I kiss my mom's temple and step back. She greets Klein with the same warmth.
"Domino!" My dad's booming voice reaches us before he does, using a nickname he has called me my entire life.
"Your dad's been very excited to see you." My mom pats my cheek. "Go easy on him."
Klein and I meet eyes briefly.Go easy on himreally meansHe has a business venture and he's looking for investors.
My dad walks into the living room holding a glass of water. I got my height from him, but that's about it. I closely resemble my mom, from my light brown hair to my bright blue eyes. Ciarán Bellinger stands one inch shorter than me, with a mop of cinnamon hair perpetually in need of a trim from my mother (his one and only barber), and covered in freckles. His Irish name is pronounced Keer-awn, but because in English it's pronounced nothing like it's spelled and nobody gets it right, he introduces himself as Ron. If he ever makes it to Ireland, he'll be in heaven hearing his name said correctly.
"Hey, Dad." Affection swells in my heart at the sight of him, but like my mom, other emotions press in. It used to be that I couldn't name the various feelings, but now I can. I hope the next step is a decrease in all the less-than-pleasant emotions. Baby steps, I guess. A process.
My dad's gaze bounces back-and-forth between me and Klein. "How was Vegas?"
I let Klein answer, since the celebration was for him. "Full of mostly-clean fun. Nothing anyone regrets." He glances at me, eyes mischievous. "Your son came away with an unexpected party favor."
Dad's eyes widen, but Mom steps in. "There's medicine for that. Pills." Her eyes drop briefly to my groin before looking up again. "Something topical, maybe?"
Klein laughs way too hard while I shake my head so vehemently it sends another hot pain through my neck. Rubbing at the angry muscle, I say, "Nothing was transmitted, sexually or otherwise."
My mother's eyebrows pull together in confusion. "Well then, what happened?" She sits back on the arm of a threadbare upholstered chair.
I pause a beat, deciding how to say it, then decide to forgo fanfare and put it out there. "I had far too much to drink and got married."
My dad's head tips back with a jolly laugh, something one of my authors would call aguffaw.
My mom, to her credit, is appropriately horrified. She presses a palm to her neck, taking a deep breath.
"We're going to get it annulled, but not for about a month. I have to spend a few weeks helping her out."
Good thing Cecily isn't here. Something tells me she would not agree with my use of the wordshelping her out.She'd say my attendance on her family road trip is a unique brand of torture.
"Help her outhow?" my mom asks.
I explain it all to her, and Klein interrupts to tell them of my choice to accept a gummy from Cecily's grandma. "Thanks," I say to him. If there was any part of the whole story I was going to leave out, it would've been that.
"You were being polite," my dad says, winking at me. I cannot count the number of times I suspected he was high when I was a teenager. I never asked, because how do you pose that question to your parent?
"Moving on," I say sternly in Klein's direction. He takes my cue and shuts his trap.
"Does this lass have a name?" my dad asks.
"Cecily Harmon," I lie smoothly. I hate it, the way I have to lie. If we'd had this talk yesterday, I wouldn't have knownto protect Cecily's real name. But now, after seeing Ophelia's home and learning Cecily's dad's company owns a portfolio stuffed with ultra-luxury boutique hotels, there is no way I can be honest about her name. My dad might be gullible, and fiscally irresponsible, but he's not stupid. He can make use of the internet the same as anybody else. If he finds out Cecily's family is wealthy, he'll be first in line with a list ofinvestment opportunities.
Klein doesn't appear to notice the fib. No elbow nudge, no confused micro-expressions. He's been around my whole life. He's seen it all. He knows. We might give one another a healthy amount of ribbing, but we're more like brothers than cousins. There's nothing I wouldn't do for the guy.
"She works with Paisley," Klein offers, lending Cecily credibility.
My dad grins, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth. "Gotta tell ya, Domino, you don't seem like the Vegas marriage type. Bit of a serial monogomer, aren't you?"
Klein shows zero reaction, but he's a wordy guy, and I happen to know he's cringing on the inside at my dad's invented word.Monogomer.
My dad's right. I've had two relationships, and both lasted approximately two years. They both ended because neither felt right.
"What could be more monogamous than marriage?" I ask glibly, spreading my arms wide.
Mom makes a disbelieving sound with her lips. "Pshh. I wouldn't call this a marriage. It's an oopsie."
It's foolish, but I bristle. Nothing related to Cecily could ever be termed an oopsie. Even if this marriage is, in fact, an accident, I'm opposed to calling it an oopsie.
