Tuesday, I dance myself into a coma during the dayand then we share our first family dinner with everyone in over three months. My mum and Blesk talk music while I manage to keep things light and bubbly with Konnor and my dad. I want to pull Konnor aside and discuss Dustin Nerrock. I want to discuss that guy Erik's face. It just never seems like the right time. The other part of me is kicking Dustin's association with the Butchers under the rug to hide from my family. Either way, I'm keeping a secret and that stirs my belly.
After dinner we huddle in the main lounge room and play charades; it's very Brady Bunch and I fricking love it. Konnor and I are both pretty competitive, but we don't keep track of scores tonight.
I'm on the floor in my pyjamas. Konnor, Blesk, and Flick share the couch and Mum and Dad cuddle on the recliner, just like they always do—even when more seats are available. That's what us Slater kids have grown to believe forever love looks like. My parents show and share their affections unconditionally and often.
I find myself studying them in this moment. The heat from the gas fire licks at my cheeks, making me feel that Bali lethargy I now associate with Max. My mum is smiling softly at us, her strawberry-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, the freckles on her cheeks and nose betraying her age. We share these features. She is petite, like me, and tightly enveloped in a blanket of my dad's big arms.
My dad is a complex man. I model every man I meet against him even though I don't understand him. Even though we're close, a born and raised upper-class girl like me could never understand a self-made man like Ben Slater. Around the District, he's referred to as an honourable man. He is handsome. My friends call him a silver fox. He's loving. He's big and strong, not quite Max big and strong, but notaverage either. Loyal, yes. But I've always found him protective... mysterious. I realise in this moment how many traits he shares with Max. Not Jimmy or Butch's Max, who is a construct of his upbringing.My Max. A fleeting glimpse of a Max without burdens.
After charades, as I read on the couch, I hear Blesk and Konnor giggling on the love seat in the game room. It makes me lonely. Maybe now is a good time to discuss Erik—when Konnor is seemingly relaxed and emotionally stable.
As I walk into the game room, Blesk and Konnor are chatting with big smiles plastered on their faces. Blesk has a tendency to poke her tongue out when she laughs and it's really adorable. When they notice me enter, they unwrap themselves from each other and sit up.
"Hey, Pipsqueak," Konnor shuffles to the edge of the seat. "We were just arguing over the classification of cereal. Soup or not? And why?"
Sitting opposite them, I cross my legs up on the couch. "Well, soup is, like, flavours that have been cooked out into a liquid, right? So soup must be cooked."
They look at each other for a moment.
Blesk laughs. "We have been debating this for thirty minutes and neither of us came up with that answer."
"Glad to be of service," I say, my throat rolling as I carefully consider my next set of words. I shuffle nervously and they both look sideways at each other.
"You alright?" Konnor asks, picking up a glass of water and taking a few sips.
Clearing my throat, I stare straight into Konnor's stunning green eyes. "I met someone at the wedding who knows you. And... I've been feeling a bit weird about it." My brain is sorting through words, fumbling to string them together in an eloquent fashion. "Sorry, crypticmuch. His name is Erik. He has all these sca—" I stop talking.
They both stiffen. And there it is. In Konnor's eyes.
Recognition.
Anger.
Bouncing my gaze between Konnor and Blesk, it's clear by their ever paling faces that theybothknow this person.
Konnor talks through a tight jaw. "Stay away from him!"
Blesk's hands are clenched in her lap, but she's trying to keep her face impartial. "He's not well."
"What happened between you two?" I ask. "Max said?—"
"What the fuck is he doing hanging out with the Butchers?" Konnor says, draining his glass of water as if it were bourbon—his old drink of choice.
"I don't kno—" I start to answer before realising he'd directed his question at Blesk.
Blinking too fast, she says, "I don't know. I don't know who he hangs out with these days." Her tone has a hint of defensiveness. Of hesitation.
He turns back to me. "Why the fuck was he there?"
"I don't know," I say. "But he spoke to me."
Setting the glass down a little harder than necessary, he leans in closer to me. "Don’t speak to him, Cassidy."
My pulse picks up pace. "Well, I won't now, but I didn’t know that at the time."
He twists to face Blesk, determined to draw information from her. "Why would he have been invited to that wedding?"
She stiffens. "Konnor, stop looking at me like I'm keeping a secret from you."
