Otty’s opened a bag of Cheetos and already shoved a handful into her mouth when she joins us. For once, I don’t even give a crap about getting the orange stuff on my couch. Who cares? Truly, who gives any part of a shit about stains when life is just one big shit stain anyway and nothing—nothing—makes sense?
Especially the part where Dad has a new girlfriend.
Except… I kind of like that part.
“Dad’s got a girlfriend,” I inform Sam.
“Nice going, Mr. Jensen.”
“It’s Ms. Barcom-Tancredi.”
“No freaking way.”
“Yes, way,” says Hannah as she slides in beside us.
“Hey, you okay?” asks Sam. Which is hilarious, right? I mean, she’s the one who’s gotten fired and disappeared and was gallivanting lord-knows-where with some married guy.
“I’m fine, you wiener face. What about you?”
“Wiener face?”
“Penis breath.”
“Oh my god,” Hannah sighs. “Eighties insults?”
“Vintage eighties insults,” Sam replies. “The very best kind.”
“Picturesque.”
“Gross.” Otty takes back the Cheetos and hands Hannah a cocktail. “Here.”
“Ew. It’s nasty.”
“Needs more cranberry.”
“I need a cup!”
“I’ll get it!” Sam squeezes out, turns to the kitchen area, scuffles around, and goes silent.
“Oh, wow. Rae.”
“What? What is it?”
“Your nook.”
I snort. “Stupid nook.”
“No. No, it’s good. It’s really good.”
“Right?” Hannah yells, giving me a look. “I told her she needs to charge more.”
“It’s just a pathetic fantasy.”
“The hairy whip thing!”
“For the love of all that is holy, please just call it a flogger.”
My sisters snort-laugh.
