So.
Jasper lives with his mom.
Or, I guess, he lives above his mother’s garage, while she lives in the main house.
With his sisters.
It’s past the time of evening when most people are in bed, but Jasper’s family must all be night owls, because as he and I stand frozen like deer in the driveway, three other young women appear on the porch behind their mother. They’re all in their pajamas too, but they look very awake and—unfortunately— very curious at what we’re doing here.
Jasper seems to be as confused as they are.
“How come you’re all still up?” he says.
“We’re having a girls’ night!” the youngest one says. Even without being introduced, the shared traits are plain to see. They all have the same soft brown hair, same hazel green eyes, same smattering of freckles on their nose. Even their mother is cut from the same cloth. Whoever Jasper’s father is—was, I remind myself he said his father died—he didn’t win the genetic lottery when it came to family resemblance.
“Movie night,” one of the other sisters says.
“Do you want brownies? Sierra and I made brownies,” another says.
The sisters all start chattering at the same time, and Jasper throws me a nervous glance. His mom is watching me with the same expression, and finally she holds her hands up, shushing her daughters.
“I think Jasper and his . . . friend . . . might have other plans.”
Oh, great. Pretending to be Jasper’s boy toy at the office was one thing. Meeting his family is a whole other one.
But maybe it’s the anticipation on the sisters’ faces as they eye me and shoot giggling glances in their brother’s direction. Or maybe it’s the complete lack of judgement in Jasper’s mother’s eyes. Or maybe it’s only because, not that long ago, I was about to walk into my home, knowing it meant death, and now I have a completely different home offering me entry and?—
“Are there nuts in the brownies?” I ask. “I’m allergic.”
The youngest sister smiles. “No.”
“Is there mustard?” Jasper asks, which sets off a wave of howling laughter and disgust from his family as we follow them through the front door.
The house is... well, it’s a house, exactly the way you’d expect. Worn furniture, too many shoes by the front door. The TV is on, frozen as a man and woman go in for a kiss in the rain. The den smells distinctly of popcorn, but the kitchen, as we make our way through the house, is all chocolate.
“You’re late,” one of the sisters says.
“We waited for you,” another one follows.
“You promised you wouldn’t miss movie night,” the third says.
Jasper throws me a quick look. “I, uh... something came up.”
“At the hospital?” his mother asks.
“Yes. At the hospital. We got held late after... uh...” Another glance from Jasper. This one is a clear call for help.
“Someone died.”
The kitchen goes quiet as five pairs of Jackson family eyes turn to me. I shrink back into the collar of my shirt—Jasper’s shirt, which is too big for me, but gives me a better place to hide—on instinct, wishing suddenly I’d pushed harder to go face down Indigo than land here.
Jasper’s mother’s face is stricken and she’s got one hand over her heart. “That’s so sad.”
“She was very old,” I stumble onward. “An old lady. Very sick. She was—” I finally find the off switch to my mouth when Jasper puts a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“I thought you were working in pediatrics,” the oldest sister says.
“I am.” Jasper smiles. “But Morgan here is, um... general surgery. He was on call tonight when the old lady... when she came in.”
