“I have my moments. Still say you miss, Rocket Man.”
Okay, that was low. I’d been singing “Rocket Man,” a cappella, before I’d moved on to the Funky Chicken. That’s it. He’s going down.
Before I can make my move, the door opens again. I experience a moment of frozen fear that it might be Pen, but Mom pokes her head in instead. Her gaze darts between March and me with well-deserved suspicion.
But she doesn’t address the guilty tension in the room. “Dinner is ready in ten. Come help set the table.”
“Okay, Mom,” March and I say as one.
Her smile is faint but pleased. Then her laser gaze focuses on me. “And mind your p’s and q’s, Dr. Teeth.”
March bursts out laughing, while I groan. This is going to be worse than meeting the press after a bad game.
Pen
I still have a bit of the “stuck in an alternate reality” feeling clinging to me as Margo leads me into the Luck family living room, patting my hand as though I need sympathy.
I suppose I do. It’s not every day a girl smiles at a boy and gets told she has nice teeth.
She leaves me in the capable hands of her daughter June before bustling off to finish dinner. June takes one look at me and squeals a happy hello.
“Sorry, I didn’t answer the door,” June says when we’re alone. “I had to dress the chickens. Mom says it makes her sick when she does it. Personally, I think she found a great way to get out of doing the messy work.”
“Probably,” I say with a laugh. “Not that I blame her.”
Despite her claim of “messy work,” not a strand of June’s sleek black hair is out of place. Tall and willowy, June somehow manages to maintain an image of cool elegance whatever the occasion.
Although June went to college in Boston and I went to California, we text and call each other frequently. Only a little over a year apart in age, we’ve always been close. Along with her twin sister, May, we were an unstoppable trio of mayhem as kids.
Yes, the Luck kids are all named after a month—usually the one in which they were born. January, the eldest son, was born on New Year’s Day. March was born on the twelfth of. Twins, June and May fit that rule, since May came out at 11:55 on May 31 and June arrived ten minutes later; there’s big-time family speculation that Margo somehow engineered this spectacular feat.
August, however, is actually a July baby, but Margo thought“July” sounded silly. Ironic, given the fact that her kids were all pretty much aggrieved by her naming practices. She didn’t care, maintaining that it was adorable, especially when they were younger.
I can only be thankful that my parents were not like-minded when it came to choosing for me. I have an old family name and am ambivalent about it.
“Did I hear Augie getting the door for you?” June asks. “That boy... He’s a disaster lately.”
You have nice teeth.
I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry. I really want to reach into my purse and find my compact to study my smile. I’ve never paid attention to it before. Is it some pained Chandler Bing grimace? Or maybe it’s more horsey?
Suddenly, my teeth feel huge, as though they take up all the space in my face. Gah.
Giving myself a mental shake, I take a seat on the sprawling couch, sinking in deep. It’s one of a set, and each couch can easily hold four people. June nestles into a huge cream armchair kitty-corner to the couch.
“Yes, August answered. That was the extent of it.”And so say I.
Instead of meeting June’s eyes, I look around, refamiliarizing myself with the place. My grandmother, Pegs, had been a set designer. Even though I majored in film history, some of her passion for interiors must have rubbed off because, whenever I enter a space, I find myself either redecorating it in my head or soaking in the style.
I’ve spent many good times here. Done in soothing shades of dusty blue and cream, the rectangular-shaped room is divided into three seating areas: the main one before the fireplace where we’re sitting, the large nook by the bay window, and another cozy space at the far end that is flanked by bookshelves.
Everything in the Luck house is on a grand scale. There are seven of them and they’re all over five foot nine, with the Luck men averaging over six foot four. Add in friends or extendedfamily, and you are left with a house almost bursting at the seams.
I love this house. Almost as much as I love Pegs and Pops’s house. Longing, sharp and clear, pierces my chest so deeply that my breath hitches. God, ithurt.
“You’re not even going to ask me why Augie’s a mess?” June’s dark brow lifts in clear disbelief.
“Oh, I know why. It’s hard to escape, unless you’re living abroad.” I shrug. “Ifhewants to talk about it, I’ll listen.”
