asks.

"I think it's, uh, inappropriate for me to continue as your housekeeper."

Crystal runs her hand up the inside of my thigh. "It's pretty hot, though."

"She does have a point," Adam says. He frowns at me. "What will you do? I hate making you jobless."

Currently, I don't care; can't focus on anything but the thrill of Crystal's hand on me. "Something will come along."

Adam looks ready to argue, so I disrobe and tackle him; my lips against his. Adam sighs and clutches me close. Within seconds, Crystal joins us.

***

Hours later, and more relaxed than I thought I'd be (an afternoon of sex does that), I return to Aunt Veronica's. I glance down at the shirt and shorts Crystal lent me and realize how glad I am that I don't have to march into the house in my embarrassing night clothes. At least I'll retain some of my dignity.

Outside my car, I swallow a deep breath, square my shoulders, and approach the front door. As I walk, I mumble my apology. I don't have much of one, but I hope my sincerity comes through.

Once inside, I call out. A low grunt replies from the kitchen. My feet drag me there.

Nicole stands at the stove, and her shaking hands wrestle with the pull-top of a soup can. I take it from her, pop off the top, and pour the can's contents into the waiting pan. Nicole turns on the burner and grins.

"Thanks."

I shrug. "I figure I had to return the favor." Nicole's expression becomes puzzled. "Remember I used to never be able to get it?"

Nicole's eyes widen, and she nods. "You always got so mad."

"It made me feel pretty senseless."

Nicole chuckles. "Yeah."

"So..." I pass my sister a wooden spoon I retrieved from the large jar beside the stove. "Um, is Aunt Veronica around?"

Nicole stirs the soup. "No, she went to the casino for dinner with a friend."

"Oh." I sigh. "Well, I'm going to do this twice then."

Nicole raises an eyebrow.

"I'm...sorry I've treated you so...terribly the past few days."

"No, I understand. My arrival threw a lot at you, and you're already dealing with so much."

"How--?"

"Aunt Veronica told me."

Why that surprises me, even a little, I don't know. "Yes, well, that's no excuse. I should even be more sympathetic."

Nicole knocks her too-bony hip into mine. "I forgive you."

I wrap my sister in a hug, mindful of her withered form. "Thank you."

Nicole returns the gesture and nods at the soup. "Hungry?"

"Starved!"

Chapter Nineteen

Though I apologized, Aunt Veronica refuses to talk to me for three days. She won't even look at me. My great aunt's silence bothers me, but I split my attention between Nicole and the Kings, so I don't have a lot of time to mope.

By Tuesday, Nicole feels strong enough to do more than watch television and spends two hours outside wandering Aunt Veronica's land. I join her, and we talk about our lives over the eight years of not seeing each other. I keep the conversation from drifting too far into the sad parts. Nicole seems on the fast track to recovery (though she refuses to visit a clinic no matter the advantages I gush about), but fragility still clings to her.

Nicole's body still shakes, or a limb will jerk at odd moments. If left alone for too long, her eyes become unfocused. Nicole only sleeps a few hours a night and spends the remaining time watching Adult Swim. But her appetite grows each day, and her bouts of vomiting have diminished tenfold.

Though I worry about Nicole the more I hang around her, I have no doubt my sister will recover. Nicole survived Lyme disease, several broken bones, and a fractured skull in her youth; she can do this.

***

Every day, I leave the house like I would if I was going to work. Adam has taken the week off from work, partially because he has acquired too many PTO hours and is forced to, but also because he wants to help me find a new job. In between sending out applications, I kick Adam's ass at Mortal Kombat, and he picks apart and assists me in building up the business loan proposal I'll one day present to a bank.

When Crystal comes home from work, we eat the dinner I prepare, then we either play one of Crystal's board games or watch a movie. I can't remember any of the movies' titles because halfway through every single one, someone starts a make-out session that ends in a sex romp or two.

I leave each night thoroughly satisfied and happier than I've been in weeks.

***

Friday afternoon, I kiss Crystal and Adam goodbye. "Do I need to bring anything tomorrow?" I ask. The Kings have planned a full day of fun at the nearby state park. Though I don't like hiking all that much, the Kings assure me I'll enjoy myself.

Crystal pouts. "Why not stay longer, and we'll discuss it."

Adam shakes his head, pokes his wife in the side, and kisses me again. "No, just your beautiful self."

I smile at Crystal. "I can't wait for tomorrow." I wave and turn to walk to my car.

"Don't forget. Nine sharp and warm clothes!" Crystal calls.

I chuckle under my breath as I reach my car but don't comment. I get behind the wheel, start it, and wave at the Kings once more. Adam nods, and Crystal blows me kisses until I pull out of the drive and disappear down the road.

***

At Aunt Veronica's, I rush inside; curse myself for dawdling at the Kings. I've left myself little time to shower and dress before Tyson's class, and I promised Molly I'd arrive early to discuss me donating homemade candles for the upcoming crafts' sale at the school. We'd talk after class, but Molly has plans to take her oldest daughter to Cleveland for the weekend and still needs to pack.

As soon as I pass through the front door, Nicole steps in my way. My sister's limp, dull hair hangs in an impressive French braid down her back, and the right amount of makeup covers her face to hide its gauntness.

"You look nice."

"Thanks." Nicole points at the jeans she wears. "Do you mind if I borrow these for tonight?"

It takes me a second to realize my sister has on my jeans, and when it does, my stomach rolls. Though we've never been too different in size and body shape, after we both hit puberty, we couldn't swap clothing. Nicole is blessed with the long legs and wider hips, and I've gotten the larger chest and bigger ass. Now, my jeans hang loosely around Nicole's thighs, and my sister must wear a belt to keep them secure at her waist.

For the hundredth time since Nicole's arrival, I can't believe how far my sister has sunk. It boggles the mind how much work Nicole has to do before she nears anything close to healthy.

"I can change if you want me to," Nicole says when the silence has dragged on too long.

"Oh, no, it's fine. I just, uh...You look nice."

Nicole's gaze focuses past me. "...Thanks."

"So, um, why are you all dressed up? Is Aunt Veronica taking you to the casino?"

"No, I thought I'd go with you tonight."

"What?"

Nicole looks at her bare feet. "Aunt Veronica said the class is open to everyone, and I really need to get out of the house."

"I don't think--"

"She's going," Aunt Veronica says as she steps out of the living room.

My top lip curls. "But she's--"

I stop the upcoming words that will sound like an insult no matter how I say them. I don't want to hurt Nicole's feelings, but I refuse to be seen anywhere with my sister until her condition improves. One look and anyone can tell she has a drug problem. What will people think if they see me with Nicole, even if they know we're sisters? How will that reflect on the Kings once it comes out I'm dating them?

Nicole plays with the extra fabric of her blouse. "You know, maybe I should stay in. I'm not actually feeling as well as I said I--"

"You're going," Aunt Veronica says; her eyes never leave me. "If needed, I'll drive you."

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Nicole asks.

Aunt Veronica nods. "You're part of this community now, too."

I groan internally but don't argue. I don't have the time, and I don't want to risk upsetting Aunt Veronica to the point she kicks me out. Yes, the Kings will probably house me, but I can't impose and know it's unwise to move in with my partners so early into our relationship.

"Fine. I'm leaving in twenty minutes," I say and shove past my sister. I march into the bathroom and slam the door shut.

***

A half-hour later, we head into Derbinwood. Neither of us speaks, and Nicole stares at her hands; tears I refuse to acknowledge shimmer in her eyes. Even if I do, I won't apologize. I don't want Nicole to stay at home because I don't want to spend time with her. In fact, I've loved the past few days. But Nicole must realize how embarrassing she appears right now. I wouldn't expect Nicole to take me anywhere if our positions were reversed.

We reach the community center with ten minutes to spare, and I refrain from complaining to Nicole. Instead, I urge my sister out of the car, and we hustle inside the building.

Unlike when I first started the class, the room isn't as full. It's been like this for three weeks now. When I commented last class, Tyson told me attendance always falls around the start of the holidays, and in the middle of spring.

"Why not get a seat in the back?" I suggest to Nicole as I wave at Molly, who sits at our usual station.

"But I wanted to sit with you."

"I can't." I don't explain further and almost run to Molly.

"Who's that?" Molly asks while I tuck my purse and coat into the station's cubby.

My attention doesn't roam to find my sister, who's meandered into the room. "Family."

Molly studies Nicole. "She's your sister, right?" She nods without confirmation from me. "I can see it in your noses and chins." Molly frowns at me. "Why didn't you introduce me to her?"

My fingers itch to tear at my hair, but I remain calm. "After class." When Molly seems about to argue, I add, "How many candles do I need to make?"

Molly sighs but drops the topic of meeting Nicole, and until Tyson bustles into the room, we go over the details of what Molly wants.

"Hello, everyone," Tyson says once free of his leather jacket.

Most people respond with a pleasant greeting, but none as loudly as Nicole. I wince and risk a glance at her. Nicole sits at a station alone two behind me. The sad expression she wore when entering the building has vanished, and she flashes Tyson a sweet smile.

Dread floods my veins. Oh, no. The last thing Nicole needs to do is get involved with someone. Or, more likely, have her heart broken. My sister can't afford a setback.

I bury my displeasure for the time being and do my best to concentrate on tonight's lesson: how to create a base stock. I don't talk much to Molly as we chop vegetables, and I barely acknowledge Tyson when he comes over for a few minutes. Most of my thoughts revolve around trying to think of a gentle way steer Nicole's attention away from Tyson, or any man for that matter. Then I have to come up with a way to negate Aunt Veronica's input when she eventually adds it.

By the end of class, I haven't come up with a solution outside of blatant honesty. Yet how will Nicole respond to that? Before my sister left for California, we were nothing but truthful with each other, no matter the topic or likelihood of it pissing off the recipient. Often our mother chastised us in her belief we went out of our way to be brutal, but my father applauded us on more than one occasion.

But what if Nicole can no longer handle that level of harsh reality? If I say what needs to be said, will it cause my sister to relapse? What if Nicole gets so upset she overdoses and dies?

Fear of the possible can't hold me back, though.

After we've dried our remaining dishes, Molly gathers her bag and mumbles a hasty goodbye. I wish her well, grab my own things, then book it to the back of the room. Nicole and Tyson have talked since the end of class, and he leans against her station. Nicole's hand touches his wrist.

I step beside Nicole and make a show of putting on my jacket. "Ready to go?"

Nicole's attention stays on Tyson. "Can we wait just a few minutes?"

"I have p--work in the morning."

"Five minutes, I promise. I need to hear more about the diner's food. So far, it sounds like heaven."

I rip Nicole's coat off the back of her chair and thrust it into Nicole's lap. "The food's amazing, and I'll take you there sometime soon. Okay?"

"I'm there every day but Saturday," Tyson says.

Nicole slips on her coat. "I'll drop in."

Tyson grins. "Can't wait to feed you."

"I bet it's--" I tug on Nicole. "Bye! It was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you, too."

As quick as lightning, I whisk my sister out of the community center. When we reach the car, Nicole wrenches her arm out of my grasp.

"What was that about?"

I fish around in my purse for my keys. "When?"

"In class. Why'd you act that way?"

I shrug. "I need to get to bed." I find my keys and open the driver's side door. I nod at Nicole. "Let's go."

Nicole frowns. "Did you have a problem with me talking to Tyson?"

"What? No, why would I?"

Nicole's eyes narrow. "I embarrass you, don't I? That's why you dragged me away from him. Also, why you didn't want me with you tonight."

"I'm concerned about you. You aren't exactly at your best right now."

"But I can still go out and meet people."

I roll my eyes. "Yes, you just wanted to 'meet' Tyson."

Red colors Nicole's cheeks. "What I do with my life isn't really your problem."

My calm snaps. "Well, it needs to be someone's since you've done such a piss-poor job."

"Of course, Dad. You always know what's best. Don't you, Dad?"

"I--You--"

I into my car, slam the door and jam my keys into the ignition. My thoughts spin. How dare Nicole make that judgment! I'm not trying to control her, just make her life easier. I speak out of love, not a need to have life go my way. Plus, wouldn't I, the one who's never done any drug harder than marijuana, have a better idea of how to avoid major pitfalls?

Nicole crawls into the passenger seat but can't buckle her seatbelt because her fingers shake so hard. She tries for a solid minute before she gives up and tells me to drive.

I comply but say, "If I get a ticket, you're paying for it."

My sister grunts

Silence engulfs us while our hurt feelings and dark moods simmer. From the corner of my eye, I notice Nicole flick a glance at me every few seconds. More than once her mouth opens but she utters no sound. After the sixth time, I lose it.

"What?"

Nicole looks out the window. "I know you're not Dad." She still sounds disgruntled, but her voice has lost its edge.

"I really resent that comparison."

"I didn't--I said it because you're making me feel smothered. Like you think I'm too fragile to use my brain. Like Dad does."

"I--"

I blanch. Didn't I precisely think that? I didn't intend to overwhelm Nicole, but I did believe she couldn't make any sound conclusions at this point in her life. Just as our father had with both of us.

Tears crawl down my face. "Why am I so much like him?"

Nicole shakes her head and pats my shoulder. "You're better than him."

"Only when I try hard. If I don't focus, I'm a clone of him."

"No! Dad doesn't do any self-reflection. I don't think he knows how, but you do."

I snort.

Nicole's grip tightens on me. "We both know I speak the truth. Dad hasn't seen or talked to me in almost a decade, and I bet you haven't had any contact with him since moving here. Now is that the behavior of someone who can admit they've made mistakes?"

I wipe at my damp chin. "I suppose not."

Nicole nods; wears a thin smile. "You have hurdles to jump, but I know you'll get better. You can start by apologizing."

"I am, you know. Really sorry."

The seriousness drains from Nicole's expression. "I know you are. But a doughnut may make me a little more convinced."

I laugh. "I guess I can do that."

"It's really the least thing."

We both bust a gut as I drive to Tops Friendly Markets, the only nearby place open at this hour with baked goods.

Chapter Twenty

I lift the box of pom-poms; shocked at the weight of them. Lulu Ahl, the owner of Miss Mama's Crafts and my new boss, points at the empty wire display by the cash registers. The ten bracelets she wears jingles and draws the fleeting interest of a kid a few feet away.

"How do you want them arranged?" I ask.

Lulu shrugs her bony shoulders. "Make them look pretty." She wanders away to the fabric section.

I sigh. I like Lulu well enough (almost anyone seems fantastic after dealing with Jenna for three months), but the woman has little sense of organization. For the last three days I've had the job, I've spent most my time making the store look less like a giant rummage bin. I've managed to perfect a quarter of the store but know I have at least two more weeks ahead of me.

Then I can tackle the storage room.

The display has no signs to indicate price or size, so I put the pom-poms on from smallest to largest. Luckily, the individual packages have prices on them. I dread looking at Lulu's price guide again.

As I hang packages, I sing Semisonic's "Get A Grip" under my breath. Halfway through the box, I realize I've been dancing along with singing. I blush and glance around the sides of the display. The same kid Lulu caught the attention of earlier watches me with raised eyebrows, but otherwise, my silly actions have gone unobserved.

"Oh, why'd you stop?"

The voice comes from behind me.

I squeak and spin around to face a grinning Crystal. My cheeks flush harder than ever. "I, uh, it's--"

Crystal's grin broadens. "I rather enjoyed what I saw. Could I have another show?"

"Um, I--" I gesture to the bag of pom-poms I hold. "This. Lulu wants me to do this."

Crystal takes the bag and tosses it into the box. She laces her fingers with mine. "Come on. If I know Lulu like I think I do, she's lost in one of the isles."

"But what if someone needs to check out?"

"Are you the only employee here?"

"No, Willis should be done with his break."

"Have you had yours yet?"

"When he comes back I'll--"

Crystal pulls me toward the storage room door. No one notices, but I still search to see if we've caught anyone's eye. Crystal laughs.

"Calm down, okay? Lulu loves me. I could burn this store to the ground if I wanted to, and she wouldn't bat an eyelash." Crystal points to the storage room. "Besides, I've been in here before."

"With other girlfriends?"

Crystal knocks into my hip with her own. "Oops. Now you know my secret. I get all my girlfriends to work at my cousin's store, so I can make-out with them in a semi-public place."

I chuckle as we enter the storage room. "Not very original, are you?"

Crystal slams the door shut and wraps me in her arms. "Hey, I stick with what gets results."

"Oh, and you think you'll be successful this time?"

Crystal leans her head toward mine. "I'm without a doubt positive I will be."

I close the space between us, and our lips lock together in a fierce battle for dominance. My heart races as warmth floods me. She moans, and my hands fondle any part of Crystal they can. I don't know why every kiss with Crystal affects me so, and I don't care. All I know is in a few minutes a little kissing and caressing won't be enough.

The sensible side of me warns against doing anything inappropriate at work, even if Lulu and Crystal are related and have a great relationship. Didn't I quit being the Kings' housekeeper because it wouldn't look right? How is this any different? Shouldn't I show Lulu more respect for hiring me so quickly?

All the valid points in the world won't stop my passion, though. Eagerness overrides my reservations, and I push Crystal against the nearest wall. At first, I worry I've been too rough, but then Crystal growls and knots her fingers in my hair.

Surprise allows Crystal to get the upper hand and she devours my mouth. Her hands move from my locks to the lime green vest I wear. Before I can register what's happening, Crystal unzips the vest, pushes up my shirt, and frees my left breast from my bra.

The cool air knocks sense into me. I end the kiss and press a firm hand on Crystal's chest. "We should stop."

Crystal licks my nipple, and I clench with anticipation. "Are you sure?"

"My...my break should be about over."

"A few more minutes won't make a difference." Crystal's hand slips inside the front of my pants. She smirks. "Besides, it'd be a shame to get you all wet without any payoff."

The offer entices more than I'll let on, but I don't want to take advantage of Lulu. "I can't."

Crystal's fingers play with the fringe of my panties. "Not even a little?"

"No."

Crystal groans and steps away from me. She pouts. "You're no fun."

I straighten my clothing and peck Crystal on the cheek. "We can finish this tonight if you'd like."

Crystal's expression turns contemplative, and she smiles. "I guess so."

We leave the storage room. In the main part of the store, we separate after another quick kiss before Crystal goes home and I return to the pom-poms' display. Willis Robinson stands at the cash register and shakes his head.

"What?"

Willis points at the box of pom-poms with a crooked finger. "Someone could have stolen those."

"Sorry."

"That's why you aren't supposed to just leave stuff like that unattended."

"But you were here."

"Yes, but not right after you left."

"Oh."

"On that note, you were supposed to wait for me to relieve you."

I turn my back to Willis so he won't see me roll my eyes. "Sorry. I'll remember next time."

"You'd better."

I mutter under my breath but continue stocking the display. Willis observes me, and more than once comments on how I can improve. I neither acknowledge his words nor change my tactic.

When I finally finish, I bend over to pick up the box but stop when someone steps in front of me. I look up and gasp.

"I thought that was you," Nicole says, her hands on her hips.

"Uh..."

No, no, no! One of the biggest reasons I accepted the job at Miss Mama's was because the store is located fifteen miles from Derbinwood. I've yet to tell my sister or Aunt Veronica about dating the Kings and how I no longer work for them. I've wanted to wait until Nicole has gotten a bit healthier before revealing information I'm not sure how she'll take.

"Why are you here?" I blurt.

"Aunt Veronica says they have the best puzzle glue. She's not feeling too well today, so I told her I'd come in and get it for her."

I groan. Of course, my great aunt would be waiting outside. God just can't resist embarrassing me beyond reason.

Nicole studies me. "You're working here, right?"

"Yeah."

"What happened to you being a housekeeper?"

"It's, um, a long story."

Nicole smirks. "You got fired, didn't you?"

"Sort of."

"Come on. Tell me!"

"No, not--" I glance at Willis. He watches us with too much interest in his mottled brown eyes. "I'll tell you when I get home tonight."

"Oh, you bet your ass you are."

In a daze, I just stand, slack-jawed, as Nicole finds and pays for Aunt Veronica's puzzle glue. Nicole blows me a kiss before she skips out of the store. I cover my face with my hands and curse God for His terrible timing.

***

The almost half hour ride home passes in a blink. When I pull into my great aunt's driveway, I still have no clue how to break the truth, and I dread Nicole's feedback. Sure, in the past my sister never gave two shits about other people's relationships if no one was hurt or breaking the law, but time and hardship could have changed Nicole's mind. If it hasn't, maybe Nicole holds the opinion a good deal of others do: different relationships are fine if they don't hit too close to home.

My heart races as my feet drag me toward the front door. For the tenth time, I consider hiding out at the Kings'. I won't stay with them forever, just long enough for a more significant, more exciting event to happen to distract Nicole and Aunt Veronica.

Yet, even if I luck out and get my way, it'll only be a Band-Aid. One day I must come clean, especially since I have no plans to let the Kings go. Isn't sooner better than later?

Not as confident as I prefer, I throw open the front door. Nicole leaps out of the shadows, her face contorted with wicked glee. She links her arm around mine and guides me to the kitchen.

"This is a bit much, don't you think?"

Nicole snickers. "Can't risk you running away."

I sigh but make no further comment nor struggle. Once in the kitchen, Nicole pushes me into the chair across from the one Aunt Veronica occupies. Then she dives for the free seat beside our great aunt. Aunt Veronica eyes me, but I can't read her thoughts behind her impassive expression.

"So?" Nicole demands.

"I, um..."

Silence lingers.

"It'll be easier if you just blurt it out," Aunt Veronica says after an agonizing minute.

"Why don't you work for the Kings?" Nicole bounces in her chair as she speaks.

"Well, uh, as I said, it's kind of, um, a long story..."

Aunt Veronica snorts. "Not too long."

Nicole and I stare at our great aunt, perplexed. "Do you know?" we ask almost in sync.

"It's a bit of a cliché, really."

"What?" Nicole cries.

Aunt Veronica holds my gaze as she says, "Hard to work for someone you're screwing."

Nicole gasps. "You're sleeping with Mr. Kings?"

Aunt Veronica answers for me. "Guess again."

Nicole frowns as she thinks. "...Mrs. Kings?"

Aunt Veronica speaks again. "Close."

"I...I don't get..."

"Oh, don't strain yourself," I say. "I'm dating both."

Nicole jerks as if slapped. "Do they know?"

I nod.

"How...how does that work?"

"I'm their significant other, and they're mine."

"So, you all--?" Nicole smashes her fingers together in a vague mimic of sex.

My attention flicks to my still expressionless great aunt before I answer. "Yeah. Most times."

"Oh." Nicole rubs her left temple. "I didn't realize you were...a..."

I shrug, though my chest tightens. My attraction to men and women has never shamed me, but I don't like discussing it out loud. Too many people assume the worst, and while I've had more than my fair share of partners in college, I've never been a cheating whore who will sleep with anyone who looks my way.

"Well, I am."

Nicole takes my hand and smiles. "Hey, you know I don't care, right?"

"But Mom and Dad--Others..."

"So, what? You're still my ass of a sister regardless of who you chose to date. All that matters to me is that they're good to you."

Sweet relief rushes through me. "They're wonderful."

Aunt Veronica gives a curt nod. "Didn't I tell you they're great people?"

Nicole laughs. "You sound like a matchmaker."

The impish glint in Aunt Veronica's eyes makes me wonder if my sister isn't wrong. 
Chapter Twenty-One

The spoonful of cranberry sauce moves so quickly it smacks into Nicole's cheek. She yells and swats at me. "Didn't I tell you to give me a second?"

I attempt another attack, and this time succeed with the sauce getting into my sister's mouth. "I don't have all day to get this right. Now be honest. How does it taste? I think it's still sour."

Nicole's lips pucker. "Damn! What'd you put in here? A jug of lemon juice?" She shudders. "That's nasty."

I dip a new spoon into the cranberry sauce and lick the residue. "Okay, it's not that bad. But a little more sugar won't hurt."

Nicole picks up the silverware she tried to collect when I hit her with the spoon and finishes setting the almost complete dinner table. "All the sugar in the world won't improve it. Why didn't you get the stuff in the can?"

Because I thought I could do better, I think, but won't admit. Instead, I say, "This isn't too far from that cheap crap."

Nicole glances over her shoulder and wiggles her eyebrows at me. "I guess it all depends on what you're comparing it to." Her slight smile grows into one so huge it must pain her. "Not all of us have as wide of...tastes as you."

I grab a piece of celery from the tray on the counter beside me and send it flying at my sister. It bounces off Nicole's back just as Aunt Veronica steps into the dining room. Our great aunt stares at the now grounded vegetable and then glares at us before she picks it up.

"I did not spend the past two days cleaning just so you two can fuck it all up. Act your ages, ladies."

"Yes, ma'am," we mumble and return to our tasks.

Aunt Veronica helps Nicole, and afterward, the pair carries all the prepared food to the dining room table. Once arranged, Nicole goes to get changed, while Aunt Veronica approaches me. I can't help but notice how my great aunt's dress hangs off her. She doesn't look bad, but she's lost more weight than her small body can afford. I mentioned it the other day, yet Aunt Veronica swore her doctor believes her as healthy as possible now that her chemotherapy is long over, and she seems to be bouncing back health-wise. I want to trust her, but my great aunt's honesty ends when it pertains to herself.

Aunt Veronica glances at the watch on her left wrist. "Did you tell the Kings the right time?"

I cease stirring the cranberry sauce, and my gaze flicks to the stove's clock, but all I see is the timer for the pies. "Yeah. Why? What time is it?"

"Almost four."

"Shit!" I look down at my food-splattered clothes. "They can't see me like this!"

Aunt Veronica nudges me away from the stove and resumes tending the cranberry sauce. "Go make yourself pretty. I've got this." She tastes the sauce and winces. "I'll make this eatable."

I want to defend my cooking skills but don't have the time. I race into my room, gather the dress and shoes I picked out the night before, and dash for the bathroom before Nicole can spend the next forty minutes in there debating her clothing choices. I take the quickest shower of my life, tame my hair into an attractive up-do, and apply just enough makeup to make it look like I haven't spent the last twenty-four hours preparing Thanksgiving dinner. I dress and leave the bathroom as the Kings walk through the front door; both dressed in their Sunday best.

They smile as I fling myself into their waiting arms. The manic energy that has kept me on my feet vanishes, and I want to curl up in their warmth and sleep the day away. Happiness, as I've never experienced with a previous partner, fills me, and I beam like mad.

"I've missed you," I say after kissing them both.

Adam cups my cheek. "We've been starved for you."

"Mostly you, but..." Crystal's gaze settles on the food-laden table. "That looks delicious."

Aunt Veronica enters the dining room with a gravy bowl full of cranberry sauce. She sets it beside the golden-brown turkey. "Well, I try, but little old me can only do so much." She winks at me.

"Yes, this was all you," I say.

"Hey, without me, you and your sister would starve. Neither you can navigate a zipper, let alone a kitchen."

"I must disagree. Your zipper skills are on point," Adam purrs into my ear, and I blush.

Crystal either doesn't hear him or claps her hands to cover his comment. "Your sister! Where is she?"

"Uh, upstairs." I clear my throat. "I'll get her." I walk toward the stairs, then pause and gesture from the Kings to the dining room table. "Have a seat."

Crystal nods and pulls Adam to two seats on the left side of the table. Two more chairs sit at each end, and one has been placed across from the Kings'. I protested, but Nicole refused to listen. She thinks it's cute to give us lovebirds the chance to play footsies and don't want us to fear accidentally bringing Nicole into the mix.

"Nicole," I call once at the bottom of the stairs.

A loud crash comes, and is followed by, "Another second."

"We're going to start without you."

"Don't you dare!"

"It's a risk you're going to have to take," I say, and take my seat. I adjust my silverware and notice Crystal smirking. "What?"

"You two are so cute."

Aunt Veronica snorts. "About as cute as an opossum's anus."

"No, it really is. I wish my sister and me..." Crystal swallows hard, straightens her shoulders, and shifts to look at Aunt Veronica. "Did that cream from France help?" she asks.

As the two talk about various skin products, I eye Adam, questions on my lips. Unlike her husband, Crystal hardly mentions her family. Though it hasn't been confirmed, I feel confident in guessing Crystal's loved ones don't approve of her lifestyle. Yet I haven't been brave enough to ask.

Adam mouths "Not now", and I sigh. I understand the situation is Crystal's to reveal, but that doesn't make it any easier to ignore my curiosity. While not to a high degree, Crystal's silence bothers me. Why doesn't she trust me enough to confess her secrets? I've told the Kings almost all my juicy, terrible, embarrassing bits. Don't I deserve the same in turn?

Five minutes after calling her, Nicole makes her appearance. She's borrowed more of my clothes, though they don't hang off her like they once did. A combination of returning appetite and almost daily trips to Darla's Diner have packed on much-needed pounds. At this rate, by the second week in December, Nicole will have to get her own clothing (which I and Aunt Veronica have agreed to splurge on if Nicole shows considerable improvement).

Nicole shakes both Kings' hands before taking her seat. "Nice to meet you."

The Kings mutter their agreement.

Nicole places her napkin in her lap. "Sorry about the wait. It's just, being a big day and all, I wanted to look my best."

I roll my eyes. "Don't believe her. This is an everyday occurrence."

Nicole sticks out her tongue. "At least I put forth the effort."

"Oh, and I don't?"

My sister points at my face. "Not as much as you could. Or should."

"I--"

"I'm not going to eat cold food," Aunt Veronica declares and sharpens the carving knife. Nicole and I settle back into our chairs. "Good." Our great aunt glances at the Kings. "Do I need to say grace?"

They both shrug.

"If you want," Adam says.

"But skipping wouldn't bother us one bit," Crystal adds and nods at the basket of homemade biscuits. "In fact, if you don't mind..."

Aunt Veronica chuckles. "Have at it."

Crystal squeals and snags two biscuits before passing the basket to her husband. As the other dishes get passed around, Aunt Veronica carves the turkey with a surgeon's hand and gives each person a large portion. Once done, she gets herself a plate of food, though not as much as I think she should have. Aunt Veronica eats with vigor, though.

Light conversation dominates the meal. I respond when necessary but spend most of my time watching as my family interacts with my partners. For reasons that now seem ridiculous, I feared Nicole and Aunt Veronica would assault the Kings with so many inappropriate comments that the Kings would flee and never talk to me again. But I should have had more faith in my family. Yes, they say one or two remarks that make me cringe, but nothing the Kings seem to notice.

All in all, I can't ask for a better Thanksgiving.

The stove timer goes off, and I excuse myself from the table. Aunt Veronica offers to tend to the pies, but I insist she stays seated and enjoys herself. Crystal begs for me to hurry; she needs pie now.

The caramel apple pie and chocolate chip pumpkin pie smell perfect as I remove them from the oven. I smirk when I lift the tinfoil and see how beautiful they turned out. Both Nicole and Aunt Veronica were skeptical of the spins on the traditional pies, but once they taste them, they'll never go back to the old recipes.

As I gather together new plates, whipped cream, and the small carton of vanilla ice cream bought just for the occasion, the phone rings. I abandon my tasks and answer it before anyone at the dining room table has registered the noise. My heart races and a foolish thought zips through my head: can it be my father?

I crush the idea the next instant; angrier with myself than I've been in a long while. Why do I want to hear from him? He's yet to acknowledge me in the almost six months since I left North Carolina, and I doubt he's gained any desire to, even on Thanksgiving.

"Hello?" I ask and push my resentment and pain to the farthest corners of my mind. I refuse to let it get me down today.

"Hey, darling," my mother replies, and I pretend the sudden pang that hits me isn't disappointment. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanks--What's wrong? Have you been crying?"

My question draws Nicole's attention. She leaves the table and rushes to my side. "Mom's crying?" she whispers.

I shush her. "Mom, are you okay?"

"It's--Your father and I--This day hasn't gone as I'd hoped, that's all, darling."

"Did you guys go to Aunt Tiffany's?"

"With all that's happened, it didn't seem a wise choice this year."

"So, you stayed home and fought." My statement makes Nicole's eyes widen and her jaw clench.

"No, not so much a fight as--Your father just--"

My mother's search for a way to excuse my father's behavior causes my rage to explode. I shove the phone into Nicole's hand and march past the dining room to the front door. Outside, I pace the front porch as I curse my father and my mother's willingness to let him walk all over her.

Has it always been like this between my parents? If so, how did I not notice before my father kicked me out? Could I have prevented this horrible rift in their marriage if I'd paid more attention?

The front door opens, and the Kings ease their way onto the porch. Adam holds out his arms, and like a magnet, I'm drawn into them. Crystal kisses my temple and rubs my back.

"What happened?" she asks.

"My parents--They--I don't--" I burst into angry tears and bury my head in Adam's shoulder.

I've been more than open about my parents' problems, and the Kings don't need any more than the helpless words I babbled to understand. They continue to pour their comfort and warmth into me, and I honestly don't know what I'd do without their care.

It takes me a good ten minutes to calm down. Even then, I don't want to leave Adam's embrace or have Crystal stop the back massage. This moment needs to last forever because even if I don't have to deal with my parents' drama further today, it's not going away any time soon.

Aunt Veronica opens the front door and pops her head outside. "The pies are cool enough to eat. Any of you interested in dessert?"

I lift my head and glance at the Kings. "You guys go ahead. I'm not really--"

Crystal shakes her head. "Oh, no. You worked too damn hard on them to let me eat them all without you getting at least a sliver."

I crack a smile. "You think it's all for you?"

"Anything you make is for me."

Adam and I laugh, and the rest of my tension dissolves. I don't know if I'll have any pie, but I'm done moping for the day. I can't let the rest of my night be ruined, not when it was going so well before my mother's phone call.

"Well, you better hurry up," Aunt Veronica calls as she shuts the door. "Nicole's alone with them."

"No!" Crystal cries and races into the house.

Adam wraps his hand around mine, and we follow her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I fluff up my hair with my fingers. It holds body for five seconds before falling back into its usual, uninspired state. I sigh. Adam and Crystal have told me a million times how much they love my hair, but I can't see how. It doesn't look dead, yet close to it. I'd go bald if I believed I could rock the look.

A soft knock my door tears my attention away from my handheld mirror. I close it and toss it back into my purse. "Yes?"

The door opens and Nicole's voice says, "Do you have a minute?"

"Yes, but just one. I've got a date with the Kings."

"Okay." Nicole steps into my room. She's dressed in the tight, wintergreen cotton sweater dress I bought her last week as an early Christmas present. Her hair and makeup compliment her outfit and hides the hollowness that still plagues her face.

"What's up?"

Nicole turns to show me her back. She's got the dress halfway zipped up. "Can you finish this?"

"Sure." I hurry to comply. "So why dressed so fancy?"

"Tyson's taking me to the park. There are free sleigh rides tonight."

"Oh."

Like I feared would happen, Nicole and Tyson have started dating. Almost every night after Tyson finishes at the diner, he races over to Aunt Veronica's. The two usually stay at the house, watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer while they snuggle too close on the couch. Just recently, the pair have been going on dates away from my great aunt's property.

I don't like to admit it, but it's been killing me not to point out the dangers of Nicole's budding romance. My sister is doing amazingly well, yet she still has so far to go. She's always been the type to jump too quickly into relationships, and she gives her all from the get-go. Nicole already has the sappy, starry-eyed look of someone falling love and she wears a sweet, small smile whenever she talks about Tyson.

I stop myself each time I'm about to hurl a criticism, and not just because Aunt Veronica threatened to skin me alive if I upset my sister. I trust that my sister knows what she's getting herself into; Nicole isn't an idiot. Also, I can't bring myself to ruin Nicole's happiness. She more than deserves a little bit.

"Do you think I'll have fun tonight?" Nicole asks as I finish zipping up her dress. Her voice cracks like it did when she was thirteen and went on her first date.

"Tyson's a great guy, so of course you will."

Nicole turns around and bites her lip. "You know...he's...I'm glad you--" She shakes her head. "Thanks for helping me with my dress."

I kiss her cheek, and a grin as wide as the Grand Canyon lights up her face. "No problem." I pat her arm. "I've got to get going."

"Are you spending the night there?"

I throw on my jacket and grab my purse. "Yep."

"I hope you enjoy yourself."

I chuckle. "The Kings always make sure I do."

***

Though the Kings won't be home for Christmas (they're spending two weeks with Adam's family), they've gone all out decorating their house. Like with Halloween, all the shrubs have been beautified for the holiday. The house drips with simple Christmas charm. Decorations are everywhere, but it doesn't overwhelm the senses. Adam oversaw this holiday, and I'm stunned how well he did. He just never struck me as the type to fawn over Christmas.

I park my car, grab the two bags of last-minute presents I skipped cooking class last night to buy and my overnight bag, and race into the house.

"I'm here!" I call as I slip off my shoes and hang my coat up in the hall coat closet.

"Kitchen," the Kings' voices respond.

"'Kay!"

I make a pitstop in the living room to put the presents under the tree (I've never been one to enjoy 'decking the halls', but I was giddy all last weekend when we put up the eight-foot tree) before I head to the kitchen. There I find Adam at the kitchen table, frosting the cut-out sugar cookies Crystal insisted she was going to perfect this year. The few unfrosted cookies show too dark edges and many broken-off pieces.

Crystal stands by the stove, wringing her hands as she watches the timer count down. Flour and butter dust the purple plaid apron she wears, and the counter to her left is covered in cookie cutters, baking ingredients, and more equipment than needed for the task she's tackled. Burnt cookie crumbs and a crushed eggshell cover the floor underneath the crowded counter.

I pity Lila, the housekeeper the Kings hired shortly after I left. She's a sweet older lady that I swear must be half-angel with how good-hearted she is, but I think this mess will push her over the edge. Though the Kings won't be happy, I'm going to have to make the kitchen more presentable. I don't want Lila to quit. She's a better housekeeper than I can ever dream of being and her oolong tea is to die for.

Adam waves a butter knife covered in golden yellow frosting at me. "Give me a hand?"

"Do you need me?" I ask Crystal.

She flicks her gaze at me. Worry lines her face, but she shakes her head. "No, no. Adam's swamped; doesn't know what he's doing."

Adam rolls his eyes yet keeps quiet.

"Oh, yes, frosting is very complicated," I mutter before I kiss Crystal on the cheek.

She flashes a quick smile and then waves me toward Adam. He makes room for me at the table after we share a long, passionate kiss. He smirks when we pull away.

"Careful now," he purrs. "We've got a lot to do tonight before bed."

I snag a plain ornament-shaped cookie and gesture for the bowl of pale blue frosting next to Adam's elbow. "What? We can't go to bed multiple times?"

He knocks his hips into mine. "Once I get you there, we're not leaving until the morning."

The smooth, deep tone he adopts whenever he's turned on sends a jolt through me, and I almost wish we could skip everything else we have planned. Crystal would flip, though. She's had this night set up for weeks, and come Hell or high water, we're going to complete it.

"Behave," Crystal says without looking at us.

Adam winks at me, and we get to work.

I hum songs from the Rankin/Bass movies as I unskillfully splatter the cookies with colorful frosting and too many sprinkles. My work looks even worse next to Adam's, which he's beautified with the same precision he used on my makeup for the Halloween Party. Crystal grimaces when she comes over with a new batch of cookies.

"We'll keep yours for home," she tells me.

I fake pout as I pick up my latest monstrosity--a Christmas tree I frosted green and dotted with red edible marker. The dots are meant to resemble bulbs, but it looks like someone shot up my tree and its bleeding to death. To cover up my mistake, I dosed the cookie in pink sprinkles, yet it makes it a million times more horrible.

"What? You think this is ugly?"

Adam grins at me. "No cookie is too ugly to eat."

Crystal snorts. "Yeah, tell that to your mother."

Adam sets down his current project and grabs his wife's waist. He pulls her close. "Mom is going to love these."

Crystal sighs. "I hope so. I'm sick of your sister lording over me her homemaking skills. Why can't she understand I--"

Adam cuts off her neurotic ramblings with a zealous kiss she eagerly returns.

I watch my partners make-out and I'm reminded of the question Nicole blurted the other night. She wondered if I ever get jealous when the Kings get romantic with one another. I am the outsider, and they've been together since sophomore year in high school; they've been best friends since second grade. I, myself, worried about this when I first started dating the Kings, but I quickly discovered I get super horny when they're being amorous with each other. Plus, when I'm around, they never leave me out of the fun for long.

And for them having sex when I'm not around? Well, I've spent a couple of nights with just one of them and that's never stopped me from sleeping with them, so why should it be any different for the Kings when I'm elsewhere?

Crystal untangles herself from her husband and the apprehension around her eyes has disappeared. She looks at me. "I guess a few of yours can come to Nebraska with us."

"Are you going to give me the credit for them?" I ask, though what I really mean is, "Will you tell your family about me?"

I've only ever eluded one other time to the Kings announcing to Adam's kin that they've moved on to another girlfriend. Both Kings mumbled through a non-response and they turned into bed early that night with only a peck on the cheek. I don't understand their resistance. Unlike Crystal's family, Adam's family is perfectly fine with him and Crystal being polyamorous. From what the Kings have told me, only Adam's aunt had a hard time coming to terms with his lifestyle, and that didn't take her too long.

Maybe the Kings are waiting to confess they have a new girlfriend until we've been together for longer than a month and a half. Everything has been amazing so far, but who knows what the future will hold. Hell, we've yet to experience our first fight.

It still sucks that no one really knows about me yet. But can I really complain? My parents have no clue I'm bisexual. I wanted to tell them when I discovered my sexuality in my freshman year of college, but I was afraid to due to my father's reaction to Nicole's acting dreams. He's never shown any disdain for gays or bisexuals, but he used to talk about me marrying another brilliant doctor and having little prodigies that would eventually find their home in the medical field. Sure, I could have children even if I settled with a woman, but I'm sure my father always pictured me with a man.

After him throwing me out, though, I have absolutely no interest in giving him more fuel to ridicule me. Even if he's fine with different sexualities, I know he'd hate me for being polyamorous. No, it's best if I just keep quiet.

Adam has discussed with me about my reluctance to confess to my parents, but Crystal completely ignores the conversation. Adam told me it's because it hits too close to home, yet he wouldn't elaborate when I pressed for more details. He stressed that Crystal will tell me her situation in full in time, but I need to remain patient. It gets harder the longer I'm with them.

The Kings glance at each other and a silent message is passed between them. From their expression, I can't tell the message's tone. I swallow hard. Have I spoken out of turn?

My partners turn to face me. Crystal nods. "Sure," she says, and follows up with a beaming smile. "Your frosting job will distract from my...less-than-desirable baking skills."

I smirk. "Only until someone takes a bite."

Adam bursts out laughing while Crystal picks up a frosting-coated knife. Before I know it, she launches a glob of white frosting my way. It hits me square in the face and sticks to my chin. Crystal gapes in delighted surprise and Adam laughs harder; the booming noise fills the kitchen.

It takes me less than three seconds to react. I send my own frosting assault Crystal's way. It clings to her bare arm.

Adam is now cackling so bad he's gasping for breath and clutching his sides. Crystal looks from me to the frosting on her arm, and then to her husband. Without fanfare, she smears the rest of the frosting on the knife she still holds into Adam's hair.

My responding laughter comes out in a series of startled snorts. Adam's amusement continues even as he retaliates by picking up a cookie and stuffing it down his wife's shirt. My snorting gets louder and starts to hurt.

"Oh, hell no!" Crystal cries and the three of us partake in all-out war.

By the time our fun has been had, all three of us are covered in cookie bits and a rainbow of frosting. The table is a mess and the floor around us is coated with more sprinkles than the cookies. Surprisingly, the walls and counters have survived our food fight without so much as a speck.

Crystal and I hold each other as I look around the kitchen. "Oh, poor Lila."

Adam wipes away frosting from under his eyes. "We'll make sure she doesn't see this."

"Yeah, can't have her dying of a heart attack," Crystal says.

"Good." I take in my partners. "We're so gross."

Adam and Crystal nod.

A playful grin lights up Crystal's face. She takes my hand and gestures for Adam's. "Let's get clean."

She leads us out of the kitchen and up to the master bath.

***

Two hours later, thoroughly clean and my sexual desire satiated (for now), the three of us sit by the Christmas tree with huge mugs of the spiked salted caramel hot chocolate Tyson recommended I make. We each have a decent-sized pile of unwrapped gifts near us and we haven't even made it through half of the presents. Between appreciative gasps and comments, we joke and talk about nothing, and I adore every moment.

The ease in which we enjoy one another's company is everything I want in a relationship. Despite the terribly shitty parts of this year, God has truly blessed me. Not in the way I ever imagined, but it's a blessing, nonetheless.

Adam shakes a present I've gotten him. Many pieces rattling together follows, and he smiles at me. "I'm already excited."

I sip my hot chocolate. "Wait until you open it."

He quickly sheds the box of its wrapping. His eyes widen when he takes in the words on the box. "How--I didn't even know this was a thing."

Adam prefers non-fantasy books and movies, but he adores Jim Henson's The Dark Crystal. Because he likes building model boats, I thought he'd like to put together a model from the movie. I scoured the internet for weeks and finally found one of Jen, the main character. I paid too much for it, but the giddy light in Adam's eyes makes it well worth the price.

He starts to rise, but Crystal pushes him back into a sitting position. "No, we're not done yet."

Adam waves the box in her face. "But..."

Crystal stares him down. "Don't you want to see Whitney open the rest of what we got her?"

Adam sighs but gives an overdramatic roll of his eyes to let me know he's fine. "I guess..."

I chuckle. "You're going to think about it non-stop when you're away, aren't you?"

"Oh, no, this is coming with."

Crystal shakes her head. "When is your mother going to give you time?"

"I'll make time."

"Adam."

"Fine. Fine." With extra care, Adam sets the box next to his other presents. Then he looks at me. "Go on."

Crystal hands me a long box decked out in Harry Potter-themed wrapping paper. Her smile stretches from ear-to-ear. Even Adam is sporting a huge grin.

As eager as Adam was with his last present, I liberate mine from the wrapping paper. The box is a simple shirt-box. I take off the top and stare, open-mouthed, at the contents. Inside is a beautiful wooden set of kitchen utensils. In the green-and-black handles are carved various symbols from the Harry Potter franchise.

"We made those," Adam says.

I look at him. "What?"

"Remember that weekend before Thanksgiving when we went out of town?" Crystal asks.

"Yeah."

"Well, we actually spent the time learning how to make these from one of our friends," Adam adds.

"I can't--You went through all that trouble. For me?"

The Kings laugh.

"Of course," Crystal says, and takes my hand.

Adam adds his hand to ours. "Why wouldn't we do something awesome for the woman we love?"

My heart almost stops. Did I hear him right? No, I couldn't have. My surprised joy over the handmade utensils has messed with my brain.

"Adam!" Crystal eyes her husband. "I thought we were going to announce it in a more...dramatic way."

Adam shrugs. "Oops."

Crystal sighs. "Ah, well. What matters is that it's finally been said."

I clear my throat. "Uh...So I heard you right? You both...love me?"

The Kings nod.

A warmth spreads from my chest to the tips of my fingers and toes, and I want to snuggle it like I would a super soft blanket. This is beyond amazing; has made this Christmas better than any other. Somehow, I've convinced two incredible people to fall in love with me. How did I get this lucky?

I plant a kiss on Crystal's and Adam's cheeks. Without hesitation, I say, "I love you both, too."

Chapter Twenty-Three

The next two weeks pass by at a crawl. I work several extra shifts, not for the money, but to keep myself from obsessing about the Kings. I call them every morning and night and must control myself from doing it throughout the day. Adam warned me before they left that his parents wouldn't appreciate me taking away his and Crystal's attention from spending time with his family. Though it's difficult, I don't want to upset his parents (especially since Adam promised he'll take me along when he and Crystal visit Nebraska next summer).

Nicole and Tyson make my longing for the Kings worse. Since I'm home more, I get to see the lovebirds attached at the hip. They try to include me in on their fun, but I can't stand watching them gaze into each other's eyes like their discovering the wonders of a budding relationship for the first time.

Without my loves around, I don't have much desire to bake. I have a ton of recipes saved on my laptop, ones I swore I was going to complete before the end of the holiday season, yet I've done only two. Maybe I'd have more incentive to do them if I had my weekly cooking class, but it won't reassume until after the new year. I know I'm acting like a fool (Aunt Veronica finds every opportunity to remind me), though that does nothing to pull me out of my slump.

Surprisingly, I find myself hanging out more with Aunt Veronica. She has a lot more energy, more than I've seen her have over the six months I've lived in Derbinwood. She rarely stays home when she's not working, and when she is, she finds a dozen different house projects to keep her busy. I've lost count how many times I've moved the living room furniture, and I can't believe I spent an afternoon polishing the real silverware (two sets) that my grandmother left Aunt Veronica in her will.

Despite being worked like a mule, I enjoy spending time with Aunt Veronica. She talks a lot about her deceased husband and shares with me stories about my great-grandparents, grandmother, and great-uncles. I listen, stunned at how little my father shared with me about his side of the family. Though Aunt Veronica doesn't come out and say it, I gather that when my father cut out my great-aunt, the rest of the family ignored him.

"Why did he do it?" I finally ask a few days before Christmas.

Aunt Veronica pauses her deep clean of the kitchen pantry. A dark confusion contorts her face. "I honestly can't remember. I probably called him on his shit one too many times, and instead of taking it like an adult, he overreacted and moved."

Months ago, I would have frothed at the idea that my father could act so immaturely. Now, the statement barely registers. Aunt Veronica isn't right about everything (nearly, though), but she has my father pegged correctly. I wish I had her insight about him years ago.

***

On Christmas morning, a familiar but unexpected face greets me when I wake. Standing over my bed with the brightest smile I've ever seen, just like she used to do every Christmas morning when I was little, is my mother. She's the last person I expect to find in my bedroom, and I can't hold back the sharp, quick scream that escapes me. It's loud enough to wake the entire house.

My mother jumps back, a hand pressed to her chest. "Darling, it's just me!"

Aunt Veronica pops her head into my room. "Christine, what you'd do to the girl?"

My mother looks over her shoulder. "I don't--I wasn't trying to startle her."

I shake my head; my chest heaving. "I'm...I'm okay. Just...give me...a moment."

"Don't take too long," Aunt Veronica says. "The oatmeal bake is better warm." She disappears.

In her absence, I sit up in my bed. My mother takes the space where my feet just were. She flashes a weak smile.

"I'm sorry about that, darling. I just wanted to surprise you."

I clear my throat. "Oh, you did."

"Yes, well--"

Nicole steps into my bedroom; hair a mess and her nightgown on backward. For the past week, I and Aunt Veronica have caught her in this state. Though we have no proof, we both suspect Tyson has been spending the night and sneaking out in the morning before I head off for work. I want to catch him and make a big embarrassing spectacle, but Aunt Veronica talks me out of it every time I bring it up. While she agrees it'd be hilarious, she doesn't want to upset Nicole in any way. She's miles better than she was when she arrived, but the road to recovery isn't mastered after two short months.

"Why in the world--Mom!"

My mother jumps up and pulls Nicole into a bone-crushing hug. "Oh, my baby." Her voice is thick, and her eyes grow red.

She's better than Nicole, though. As soon as she's in my mother's embrace, she bursts into loud, wet sobbing. The sight would be funny if I didn't know that this is the first time they've been in the same room in over eight years. Yes, they kept in contact, but letters and phone calls are not the same things as physical affection.

Seeing them together reminds me who kept them apart and banished me to Pennsylvania. My mood sours.

"Is he here?" I ask; destroy my family's happy moment. The question makes my palms itch and I must convince myself not to vomit.

My mother and Nicole break apart. My sister's tears have stalled, and she eyes my mother with a devastating panic that twists my heart. If I'm almost a wreck at the possibility, how must she feel?

My mother shakes her head. She doesn't look at me or Nicole as a hasty, "No, no. He...couldn't make it. Spontaneous conference in Ohio" tumbles out of her.

Nicole and I exchange a knowing glance. Either she didn't tell my father where she was going, or she did, and he told her it was a waste of her time, that I'll always be a lost cause (I doubt she's mentioned that Nicole has moved to Derbinwood). Maybe the conversation was even worse than Nicole and I can imagine. From what little we've been able to discern from our phone conversations with my mother, our parents' marriage has crumbled even further since June.

I open my mouth to make a snotty remark when Aunt Veronica's head pops back into my room. She sizes up the three of us and frowns. "Didn't I say to hurry up. The oatmeal bake is barely lukewarm, and I'll be damned if you think you'll get out of eating it." She gestures for the kitchen. "Come on."

The three of us take a moment to compose ourselves before we trek after Aunt Veronica.

***

Despite Aunt Veronica's misgivings, breakfast is delicious even if it's cold. Aunt Veronica doesn't let any of us dwell on my father. Anytime the conversation trails off in his direction, she redirects the narrative. I'm shocked she doesn't throw a jab at him, but she controls herself with uncharacteristic composure that warms my heart. I don't know if she's doing it for my mother or sister or maybe for all of us, but I love her for it.

After we eat, we file into the living to open the presents left under the tree Nicole and I tried to decorate five times. We succeeded each time and then the next day we'd find every ornament knocked from the branches, the garland a shredded mess, and the angel tree topper without her wings. Amongst the mess would sit Hoss, looking way too pleased with himself. When we complained to Aunt Veronica, she just shrugged and told us we had to arrange the decorations to Hoss' liking. Eventually, we gave up.

"Oh, this is...The sparse look is in," my mother says as she takes in the tree that has nothing more than a few strings of lights (the only decoration Hoss leaves alone) around it.

"That's not what's important," Aunt Veronica replies. She points to a pile of presents that weren't there the previous night. They're all addressed to me, Nicole, and my mother.

Nicole gasps. "Aunt Veronica, you didn't have to."

"Of course I didn't. Now open them before I realize what an idiot I've been."

We giggle and dive into gift-giving.

It takes us three hours to open and oh and ah over everything. We sip homemade egg and Aunt Veronica sings inappropriate Christmas carol under her breath. My mother joins her on more than one, and I can't believe how Nicole and I are able to maintain consciousness through our uncontrollable laughter. Hoss hisses when we get too loud but mostly spends the morning pouncing on and tearing apart the wrapping paper.

For a late lunch, we have pizza casserole (a tradition in Aunt Veronica's house. Her husband always wanted to contribute to the Christmas meal but sucked at making everything other than the casserole. I don't mind the unusual choice). At one point, my mother asks about any friends Nicole and I have made in Derbinwood, and Nicole blurts out that we're both dating.

My mother grins at us. "Really? Are they nice boys?"

Nicole sniggers. "Mine is."

I kick her under the table, but she only chuckles harder.

My mother looks between us. "What?" She nods at Aunt Veronica. "Do you understand?"

Aunt Veronica shrugs and stuffs a huge bite of pasta into her mouth. I swear I see her smirk.

My mother focuses on me. "Is your relationship not going well?"

"No, it is."

"Then why--"

I jump out of my seat. "I'm going to get dessert."

I flee into the safety of the kitchen and gather together everything needed to make the brownie sundaes Aunt Veronica has planned. My mother tries to pull more information from Nicole and Aunt Veronica, but neither will answer her questions. After a minute, she lets the topic drop.

For now. Every time I talk to her after this, I know I'll have to dodge endless inquiries about the Kings. Unless she's able to get Nicole to spill the beans. My sister has never been one to keep a secret well.

***

That night, Nicole and I volunteer to do the dishes while my mother and Aunt Veronica catch up in the living room. Nicole keeps watching me out of the corner of her eye while she washes plate after plate. I pretend not to notice for the first five minutes. Then my patience snaps.

"What?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, but...Why you'd have to mention I'm dating, too?"

Nicole scrubs a fork harder than necessary. "I wasn't thinking, and you know how I hate to lie to Mom." She throws the fork into the rinse. "Besides, don't you want her to know about them?"

I snag the fork and dry it with a damp towel. "Yes, but not now. I need the best strategy to explain my situation."

Nicole rolls her eyes. "Mom isn't going to freak out."

"Yeah, but Dad will."

My sister's lips purse. Like me, as the day went on, it was probably easy for her to imagine my parents separated. Though a melancholy hangs around my mother, she gives off the aura of a single woman falling back in love with a world she forgot while married. It still saddens me to think that my parents will no doubt get divorced, but I like the woman I see emerging from the remains of my mother's ruined relationship.

"You think she'll tell him?" Nicole asks.

"I'd be surprised if she didn't."

Nicole sighs. "You can't keep them a secret forever, you know."

"I don't plan to."

Nicole huffs but doesn't offer any further comment.

We finish the dishes in silence.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The Kings return January third with a dozen stories and gifts for me. They had a fabulous time in Nebraska. I listen to every detail with rapt attention, though I'm waiting for them to tell me what Adam's family thinks of them dating so soon after Jenna.

Finally, they get to the detail I'm most interested in.

"They're a little upset to hear Jenna's gone," Adam tells me.

Crystal snorts. "Only your sister is."

"Mom liked Jenna, too."

"Sure. Okay," Crystal mutters.

"What do they think of me?" I ask.

"They won't say until they've met you." Adam pats my hand. "But they're eager for that."

"Really?"

Adam winks. "Of course. Especially since Crystal and I are happier with you than we've been in a very long time. They all know you must be pretty special for that to happen."

His statement fills me with joy that is quickly replaced with guilt. Since Christmas, I've been trying to come up with the best way to reveal the nature of my relationship that won't arouse much interest from my parents. To keep the details vague is the only answer I keep coming back to, but that can't last forever. God willing, I plan to grow old with the Kings. How can I keep my polyamory hidden but have a future with them?

It shames me to admit it, but if I can find a way, I will. I just can't--My father can't have any more ammo against me.

Crystal takes my other hand. "What's wrong?"

I offer my best smile. "Nothing."

They glance at each other, but before either can comment, I slip out of my t-shirt. I don't wear a bra underneath. They both eye me, hungry desire chasing away their concern.

I sprawl out on the couch. "We have a lot of catching up to do."

"That we do," Crystal purrs while Adam reaches for his belt buckle.

***

Life falls into a pleasant, hectic routine. My hours increase at work and Tyson adds a second night to his cooking class. The Kings whisk me away every weekend the can to beautiful local destinations. What time I have left over is split between baking and Nicole, who finally agrees to go see a doctor in late February. Her health news isn't good, but not as bad as I feared. Nicole still cries herself to sleep for a week after getting confrontation what damage she's done to herself. Afterward, she tackles her health with the headstrong determination I remembered her possessing in high school.

At the end of March, Aunt Veronica has a new greenhouse built in the same spot her husband's old one used to be. She drives me and Nicole nuts with talk of what she plans to grow. Whenever she asks for our input, Nicole just shrugs, and I demand plants that I can use in my baking. She always calls us useless but doesn't stop seeking our opinions.

Since Christmas, my mother calls and writes more. From what she tells me and Nicole, she's started to regain her life, though she and my father haven't split yet. But they hardly spend time together. Most nights my father doesn't come home, and my mother has stopped worrying about his whereabouts. He could be cheating on her, he might be staying late at the office; she doesn't care.

For both Nicole and me, the sting of their diminishing relationship is barely noticeable.

***

Adam holds my hand as, across the table, his banking friend Norris Berdnt looks over a thick file I composed like the one I presented to my father last year. I've revised a bit of my work with information I gleaned from Darla. I know my research is sound and this is just a review meeting, but I'm still as nervous as I was when talking with my father. Maybe more so. Norris deals with people like me who want to be small business owners on a regular basis.

The slim-shouldered man makes quiet noises to himself as he flips through the papers with a speed that worries me. Is he actually reading and retaining anything I've written? What do his little sighs and grunts mean? Should I try to explain myself? That's what I'd do if I was really presenting my business model, right?

Adam leans over and whispers in my ear, "Calm, love." For good measure, he follows that with a tender squeeze of my fingers.

His words loosen my bunched insides a bit, but they won't completely unclench until this meeting comes to an end. And probably not even then, depending on what Norris has to say.

After another tense ten minutes, Norris comes to the end of the file. He brushes a few errant strands of his red hair from his forehead and takes a long gulp of his diet Dr. Pepper before his kind eyes settle on me.

"You say you put this together yourself?" he asks, and I can't tell if the underlying note in his voice is admiration or disbelief.

"Yeah."

Norris nods. "Quite impressive."

My mouth opens. "You mean it?"

Adam laughs. "I told you he'd like it."

"Yes, well, technically this is a sound proposal. You're certainly approaching this business venture with a realistic understanding of the nature of the beast. I feel many of the trappings that befall most first-time owners won't trip you up."

I frown. "There's a 'but', though."

"Your bakery will have to compete with a dozen others, both chain and Mom-and-Pop establishments. How will yours differ from theirs?"

"I know I mentioned how I plan on using all fresh ingredients and everything will be--"

"Homemade," Norris finishes.

"Yeah..."

"I'm sure you're telling me the truth, but this claim isn't as enticing to the masses as it once was. People are now more interested in strange combinations or over-indulgent ingredients at decent prices."

"Those are gimmicks," I say.

"Every business has to have one."

"But..."

Why isn't delicious food enough? At Darla's, it is. At a lot of places I visited in my college years, all anyone cared about was whether or not the food was good. It's not like I plan on my bakery catering to the super snooty or obnoxiously wealthy that get bored way too easily. But if I need an angle, what am I going to do?

"Don't people also flock to food that has a lot of awards?" Adam asks; pulls me from swirling thoughts.

Norris drains his cup. "Most definitely."

Adam smiles at me. "Then you just need to start competing."

"I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Do anything and everything," Norris advises.

"I..."

"Crystal and I will help," Adam reassures me.

I'm at a loss for words. This plan of action is one I've never considered. I'm no stranger to competition (I've entered an embarrassing amount of science fairs in my life), but I'm not ready for this. Sure, everyone seems to like my baking, but they're not judges in search of the perfect specimen. They just enjoy the food because it tastes good.

Also, does this mean I have to start coming up with my own ideas for recipes? I've had a few thoughts, but I haven't seriously considered anything. I've been too busy learning the basics. How can I add experimentation to my already full schedule?

Norris rises to leave the restaurant without me taking much notice. Adam thanks him for me, but his friend doesn't seem concerned that I'm off in La-La land. He must see the same dumbstruck expression several times a week.

When he's gone, Adam nudges me. "You going to be okay?"

"I can't believe how much I still have to do."

"It's really never ending, you know."

"I just never realized..."

Adam peers at my face. "You aren't thinking of abandoning this, are you?"

My answer resounds deep within me. "Of course not."

I've come so far already; given up more than I ever thought I'd have to in order to pursue my dream. It's my fault for not thinking I'd need more than the promise of good food to succeed, but I can't let that stop me. If my father's rejection of me wasn't enough to make me throw in the towel, this revelation won't, either.

"Good." Adam kisses me. "We need to go pick up Crystal. She wants to get to the movie early."

"Okay."

He helps me gather my file, purse, and coat, and we hurry to his car. We had to travel forty minutes to meet up with Norris, and the meeting lasted longer than we intended. I watch the clock, not sure if we'll get back to Derbinwood when Crystal would like us to.

"Don't worry," Adam says, and pushes the car to fifteen miles over the speed limit.

I watch for cops. In this area, they're notorious for hiding out in the most secretive places just to nail your ass for going one mile over the speed limit. I've heard they've really cracked down because a Tim Hortons is going up and they want people to get used to driving slower. I just think they're assholes that have nothing better to do.

Amazingly, we reach the Kings' without any trouble. We only have a few minutes before we must head out, so I hope Crystal is ready. I verbalize this, and Adam chuckles.

"It'd be a miracle," he says as we enter the house.

Crystal doesn't greet us, and I don't hear her erratic movements as she races to get dressed. Adam and I look at each other. We know she's home (her car's in the driveway), but why is the house so quiet? At least some music should be playing. Crystal hates silence.

We start for the stairs, but a noise from the kitchen catches my attention. I stop Adam and listen to see if it repeats. When it does, Adam's eyes widen, and we bolt for the kitchen.

There, we find Crystal sitting at the island. Her head is buried in her arms and she's sobbing. On the floor next to her is her cellphone, shattered into a dozen pieces.

"Crystal!" Adam and I cry as we approach her.

She doesn't look up.

Adam embraces her. "What's wrong?"

I rub her back. "Did someone try to hurt you?"

Crystal shakes her head.

"A health problem?" I push.

Another shake of her head.

"Don't make us play twenty questions," Adam says.

"Bruce," Crystal finally offers; her arms still covering her face.

I cock an eyebrow at Adam. "Bruce?"

He doesn't tear his attention away from Crystal. "Her brother," he tells me. "What about Bruce?" he asks Crystal.

"Another one."

"What?"

"He had another one!" Crystal wails.

"Oh." Some of Adam's concern drains from his expression, and I see him stiffen.

I bite my lip. "I...I don't understand."

Adam's colder demeanor hasn't thawed. "Her brother has had another kid."

Crystal drops her arms and glares at her husband. "You don't give two shits, do you?"

Adam shrugs. "A little, but how can you be surprised? It's been ten years."

Crystal's blotchy, wet face grows redder. She pulls at her tangled hair. "And it's supposed to be easier, huh?"

"By now, yeah."

Crystal stops tugging at her locks and steps too close to Adam. "You're an insensitive fucker."

Adam smirks. "And you're being overdramatic."

I gently push Crystal and Adam apart. "Guys, come on, don't fight. This is ridiculous. Why don't we--"

"Shut up!" the Kings yell in unison.

Their shouts slam into me like a physical force, and I back up. My stomach manages to twist and fall through the floor at the same time. Tears instantly cloud my eyes and my throat burns.

"I--I--I--" Half-formed thoughts swirl in my mind, both crushed and furious. None of them find their way to my mouth, and I don't know if that's a good or bad thing.

The Kings don't even look at me as they return to snarling at one another.

A choked sob leaves me. In a flash, I sprint out of the kitchen.

"Wait!" Crystal calls, but my feet don't slow.

I'm out of the house the next minute, and I run to the driveway. Unfortunately, my car isn't there. Adam picked up me up at Aunt Veronica's to take me to the meeting with Norris. I stand there, tears leaking down my cheeks as my head jerks back and forth. I need to get away from the Kings. Where am I going to go where they won't easily find me?

But who am I kidding? They are probably still fighting; Crystal's acknowledgment that I'm gone no doubt forgotten in her desire to make Adam feel as bad as she does. They won't come for me for a while if at all tonight.

I make my way to the drained pool. It's scrubbed clean and ready for the end of May. In a moment, I've made up my mind and descend into the empty pool. Despite the cold of the stone underneath me, I sit down, pull my legs to my chest, and rest my chin on my knees.

Now that I'm alone, I stop crying. My sinuses still burn, though, and I've got those annoying tiny hiccups that come when you're really upset. A cool glass of water would make them disappear, but there's no way I'm going inside. Suffering is better than walking into that mess.

How hurt I am over the Kings yelling at me makes me feel idiotic. I've had worse fights with Hoss that have ended in real wounds, yet I didn't react as dramatically as I have today. Why did what happened in the Kings' kitchen hit me so hard?

Is it because it's the first time they've ever raised their voices at me? Have I just become a blubbering baby since moving to Derbinwood? Did my meeting with Norris upset me more than I thought, and how I feel now is influenced because of it?

I can't answer any of those questions, and I don't even attempt to. I close my eyes and let the sounds of an early spring afternoon wash over me. I breathe in the renewing scents of the season. In time, my hiccups stop and the tingling in my throat disappears.

With some of my discomfort gone, rational thinking returns. Of course, I'm going to have to go back inside and talk to the Kings. Especially Crystal. Of the three of us, she probably feels the worse since she has a genuine reason for being troubled. Or maybe Adam is the most upset since he was a massive dick.

"Whitney!" Adam yells.

"Where are you?" Crystal adds.

Their voices come from their house, and they both sound considerably calmer.

I can't bring myself to answer back. I want to settle the issue, but a petty part of me wants them to have to work to find me. I mean, it's not like they'll have to put in a lot of effort. There are only a few places I could be.

This childish reasoning takes a hold of me, and I remain seated and quiet.

The Kings call for me over and over. Each time, I can tell they're a little closer to discovering my hiding spot. I briefly consider moving so they'll have a more difficult time, but I can't bring myself to act so spitefully.

After another ten minutes pass, Crystal leans over the side of the pool. Relief floods her expression. "She's here," she says over her shoulder before crawling into the pool.

As she reaches the bottom, Adam appears. Within seconds, he joins me and Crystal. They don't come closer, though I can tell Crystal is fighting the urge to wrap her arms around me.

"I bet your ass is cold," Adam finally says; flashes a lopsided half-grin.

I shrug. "Maybe a little."

"Are you--" Crystal swallows hard and grasps Adam's hand. "We're sorry for screeching at you."

Adam glances at me and then Crystal. "I shouldn't have been such a bastard."

"Yeah, you could have handled things better," I mutter.

Adam nods. "I've got--There's no excuse."

"I need to accept reality, though," Crystal says. Her lip trembles, but she doesn't break down. "Nothing's going to change, and I can't let that truth unhinge me every time it rears its ugly head."

"Can you forgive us?" Adam asks.

I sigh, and they frown. Then I smile and stand up. I close the distance between us and eagerly enter their waiting embrace.

We kiss, and when we stop, Crystal presses, "So is that a yes?"

"Of course, I forgive you."

Crystal cheers.

Adam tugs on my and Crystal's hands. "Let me make it up to you two."

Crystal and I don't hesitate to let Adam lead us back to the house.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Since that stupid fight, the Kings have gone out of their way to shower me with even more attention. I tell them all the time that they don't need to keep making it up to me, but they ignore my protests. After two weeks, I just stop mentioning it. I know in time they'll stop, and I might as well enjoy the extra affection.

Adam spent a whole day researching local baking competitions coming up this year. I show the completed list to Tyson, and he gives me tips on which ones are worth entering, what to make, how the competitions will go (two years ago he was obsessed with baking competitions but had to stop when the stress of them became too much to handle). He assures me over and over that I won't have the same issues as him, but I'm not so sure. He's a much more competent baker than I am. If he found competing overwhelming, there's no doubt it'll make my head explode.

Yet despite my reservations, I dive headfirst into perfecting the recipes I'll be using. If I won't let my father's horrible treatment of me and his backward ideas hold me back, why would I succumb to my apprehension? In less than a year, I've proven to be stronger than that.

Though the weather is quickly getting warmer, I bake almost every single day. Nicole complains about the heat, while Aunt Veronica laments about me always being in the kitchen. Whenever I offer to take my baking to the Kings', she yells at me to stop talking nonsense and takes half of whatever I've made.

I'm glad Aunt Veronica scarfs down most of my concoctions. She's replaced the precious weight she lost last year and seems to be full of even more piss and vinegar. She spends a lot of time in her greenhouse, and every plant flourishes under her watchful eye.

What Aunt Veronica doesn't eat and what I don't set aside for the Kings, Nicole polishes off. Like Aunt Veronica, she's packed on even more weight, and I'm thrilled her old physical appearance is returning. I swear every day she becomes more beautiful, and I know Tyson's noticed. Whenever her name is mentioned in his presence, his eyes gloss over with ridiculous sappy warmth. The few times it's happened around Darla, she's poked him in the side until his ears turned bright pink with embarrassment.

I don't pay much attention to anything other than my job, baking, the Kings, and my family, but occasionally I'll overhear rumors in town that stick with me. Most of them aren't about me and the Kings, surprisingly. Nicole is actually the bigger focus. Many people don't have anything too nasty to say about the former heroin addict, but I do have to snap a vicious comeback every so often.

The few people in town that do have issues about me being with the Kings never speak to me about it. They mostly give me stern or concerned looks, and one person I came across on the sidewalk kept pointing at the nearby church until I pushed past them. Sometimes this bothers me, but usually, I just laugh it off with the Kings.

***

On the hottest night in May, I've decided I'm going to perfect the mint chocolate chip cookie. I'm standing at the table with my mixed wet ingredients waiting as I shift together my dry ingredients. I keep cursing myself for doing the recipe backward, but I must push on. I refuse to waste perfectly fine ingredients just because I messed up.

Sweat is gathering along my hairline, my cheeks feel too hot, and I ache for a drink, but I need to get this done. If I stop now, I might decide to take a cold shower for the rest of the night instead of finishing my baking.

With my peripheral vision, I see Nicole step into the kitchen. At first, I think she's fanning her face because the oven has made it so unbearable in the room, but then I catch sight of tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. I pause my actions and turn to her.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Oh, uh--" Nicole sniffles. "I don't--Can I talk to you?"

"Of course." I point at the closest chair.

My sister takes it. Once seated, she rubs her eyes and takes a few deep breaths until her sniveling stops. As I wait for her to get more comfortable, I finish sifting the dry ingredients and start to add them to the wet ingredients in slow increments.

"So, Tyson and I had a serious talk last night," Nicole finally says. She doesn't look at me and chooses to instead pick at the table.

"Yeah? What about?" My mind instantly jumps to the worst outcome, and I tell myself that I can't blurt out "I told you so". I can't be an ass, not at this delicate time.

"He, uh, told me he loves me."

My stirring stops. My welcomed surprise pulls my lips into a wide smile. "That's amazing!"

Nicole shakes her head, and I frown.

"Why are you saying no? Do you not love him back?"

I won't believe her if that's what she tells me. I've seen the two of them together. More than once their sugary sweetness has made me almost vomit. If I wasn't so in love with the Kings, I think I'd hate Nicole and Tyson.

"I do, and that's a problem."

"I...I don't understand. How can you two being in love, and with each other, be a problem?"

"What if I...go back to how I was? I don't want to hurt him, and I will. What if I give in, and I die? I can't bring him down with me."

I grab her hands and squeeze them until she looks at me. "You're not going to start using again. You've fought so hard, and you still got a long way to go, but your future is bright."

"But what if--"

"Don't ruin your happiness. You deserve this."

"I'm so scared of screwing this up. Tyson is an incredible guy. He could, and should, find someone better than me."

"I'm sure he doesn't think there's anyone better for him. You're everything he wants."

"What if this turns out to be a mistake?"

"Don't let it be."

Nicole snorts. "You make it sound easy."

"If you really want to make this work, it will be."

Nicole laughs harder and joy lights up her face. "I can't believe he loves me."

I roll my eyes. "You wouldn't say that if you could see the two of you. It's really disgusting."

"Oh, like you and the Kings are any better."

I stick my tongue out.

Her laughing turns into breathless giggles. I abandon her and return to my baking; muttering under my breath. After Nicole pulls herself together, she offers to help me, and of course, I put her to work.

***

Nicole, Aunt Veronica, and I are having a rare night of eating dinner together. Tyson is helping Darla clean out her attic, the Kings had a dinner meeting with Crystal's boss (they offered to bring me, but I thought that'd be a little weird, so I declined), and Aunt Veronica says her friends don't want to play poker with her for a while (she's got amazing luck). Nicole and I made dinner, a simple salad and steaks. Even though it's an easy dinner, we all attack it like it's the best we've ever had.

Half-way through the meal, Aunt Veronica wipes her mouth with a cloth napkin and eyes me and my sister. "You two don't have plans for the weekend after next, do you?"

Nicole shakes her head. "No."

I shrug. "Probably something will pop up around then, but currently, no." My gaze narrows. "Why?"

"We're going to have a party."

Suspicion takes root in me and Nicole. "Who's coming to the party?" I ask.

"Well, it's going to be small. The three of us, your partners, and...your parents."

Nicole's mouth drops open. "Mom and Dad?"

"Yep."

"How'd you pull that one off?" I don't mean for my words to sound so brittle, but I can't help the way they come out. Her news has sidelined me. If she was anyone else, I wouldn't believe her, yet I know Aunt Veronica wouldn't joke about something so serious.

"It didn't take as much effort as you think," Aunt Veronica answers.

Nicole drums her fingers on the table. "I--I don't think I'm ready to face him."

"You can't put it off. If either of you truly wants to move on with your lives, to be happy within your relationships, you have to put to rest your issues with your father."

I grip my fork harder than necessary. "He's going to act like a huge douche."

Aunt Veronica shrugs. "That is extremely likely, and it'll be unfortunate if he is, but this needs to happen."

"You should have discussed this with us first," I say.

"It's my house, I can invite here whomever I want."

"But--" Nicole gulps. "I haven't--It's been--" Tears spring into eyes.

I jump up and rush to my sister. She throws her arms around my middle and starts bawling. I glare at Aunt Veronica.

"This makes you happy?"

Aunt Veronica frowns. "I'd never take pleasure in harming either of you girls. This might seem cruel, but I'm only looking out for your wellbeing."

I help Nicole from her chair. She clings to me worse than plastic wrap, but I hold onto her tightly. We head out of the kitchen, and as we cross the threshold into the dining room, I spare Aunt Veronica one last glance. She's returned her attention to the steak. I could scream. How can she be so calm after dropping the bombshell that will most likely ruin my and Nicole's lives? What pit of Hell did she crawl out of?

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nicole and I don't speak to Aunt Veronica after that disastrous dinner. Our silence doesn't faze the stonehearted woman. She continues like nothing happened, even when she asks for our input on the dreaded party and we only respond with death glares. Aunt Veronica just chuckles and tells us we'll regret her being the one making all the decisions, especially if the meeting with our father goes belly up.

Nicole spends much of the two weeks wringing her hands and throwing up every time she tries to eat anything solid. She doesn't sleep more than a few hours a night, and she looks almost as bad as she did when she first arrived in Derbinwood.

Seeing my sister in this state makes me hate Aunt Veronica. Sure, I'm a wreck, but not like Nicole. Plus, I'm not a recovering addict. Did Aunt Veronica even consider that inviting my father here might set her back? I can't believe that she cares for either one of us, no matter how many times she swears she's set up this meeting with our best interests in mind.

Despite her apprehension, Nicole does tell Tyson about the party as soon as she's able. He agrees to go and promises that no harm will come to her, not as long as he's by her side. He tells her this when he visits one night that I'm home, and I could kiss him with how bravely and sincerely he declares this. If my father dares utter one word of ill-intent at my sister, Tyson is going to make him regret it. God was really looking out for Nicole when he sent her Tyson. I'm so glad my trepidation didn't destroy their chances to be together.

I don't tell the Kings right away about the party, yet they know something is up. I stop baking, paying attention to the games we play, and I avoid sex like it'll kill me. When the Kings ask me what's bothering me, I can't bring myself to explain. I just shrug and they drop the issue.

That is until the Wednesday before the party.

Like most nights I spend with the Kings, we spend time cuddling on the couch after dinner. We're watching reruns of The Golden Girls (Adam has been on a kick the past month), and, like usual, I'm not paying attention, nor am I being as affectionate as I know the Kings are expecting. I want to more than anything, but the fact that I'm just a few days away from being face-to-face with my father in almost a year has me riddled with anxiety that steals all my attention.

Half-way through one of the more lackluster episodes, Crystal jumps up and stands in front of the television. She puts her hands on her hips and pegs me with a look that pulls me out of my circular thoughts and steals my breath. Oh shit.

Adam shifts on the cushion beside me. "Crystal, now don't--"

"No," she says, and I've never heard her so angry. "I'm through with this bullshit. I've put up with your strange distance for too long. Tell me right now what's wrong."

"It's not easy for me," I mutter.

"Yeah, well, feeling like you no longer love us is no walk in the park, either."

A weight settles on my chest. I never thought the Kings would think that I'd fallen out of love with them. I realize then that my behavior this past week and a half must have reminded them of how Jenna was around them toward the end of their relationship.

"I'm so sorry," I say, and tears burn the back of my throat. "I didn't think--I didn't mean to do this to you."

Adam squeezes my fingers. He eyes Crystal. "We both know this." He looks back at me. "But you need to talk to us. This relationship won't work if you block us out whenever there's a problem. If it's about us, then we need to address--"

"Oh, it has nothing to do with you guys."

Crystal frowns. "Well, you need to unload your problems onto us."

Adam chuckles. "That's what we're here for."

"I know. I just--" I sigh. "This Saturday Aunt Veronica has a party planned that she wants you two and Tyson to attend."

The Kings share a look.

"Why would that upset you so much?" Adam asks after a moment.

"Yeah, Tyson knows about us," Crystal adds.

"No, my issue is with who else my aunt has invited." I swallow hard and say in a rush, "My parents are coming."

Crystal blanches. "So your dad...?"

"Yeah."

Adam whistles and Crystal plops down in the nearest seat. At the exact same time, they both say, "Oh."

Tears finally spill from my eyes. "Deep down, I knew one day I'd have to see him, but I let myself think it would never happen. I don't know what I'm going to do. I hate myself for hoping him coming here means he's changed and wants to apologize, but that isn't true. This is going to be horrible."

Adam wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Not with us there, it won't be."

Crystal huffs. "We might make it worse."

"Why?" Adam demands.

Crystal meets my gaze. "How...liberal are your parents' views on relationships?"

"I...I really don't know. That wasn't something we discussed much. I went to Nicole with all that drama."

"Ah." Adam sighs. "So, this weekend is going to be a clusterfuck."

"You two don't have to come," I say. "I can't blame you if you don't want to subject yourself to that misery."

Adam shakes his head. "It's about time we meet your parents."

Crystal closes her eyes and rubs her temples. "It's better we get it over with now. Waiting never makes it easier."

Through my crying, I offer a weak smile. "You guys must really love me."

Crystal opens one eye. "Or are masochists."

Adam snickers and kisses my forehead. After a moment, Crystal grins. Though I'm ten times more nervous now that it's settled that the Kings are coming, I can't help but crack up with them.

***

"How do I look?" Nicole asks as she spins in front of me. Her white, lace skirt billows out around her. She's paired it well with an egg-shell-colored blouse.

I take in her outfit. Nicole looks fresh, innocent, and younger than her mid-twenties. I'm reminded of how I tried to look before my final meeting with my father. Is my sister attempting the same charade? She, more than anyone else, should know it won't have any effect.

"Really pretty." I don't lie, but I can't bring myself to relay my inner thoughts. Nicole's already so jumpy. Three times this morning Hoss was able to catch her unawares and she almost passed out from all the screaming she did.

Nicole stops spinning and glances me over. "You are, too."

Crystal suggested I should wear a killer dress (and not just because she loves how my body looks in clingy material), but I chose instead to wear a pair of dark slacks and a bright blue blouse. Though I won't admit it out loud, I want to present a powerful front to my father. He's going to know in one glance that I'm no longer the woman that he kicked out of his house a year ago.

Aunt Veronica comes through the front door carrying two covered bowls of different salads. "Yes, yes, you both look spectacular. Now help me get everything inside before it downpours."

We were going to have the party out in the front yard, but this morning the weatherman changed his predictions. I laughed it off until the clouds darkened, and the late morning turned almost as dark as night. I hate the sight. It's like God is trying to set the mood.

Nicole and I scramble to get the rest of the food into the house, and then I put the folding chairs and lawn tables back in the shed behind the house. I finish just as the first of the rain comes. As soon as I'm indoors, the sky opens and pours down buckets. I watch the storm unfold and wish I could teleport to anywhere but here.

"Keep busy," Aunt Veronica's voice says in my ear, and I nearly piss myself. "Waiting is going to get you too worked up and you don't want to spend the afternoon with your head in the toilet."

I grumble something along the lines of an agreement, still too peeved at her to actually talk to her. She nods with understanding and walks off to put the finishing touches on lunch. I join Nicole in the living room, and we busy ourselves straightening and dusting, though there isn't much for us to do.

Just before one, a dripping wet Tyson arrives. He sweeps Nicole into his arms without saying a word to anyone and kisses her deep. The tension that hunched her shoulders all morning melts as she relaxes in Tyson's embrace.

I roll my eyes and fake gag, but secretly, I'm jealous. Where's my support? Why haven't they arrived yet? They promised they'd be early.

As I finish my green-eyed thoughts, the Kings race into the house; both as damp as Tyson. Like a suicidal moth to a flame, I flutter to them. They envelop me in their arms, and I instantly feel stronger, more mentally capable to handle what's to come.

When we break apart, Crystal inspects my outfit. She frowns. "No dress?"

Adam links his left hand with hers and takes my hand with his right. "I believe there's a statement she's trying to make," he tells her.

"Yeah, you'll see why soon."

Crystal pouts but doesn't comment.

Aunt Veronica invites us all into the kitchen to enjoy a fruity cocktail she's thrown together. We all eagerly accept the booze, but Nicole, Crystal, and I are the only ones to down it one long chug. The guys sip their drinks and shake their heads at us; playful reproach twisting their expressions.

The drink doesn't have much alcohol, just enough to stroke my nerves into a reasonable state. I don't know if I'm grateful for that or not. I don't want my father to see me blitzed out of my mind but handling him will be a million times easier if I'm drunk.

Well, if needed, I know where Aunt Veronica keeps the hard stuff.

Us girls are on our second drink (Nicole and I take it slower this time, but Crystal didn't get the memo) when loud banging comes from the front door. Nicole jumps a foot, my stomach gets hit by a tsunami, and they guys' hands tighten around their half-finished cocktails. Crystal squeaks like ice just got dropped down the back of her shirt.

Aunt Veronica glowers at us all. "It's not the boogeyman." She shuffles away before any of us can comment.

She returns not a minute later, and two people trail after her, one welcomed and one dreaded. When my father steps into the kitchen, it's like time freezes and I can only see him.

He's as healthy and strong as ever. Neither my banishment nor his issues with my mother have stripped away his self-righteous air. If anything, standing in the kitchen of the aunt he hates with the daughters he abandoned, seems to have emboldened him. My father's back is straighter than ever, and he wears a heart-stopping scowl.

Smoldering anger hits me; replaces the dread that has haunted me for two weeks. I won't let him belittle me, won't let him shred me to pieces he'll just toss to the side when he's done. I am not the woman he embarrassed last June.

"Darlings!" my mother cries, and her happy shrill breaks the spell my father's presence casts. She rushes forward and wraps Nicole and me in a tight hug. Neither of us hesitates to return her warm welcome.

My father moves closer to us and gives Nicole a once over. His scowl turns into a sneer. "How'd that acting career treat you?"

Nicole's mouth flops open, but nothing comes out. Her eyes have widened to the size of two suns and I've never seen her so pale. I'm pretty sure she's forgotten to breathe.

An icy retort sits on my tongue, but Tyson comes to my sister's rescue. He threads his arm around her waist and flashes a carefree smile at my father. "Oh, quite well, sir. She's actually going to be the lead in an upcoming play. It's an original play, but I hear it's going to be quite the hit."

This is news to me. "Really?" I ask Nicole.

Nicole gives the slightest of nods. "I just found out Thursday," she whispers.

"How exciting," my mother exclaims.

My father's hot stare rakes over Tyson, who doesn't even flinch. "And you are?"

Tyson doesn't hold out his hand, but his friendly demeanor hasn't left. "Tyson Wheeler. I'm Nicole's boyfriend."

"Local drug dealer?"

"Sous chef at my grandma's restaurant."

My father's lips purse and he tears his attention away from Nicole and Tyson. His hot gaze settles on me. "I'd have thought we'd have this little...party at your bakery. What, closed it for the special occasion?"

"You really test the boundaries of the human body's capabilities, you know that?" I blurt.

My father's frown lessens, the only outward sign of his surprise. "Excuse me?"

"You continue to shit from your mouth, yet this isn't somehow a debilitating disease. How do you do it? Maybe you're a new subspecies of human."

"Darling, please don't--"

Aunt Veronica places a hand on my mother's wrist. "Christine, no."

My mother silences.

My father hasn't dropped his focus from me. "Is that so?"

"You've yet to prove me otherwise."

My father's nostrils flare. "I see Derbinwood has soured your manners." His gaze flicks to Aunt Veronica. "No need to wonder why, though."

Aunt Veronica chuckles. "Oh, Brian, I'm glad you haven't changed."

My father opens his mouth, but before he utters a word, Crystal announces, "I'm hungry!"

Everyone looks at her, and she nervously giggles. Adam pats her arm and murmurs, "No more drinks."

My mother closes the distance between her and the Kings. She smiles at Adam. "You must be Whitney's boyfriend." She holds out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Adam brings my mother's hand to his lips and plants a kiss on her fingers that I think is a bit much, but my mother blushes with pleasure. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. I'm Adam Kings."

My mother's grin widens. "Adam? What a nice name." She looks at Crystal. "Who are you, dear?"

"Crystal Kings."

My mother does a double take. "Are you...related?"

The Kings exchange glances and then look at me. I nod. No time better than now, I guess.

"No, ma'am," Adam says. "We're married."

Both my parents' expressions turn bewildered, and for the first time in a long time, they're on the same page. "What do you mean you two are married?" they say together.

The Kings shrug.

My mother turns to me. "You're someone's mistress?"

My father's gaze narrows. "No, that's not it."

"I'm dating both of them," I say before my father can get the satisfaction of piecing everything together.

My mother makes the little mewling sound she does when she's too stunned to speak. She's lost all color in her face, and she keeps grasping at the air with her hand. After ten seconds, Nicole shoves a cocktail into her clutches. My mother downs it and then begs for another one, and Nicole rushes to oblige.

My father does the complete opposite of what I expected. He laughs, deep belly chuckles that have him doubled over in a few seconds. His merriment leaves him bright red and wheezing for breath.

I meet the shocked gazes of Tyson and the Kings. Has my father cracked? Should we call the nearest mental hospital?

The only one unfazed is Aunt Veronica. During this exchange, she's been dishing out food on to waiting plates. I hear her humming to herself, and I don't know whether her nonchalance deserves commendation or rebuke.

Suddenly, my father gains enough control to say, "No surprise you'd become a whore. I guess you're more like your sister than we ever thought. "

Tyson and the Kings bristle; all three on the verge of defending my and Nicole's honor. But they don't get the chance. My mother moves too quickly.

In a flash, she's in front of my father. The next moment, he drops to the floor, no longer laughing. It takes me a second to realize she's punched him. My no-physical-violence-tolerating mother just planted a right hook to my father's jaw and knocked him flat on his ass. I'd cheer if I wasn't so taken aback.

Even Aunt Veronica has paused her actions to watch

"Those are your daughters," my mother growls; oblivious to her surprised audience. "I'm through with you treating them like filth. They're bright, beautiful young women, and if you can't see that, then that's your loss."

"Christine--"

"Fuck you, Brian. Trying to keep this marriage together isn't worth me not being around our daughters. I'm going to file for a divorce. I don't love you anymore."

My father rubs his jaw for a long moment, then hops to his feet. He doesn't spare any of us a last glance as he dusts off his pants before heading for the front door. It slams shut, and somehow I know he'll never darken my life again.

My mother collapses into a nearby chair. Her arms shake as she sucks in deep breaths. "I'm...so...sorry, girls. I should have...done that so long ago. I could...have stopped so much...heartache."

Nicole pats my mother's shoulder. "Mom, we understand." She glances at me as she says this.

I nod. "At least you want to change "

"Yes, I do." My mother spots Tyson and the Kings, who all stand on the other side of the table. She frowns. "I apologize for that display."

Crystal snags a plate of pasta salad. "Oh, this was nothing," she says as she gobbles down a noddle. "You wouldn't believe what my family did when they heard that I'm polyamorous."

My mother raises an eyebrow at me. "Is that what you are, too?"

"I guess it is."

My mother bites her lip as she ponders. After some time, she asks me, "Do they treat you right?"

I beam at the Kings. "Better than I'm warranted."

"Then I'm truly pleased that you both are in my daughter's life," my mother tells the Kings.

"Thank you," they mutter.

Aunt Veronica clinks silverware against an empty plate. "Enough of this sugary shit. Everyone, eat. I'll be damned if this food goes to waste."

We need no further prompting. We dig into the generous spread, and as my mother gets to know Tyson and the Kings, I feel like the luckiest person alive. I wouldn't have believed it a year ago, but this is my amazing family, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Epilogue

A year later.

I rub my hands on my pants as I take in the dining room of my bakery. I've done it. Well, almost. My grand opening is tomorrow, so I don't know yet if I'll be successful. I've got a good feeling, though. So does Aunt Veronica, and somehow that makes me ninety-nine percent positive I've got nothing to fear.

I might not be open, but my bakery is packed. The Kings and Aunt Veronica orchestrated a huge surprise party to celebrate how far I've come. I should have known about it, but I was so focused on the last-minute details that I missed the obvious.

The guests mingle, and all but Nicole and Crystal hold wine glasses. Crystal is visibly pregnant, just three weeks from bringing our little girl into the world. Nicole announced last weekend that she and Tyson are expecting, and Aunt Veronica has yet to stop teasing Nicole about wearing white for her wedding that took place less than a month ago. My mother hasn't stopped crying over the news.

Everything is so damn great and perfect that I could vomit if I wasn't so happy.

Suddenly, Adam calls for me to join him and Crystal in front of the crowd. People part to let me pass, and I hurry to his side. When I'm there, a hush comes over the crowd. I eye the Kings. What have they planned?

Before I can ask, Adam drops to one knee. Crystal moves like she's about to do the same, then remembers she won't get back up once she's down. Instead, she stands beside Adam; her face aglow with pregnancy and anticipation.

"We know we can't make this official," Adam begins. He grasps my hand. "But a piece of paper isn't what matters."

Crystal produces a ring box and opens it. Inside sits a gold band encrusted with black pearls and diamonds. The ring is an amazing cross between Adam's and Crystal's wedding rings.

"Will you marry us?" Crystal asks.

Tears cloud my vision and I can barely breathe, but I manage to throw myself into their embrace while choking out, "Yes!"

The room erupts into loud cheers and excited chatter, but I hardly hear it as I'm swept away by the overwhelming love pouring from the Kings. We can't stop kissing, and I swear my heart's going to burst.

Thank God for my stupid, defiant dream.

