“Sorry, the guys are putting the girls down so I can’t yell.”
I point to the side of the house where I saw the goat. “I think maybe one of your kids was still chasing a goat?”
Skye laughs. “That tracks. But come in, come in, let’s see what you brought.”
The Skye I used to know only spoke in witty comebacks and hateful glares. This Skye is, well, for one, drunk, but also much bubblier than I remember. The front door snicks open and Iris pops into the kitchen. She wears sweatpants and a tank top that has seen better days, but being who she is, she still somehow looks put together. “Hey, Aria!”
These two have been two peas in a pod since I can remember, with Iris the sweet, diplomatic one, and Skye as the previously established scary one. It’s weird knowing someone as a kid, then finding out they’re somewhat the same and also very much different as an adult.
“What are you wearing?” Skye chides her.
“Oh. It’s my tornado shirt. The guys like it when I still wear it sometimes. For the memories.”
Skye wrinkles her nose. “Okay, you know what, I don’t need to hear about what you and your three boyfriends get into.”
Iris shrugs, popping a grape into her mouth. “You asked.”
I am still quite lost. “Sorry, three boyfriends?”
Iris blushes, but Skye is more than happy to explain it. “Oh, you haven’t heard how our Iris seduced all three Boom Brothers?”
I put my hands out. “You are . . . with? Three brothers?”
“They’re not actually brothers,” Iris explains. “It’s their brand. They’re meteorologists who came here to study the tornadoes and uh . . . we bonded. And now they’re here a lot of the time. I mean, Colin and Garrett go back to Oklahoma. In fact, they’re going back after the Fling.”
Ah, the Fling: Foxboro’s fall festival that spans a few days and involves all sorts of small-town frivolity.
“She captivated the grumpy, angry, old one the most, imagine that,” Skye says. “Wyatt’s not going back, is he?”
Iris pouts. “He does have to go this time. But he’ll be back soon.”
“Tell me if I’m being rude, but . . . they’re all your boyfriends, but are they each other’s boyfriends?”
“They are!” Iris’s eyes light up. “Most people in this town can’t wrap their brains around any of this. But hey, they voted me mayor and my term isn’t up for another two years. That’s two years to convince them there’s nothing wrong with sharing or poly or queerness or doing whatever the hell you want in your own house.”
I bob my head, impressed. “I love that.”
“Okay, enough chit chat. Fill your plates and glasses and let’s hit the couch,” Skye says, gesturing to the spread we’ve put together. “The real question is, vintageHousewives, or current?”
I’m snuggledunder a blanket and my plate has nothing but Fritos crumbs and blue Takis dust. A collar jangles and little nails sound on the hardwood floor. The dog, who looks much more like an oversized rodent, jumps up in my lap and rolls onto his back for pets.
“Oh, hello,” I say, obliging the admittedly stinky little dog. Its fur is so patchy that I have to question it. “He doesn’t . . . have mange, does he?”
“Templeton was injured in a fire.”
The voice from behind me puts every nerve in my body on edge. I turn, almost certain who it is.
And there, filling the doorway, is Brodie in all his square dark glasses, shiner-having glory. A little girl is asleep on his shoulder.
I get the sudden feeling I’ve been bamboozled. “What are you doing here?”
FIVE
BRODIE
“What are you doing here?”A dark-haired, green-eyed, very cross-looking devil asks from her perch on my sister’s couch.
I bounce, trying to keep Halley asleep on my shoulder. “I had dinner with my sister and nieces. What areyoudoing here?”
