Mom picked up a glass of wine and threw it at me. Red, since it was a Dionysus Zinfandel, and no surprise, since she’d always had a short fuse. Seeing as I’d been ready to duck, most of the liquid missed me, and I wore the splash of claret like a badge of honour. A trophy. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw event security heading in our direction, two bemused rent-a-cops who suddenly didn’t look bored anymore.
“You shouldn’t talk about family that way,” Mom hissed. “Porter’s been good to you. Who do you think made all that mess in Virginia go away? You didn’t even thank him.”
“Why do you think I was living in Virginia in the first place?”
Security reached us.
“Ma’am? Is everything okay?”
“Butt out, this is a family discussion,” Mom told him.
Nolan didn’t let that stand. “I’ve never seen these people before. The guy showed up and called Mr. Monroe a cocksucker, and then this woman threw a glass of wine over my wife.”
Behind him, Barbie mimed drinking.
“Your wife?” Mom let out a snarky laugh, followed by a belch. “You were dumb enough to marry her? She’s just using you for money, mark my words.”
“Ma’am, you’ll have to come with us.”
“Get your hands off me!”
“I’m not touching you.”
“Well, you were about to.” She picked up another glass, but her aim was off, and this time, Lucas got soaked. People had begun filming.
“That crazy lady attacked Lucas!” a woman in a hot-pink minidress yelled, and the Lucas Collins fan club leapt into action.
Mom was no match for a dozen starry-eyed twenty-somethings, and all I could do was watch as she limped to the door, minus a shoe, with chocolate mousse in her hair and some kind of soft cheese smeared across her ass. Security wasn’t getting involved, no siree. They were as stunned as the rest of us.
“Boy, that sure escalated quickly,” the younger of the pair said.
Dawson gave a low whistle. “She went off like a howitzer.”
Welcome to my childhood.
In the end, the only real casualty was Lucas’s shirt, which had come off in the fray. I’d seen a woman in an electric-blue pantsuit holding it aloft like a prizefighter. Chase, always the Boy Scout, had a spare dress shirt in the car, although he whispered, “It’ll be a shame to obscure the view, you know?”
By the time the awards were handed out, one of the clips was already trending on BuzzHub, captioned “Wife of failed Silicon Valley businessman has meltdown.” Nolan’s wine won the beverage category, and we celebrated with orgasms.
Life was good.
Mostly good.
I had a hangover.
Then Chase messaged to say he was going to pick up the used shirt from Lucas. When I suggested simply letting Lucas keep the shirt and buying a new one, because it was just a freaking shirt, traffic in San Francisco was always dire, and Lucas was staying miles away at Nyx, Chase sent me a winking emoji. Well, okay then.
Huh.
Chase and Lucas?
From what I understood, Lucas was deep, deep, deep in the closet, so far in that he had a fake girlfriend who showed up to events with him. Chase was a commitment-phobe who didn’t hide his sexuality, but he did understand the importance of discretion.
Me
Have fun…
Then Brax messaged.
