We greeted others as we wended our way toward the lawn, quick hellos and brief introductions mostly. Theo seemed to charm everyone immediately, and it only made me grumpier. All I could think about was the altercation in the study. Lurking behind his easy smiles and friendly banter, I saw something else: him pivoting, lightning-fast, driving the hand currently wrapped around my waist into my brother’s side. No hesitation. No mercy.
Despite the summer heat, I shivered.
Finally we stepped onto the grass, and Theo pulled me closer. No one was near enough to overhear us, but he still dropped his voice. “Smile, Stella. It’s a beautiful day, we’re at a lavish party to celebrate some old broad’s birthday, and your brother still has all his fingers and toes.”
“For now,” I countered. “But I’m sure the next time I make you mad, you’ll threaten to cut off a few of them.”
“Not a bad idea,” he mused.
I snarled.
He chuckled, the sound low and antagonistic. “You know, for someone of your advanced years, you’re really easy to rile up.”
I stopped walking, wondering if I should be pissed or insulted. With Theo, I could never quite decide between the two. “I’m thirty-five.”
He stopped a step after me, turned, grinned. “You’re practically a cradle robber.”
“Oh, please,” I said, looking him over. “I can’t bethatmuch older than you.”
“Ten years, actually.”
What the fuck were they feeding these midwestern farm boys?
“So,” he continued, and I didn’t like the look in his eyes, “that means when you were my age, I was—”
I clamped a hand over his mouth to shut him up.
And then reality came crashing back in, and I realizedwhoI’d shut up and immediately pulled my hand away. I was just about to force myself to apologize, no matter how unappealing the thought, when someone approached out of my periphery.
I turned to see my father, practically grinning ear to ear as he looked between the two of us. Unlike Mom, there was no deeper emotion hiding behind his smile, no guile in his gaze. He was just genuinely happy that I’d finally brought someone home to meet him. It was then that I realized how this interaction between Theo and I might look: like we were having some sort of cute little couple-y exchange, and it was all in good fun. Especially because of how wide Theo was smiling as he turned toward Dad.
“Mr. McCormick,” he said, offering to shake.
Dad shuddered, brown eyes creasing at the corners as he scrunched his befreckled nose. “Mr. McCormick was my father,” he said, gripping Theo’s hand. “Please, call me Phil.”
“Phil,” Theo said as they released each other. “Thank you so much for having me.” He turned to take in the scene. “This is quite a party.”
Dad’s smile softened. “It’s probably going to be Tippi’s last year with us, and we wanted to make sure the old girl was celebrated in style.”
“Don’t say that,” I chided him, dropping into a crouch as Tippi tottered over to us. Her rheumy eyes were fixed on me, and she picked up the pace a little, her tail starting to wag like she still had some life left in her yet. “She’s going to live forever, aren’t you, girl?” I said, cupping her face and dropping a kiss on her forehead.
I heard a choking noise from overhead, and then Theo’s disbelieving voice. “Tippi is adog?”
11
Tyler
All this for a fuckingdog,I thought, taking a sip of my cocktail as I stared out at the encroaching twilight. Flickering café lights were starting to wink on, the lines strung between the two wings of the house. Out in the forest, more lights blinked to life, wrapped around trunks and up into the boughs of the trees, making it look like an enchanted woodland.
A shriek rent the air. I dropped my gaze to the lawn, where kids chased each other carrying lit sparklers. Their parents watched them from nearby lounge chairs arranged around a massive firepit. There was a rumor going around that there’d be s’mores later, and the prime seats were filling up fast as the flames started to grow.
To my left, a quartet of bored-looking teens occupied a picnic table, their faces plastered to their phones. On my right, a group of men stood gathered around the grill, talking and laughing as a chef finished cooking the last of the organic, free-range, locally raised, single-source hamburgers and hotdogs on gluten-free buns.
I stood alone. I’d had just about enough of these motherfuckers as I could take, focusing on my dislike of them because it was easier than thinking about my father. All they talked about was their summer vacation plans or which interior designer they should hire to redo their beach house, as if the world weren’t burning around us. Everything was shallow and vapid with these people, and while Stella had been correct about no one outright talking about money, they all seemed to lovehintingabout just how much of it they had.
A glance behind me showed Stella still sitting at a table by herself beneath an umbrella. She had a glass of water in front of her and nothing else, and it made me want to growl. I’d spent half the party trying to get her to eat, but all she’d put down was a few pieces of plain bread, and it was bugging the fuck out of me. She had to be starving, and knowing that brought up bad memories, made me feel phantom pangs of hunger. The deep, gnawing kind that felt like your stomach was trying to eat itself.
“So,” someone said, and I turned to see Richard ambling over to me.
