“She was wearing my shirt.” His voice went soft—like he was describing a religious experience. “Standing at the stove, humming some song. I came downstairs and she turned around and smiled at me and said, ‘Good morning, husband.”
My jaw tightened. “Don’t talk about my sister like that.”
“Like what? Like she’s perfect?” His grin spread wide, shameless. “Because she is. She leaves notes in my gym bag now. Little ones. ‘Have a good workout. I love you. Come home soon.’ With little hearts on them.”
“I will end you. Right here. They’ll never find the body.”
“You can barely lift that bar, Specter.” He tossed me a towel. “Come on. Squats. You can hate yourself while doing something that won’t land you in the ER. And then you can tell me what actually happened with Pauline, because she’s the only one who can get you this worked up.”
I caught the towel and wiped my face. “I’m not telling you shit,”
“Damn. That bad?” He grinned. “So grateful I no longer relate to relationship disasters.”
My fists clenched around the towel, straining against the urge to punch him.
I’d tried to get out of our monthly family dinner. Invented meetings. Claimed exhaustion. Lied creatively. Claudette had texted:If I have to suffer through this, so do you. No excuses.
So here I was.
The dining room hadn’t changed since I was a child. Same long mahogany table. Crystal chandelier. Same paintings of ancestors staring down with vague disapproval.
My father sat at the head, sharp-eyed at sixty-two. My mother to his right, elegant and watchful. Claudette and Michael across from me, radiating newlywed happiness like it was their job.
The first course passed without incident. Business talk. Market updates. The usual.
Then my father set down his fork.
Here we go.
“Jack,” he said. “I want to discuss something.”
“My unmarried situation?”
“Your unmarried situation.” He didn’t even blink at my tone. “You’re thirty-three. No prospects. No serious relationships. You haven’t brought a woman to a family event in years.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to continue the Specter legacy?”
Across the table, Claudette suddenly found her wine glass fascinating. Michael developed an intense interest in his salad.
Cowards. Both of them.
“I’ll be honest,” my father continued. “There was a time I wondered if perhaps you and Michael?—”
I choked on my wine. Michael made a strangled sound.
“Gross,” we said at the exact same time.
Claudette burst out laughing—full, bright, delighted, her whole face lighting up like she’d been waiting years for this moment. She pressed her hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.
“Richard,” my mother said, her tone warning.
“What? They spent all their time together. Those weekends at the beach house. A father notices things.”
“That’s—no. Never. Absolutely not. Hell no.”Michael said like he couldn’t find the exact words.
“I’m simply saying it crossed my mind.” My father shrugged, unbothered by the chaos he’d caused. “Clearly I was wrong. So what is the explanation?”
