This conversation is starting to feel less like an intervention and more like walking down a staircase that’s crumbling behind me. I know what’s happening, but I keep going.
“Technically, I broke things off at Christmas and she agreed.”
I do not like the silence that follows.
“But she’s told you, in those words, that she wants to keep it casual,” Thalia presses on, because my stupid sister doesn’t know when to quit.
Of course Madeline has literally told me she wants to keep it casual. She said so at—well, she didn’tsaythat at Christmas, she just…agreed. And the thing with the air mattress earlier this year was clear as day, but technically it wasn’t words.
My siblings look at each other again, which I wish they’d stop doing.
“Haveyouusedyourwords?” Bastien asks, like Thalia’s handed off the interrogation. “Like, does she know you’re ready to go fullballads under her window in the moonlight with a rose in your teethabout her?”
“How am I singing a ballad if I’ve got a rose in my?—”
“I takeonepoetic license?—”
“So, no?” Thalia cuts in.
“Technically, no, and also I don’t even want to sing ballads!” I say. I’d probably sing ballads. “But I don’t need?—”
“You’re so dumb,” Thalia says, then turns to our brother. “Bastien, he’s so dumb.”
“It doesn’t matter!” I say, and sit on the edge of the jacuzzi tub behind me, my elbows on my knees, face in my hands. “Even if you’re right, Mom would freak out, and our whole extended family would have some sort of collective gossip panic party and never shut up, and—I can’tdothat to her. I’ve pulled way too much shit in the past couple of years?—”
“Be fair. Thalia’s also pulled some shit,” Bastien offers.
“I can’t ruin this for her,” I say. “Mom deserves a good husband like Gerald and a normal wedding and to not have to deal with my shit for once.”
“So tell her after the wedding,” Thalia says, like it’s an obvious, practical solution that’s just that easy. “Telling her might make the wedding weird, but she’s not gonna divorce Gerald just because you’re fucking his daughter.”
“I’mnottelling her we’re fucking.”
Thalia rolls her eyes so hard it practically makes a sound. “Obviously. Tell her you’redating. She’s still hoping that Bastien gets his first kiss someday.”
“She’s notthatbad,” says Bastien.
“I also hope Bastien meets a nice boy and finally gets his first kiss,” I offer.
“We’re rooting for you,” Thalia adds.
“Okay, fuck youboth. I’ve had sex before. I just choose appropriate partners, and no one has to go DEFCON Five over it!”
“Five’s the lowest,” I tell him. He flips me off.
“But when are you going to bring someone home to Mom? She’d love grandchildren,” Thalia says and makes a face. Bastien groans, tilting his head back against the door.
“Did you know she sends meeverygay marriage article she comes across? The last one was about some artist who does custom cake toppers so you can get two grooms,” he says.
“You’re the one who wanted a prize for having the least scandalous sex life,” I point out. “Congrats.”
“Great. So, you’re going to use your words and stop making the rest of us suffer?” Thalia says, like she’s summarizing this sibling fight.
I glare at them. It has no effect whatsoever, but neither did telling them that I know what happened, okay, and would they please stay out of my business?
“Sure,” I say, because I’m under duress.
We get into another whisper-fight over leaving the bathroom. Mom eyes us suspiciously but doesn’t seem interested in asking questions. Which is for the best because between the three of us, I’m pretty sure we’d accidentally tell her everything.
