“A deal’s a deal,” she said, lifting her glass toward Manish.
Manish groaned again. “Can’t we do that Two Turtledoves thing instead?”
“Manish!” Adele and Sloane exclaimed together, causing him to startle and slosh his wine a bit.
“We do not speak those two words in this house,” Sloane said through gritted teeth.
“Actually,” Nina said calmly, taking a sip of her wine, “I wanted to talk to you all about—”
“No, nope, not happening,” Sloane said, shaking her head vigorously. “It’s time for Yahtzee and more wine.”
“Yahtzee!” Adele yelled, turning in her chair toward the rustic sideboard behind her and opening the door to reveal an amalgam of board games and cards. She took out a bright-red box and set it in the middle of the table.
“What are we wagering?” Sloane asked, an eyebrow quirked at her sister.
“Loser does the dishes,” Adele said.
“I’m not making Manish do our dishes,” Sloane said.
“Hey,” Manish said, looking hurt, “I happen to be quite adept at Yahtzee, thank you very much.”
“Sure, buddy, sure,” Elle said, patting his shoulder.
“Just because I needed remedial maths in college does not mean I can’t count dots on a pair of dice,” he said. “And music is mathematical in nature.”
“Gay and math don’t mix,” Elle said, and Brighton laughed. They weren’t wrong—Brighton, for her part, was awful at numbers.
“I’ll get the wine,” Lola said, standing up, an amused smile on her face. Snickerdoodle, who’d been banned from the dining area during dinner, perked his head up from his spot in the living space, big brown eyes fixed on Lola. “Red is still fine with everyone?”
“Thank you, dear, yes,” Nina said. “There’s a bottle in the wine rack.”
Lola nodded and headed toward the kitchen. Brighton twisted her fingers into her napkin, then shot up so quickly her thigh banged against the table, rattling everyone’s glasses.
“Whoa, baby girl,” Adele said, steadying her own wine. “You good?”
Brighton smiled. “Sorry. I’ll take everyone’s plates.” She started stacking chili-smeared bowls before anyone could protest.
“Don’t wash them, though,” Elle said as they passed out tiny squares of paper to use as scorecards. “That’ll be Manish’s job.”
“I hate you,” he said, his voice deadpan, but he was smiling.
Brighton gathered as many bowls and pieces of cutlery as she dared, balancing the ceramic tower while she walked into the kitchen area.
Lola was there, uncorking another bottle of syrah.
Brighton set the bowls next to the sink, then turned.
Took a breath.
Cleared her throat.
Cleared it again.
Still, Lola said nothing. Didn’t even look at her.
“That’ll give you a headache,” Brighton finally said, motioning toward the wine.
Not even an annoyed pursing of Lola’s mouth.
