Jules stares at me, brow furrowed.
“We need four more shots of each,” I snap.
“Ooo-kay.”
She measures them out, and she’s just dumped in the last one when Garrett returns.
Ignoring the way my heart leaps, I give him what I hope is an easy smile and casual eye contact that doesn’t betray how hard it is to play it cool.
But I need to put on a chill front, or my sister is going to ask even more awkward questions.
“Eggnog’s almost ready,” I tell him out loud. And I also try to silently, subtly convey that my sister is being nosy.
He smoothes his hand up and down my spine. “Looks good.”
“Rory was very bossy about how to make it,” Jules mutters.
“I’ve missed this,” I say brightly. “Me being right, all this festive magic, etcetera etcetera.”
“Definitely missed all this,” Garrett says, looking at me as he says it, and my heart twists. But then he smirks. “Etcetera. What can I do to help?”
All my instinctive answers to that question are indecent. And inappropriate.“Do you know where my dad is?”
“Last I saw, he was helping Allan bring in bags from the car. I’ll go find them and let them know that eggnog is ready.” He pats my shoulder as he leaves again. “And you should drink some water.”
Jules watches him go, then narrows her eyes at me. “What’s going on with you guys?”
I wince as Mara immediately shifts her gaze to us.
Without the cover of the hand mixer, it feels like Jules yelled that to the entire room, and now Mom and her sisters and Cassie are all staring at me.
“Eggnog’s ready,” I say brightly.
Mom frowns. “Oh no, Rory, you aren’t—” She glances at the twins and mouths something I don’t understand, “—too, are you?”
“What?”
“Mom, no.” Jules grimaces, apparently more fluent in Mom lipreading. “That’s not how you use that.”
“Use what?” Tabitha looks back and forth between them.
“Dickmatized,” my Mom says dramatically.
Silence falls over the kitchen.
Then we all burst out laughing, and it builds as the word bounces around in my head, rent-free.Dickmatized.
“No?” She looks so confused.
That only makes us laugh harder.
“My sides hurt,” I gasp.
Cassie wipes her eyes. “Mom, what do you think that means?”
“You’re traumatized by dick.” Mom’s forehead crinkles.
“Oh,” Cassie says, and that single syllable sends us all howling again.
