“Jesus, Lexi,” Evan said. “Couldn’t you have shared a less depressing fun fact?”
Stella kissed her. “I would be sad as a whale if you were murdered.”
Great. Now I had anxiety about the emotions of whales.
When the group dispersed again, Jane and I picked up our conversation. “Is that why you aren’t going after Mason?” I murmured. “Because you’re self-aware and realize you’re using him?Orare you pushing away a viable candidate and staying hooked on someone you know you can’t have?”
“Viable candidate?”
“Shut up. Come on, he’d be a healthy distraction!”
“Let’s talk about Noah instead. I had agreatthought about the two of you.”
“Oh no.”
“Pretty sure I sleuthed out therealreason the Barbanels don’t want you poking around. What if”—she paused dramatically—“Edward Barbanel is actually your mom’s father?”
“What?Oh my god, Jane, I can’t.”
“Stay with me. Maybe your grandma had an affair with Barbanel and got pregnant but pretended it wasn’t him. But the Barbanels know. And now they’re worried your mom has found out and she’s going to try to claimhalf the fortune, as is her right.Also, you and Noah are cousins.”
“Jaaaane!” My voice rose in an unhappy whine. “Why would yousaythat!”
“It’s a good story though, isn’t it?” She sounded pleased as punch.
“No.”
“You’re wondering now.”
“Jane!” I dropped my head into my hands. “Gross.”
“It’s only gross if you guys hook up. Which you keep saying isn’t on the agenda.”
“It’snot.” Except I wanted to more than basically anything. “God, Jane!”
She waggled her brows at me. “You’re lusting over your own cousin.”
“He’s not my cousin!”
Oh my god.What if he was my cousin?
No. Impossible. My mom was born years after the letters stopped. Both O’ma and Edward Barbanel were married to their respective partners by then.
“Okay, sure,” Jane said, when I presented this infallible logic to her. “But they could have had a chance encounter, or an ongoing illicit affair.”
“I hate you. They didn’t.”
They didn’t, right?
“Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Like what?” I looked away from Noah quickly, focusing on my Triple Chocolate Mountain. We’d grabbed ice cream at the Juice Bar and taken it down to the wharves. It was seven thirty at night and still too hot, though a gentle breeze skirted over the water. We perched on the edge of the docks, our legs dangling. The sun was still high; the days were painfully long this time of year, the sun refusing to set until past eight o’clock.
“Like I’m an alien.”
“No reason. You’re not. We’re not. Nothing.”
I was not bringing this up. One: the theory was utterly insane. Two: Wouldn’t admitting it bothered me be tantamount to admitting my interest in Noah? Otherwise, I should be thrilled to have a cousin. Yay, cousins!
