“That’s…unexpected,” Kelsey replies. Her eyes are narrowed like she’s trying to look through my skull to see what’s going on in my head, so I send her what I hope is a nonchalant smile.
“True,” I agree. “I don’t know that sober Izzy would’ve agreed to it, but I think it might be time to forgive and forget. Lord knows I need to move on.”
Kelsey’s eyes narrow further, clearly questioning it, but Carter has no such sisterly intuition holding him back.
“That’s great!” Carter says. “We should all hang out some night soon. I know this is the only weekend Jameson and JT have off until the wedding, but we could do board games or something. Maybe next Tuesday? If we have even numbers, the world is really our oyster for games to play.”
I’ve never wanted to do anything less. Board games bring out the worst in me, and the only thing worse than board games is board games with my sisters, when I’m far more likely to act like a twelve-year-old. There’s just something about siblings that bring out the petulant child in everyone.
“You should see your faces,” Carter says, pointing at Kelsey, Bryn, and me. “They’re identical masks of disgust. Game nights are fun. It’s a normal suggestion.”
“Disagree,” I say.
“Not fun,” Bryn adds.
Kelsey simply says, “No.”
“Fine! No game night. But we could still hang out together. I felt bad for Jax last night. You know he felt left out,” Carter says.
“Why?” Bryn asks. “Jeesh. You go to a guy’s concert once and suddenly he thinks you’re best friends.”
“I’m sure it’s a big change for him to be back here,” I say. It’s what I would say about anyone else going through what Jaxon is right now. If I’m going to convince these people I’m at least casually dating him at the wedding in five weeks, the groundwork needs to be laid. Luckily his activities the last two weeks built a solid foundation for the lie.
It seems to be the right response, because no one calls me on it. I might actually be kind of good at this whole lying thing—I really should’ve put more thought into being a spy. I wonder if thirty-three is too late to join the CIA? Women in their thirties probably make the best spies—so easy to go unnoticed in almost any situation.
“Huh?” I respond to my sister saying my name.
“I asked what Jaxon said when you reached out,” Kelsey says.
“Oh. He said he might try to stop by this afternoon to say hi. Just a quick dinner in his quest to feed his way into my heart—that kind of thing.”
“I bet he’s ecstatic,” Carter says. “He was pretty bummed the other night when we were at the bar and you—”
“We know,” I say, cutting him off and giving him what I hope is a very annoyed look.
“Jaxon is a good friend is all,” Carter says. “I want the guy to be happy.”
“Didn’t you not talk to him for fifteen years and only do now because he employs you?” I ask Carter.
“Yeah. Like I said, friends.”
“Men are weird,” Bryn adds. “They can go decades without talking to someone and still be like, ‘Oh Billy Bob? Yeah, Ihaven’t seen that guy since we were seven and spent a week together at camp, but he’s a good dude. Of course we’re friends.’”
“Not me,” I say. “If I wouldn’t call you at midnight on a Tuesday because my car broke down and you could somehow help me, you’re not getting classified as a friend.”
Carter’s jaw drops. “Why do you have such a specific definition?”
I shrug. “It’s not like I sit around thinking about it. I told a guy I work with one day that I wouldn’t call one of our coworkers my friend, and he had follow-up questions. That definition is what felt right in my heart at the time. I stand by it. Like, Becca would be my first non-family member I’d call if my car broke down in Wild Bluffs and I needed a ride home.”
“Would you call me?” Jameson asks.
“Mmm,” I say, considering it. “Probably not. I mean, I’d call Bryn, and you’d likely get roped in if you’re in town, but…I probably wouldn’t call you directly.”
“Harsh, Iz,” Bryn says, laughing. “Jameson is going to mope around all day now that he knows he’s not your friend.”
“Liar,” I shoot back. “Jameson prides himself on how few friends he has.”
“True,” the man in question grunts, shoveling eggs into his mouth.
