“There’s no need to be like that,” Ensley whined.
“Why don’t we go sit down for dinner?” I said forcefully.
“Good idea. I need another drink.”
“I know this whole thing is fake,” Cassie said to me as my stepmother and Dottie followed the male voices back into the living room in search of more alcohol. “You have a house of cards built of lies, and I am going to bring it all down around you and set it on fire. You will never have that house. And when I inherit it, I’m bulldozing the whole thing and building a strip mall.”
Blade’s face was the bland, professional mask he wore when dealing with a particularly difficult client. My father looked as if he was about to fall off his barstool.
“We weren’t even gone that long,” I snapped at him. “How are you already drunk?”She says as she pours another glass.
“That’s no way to treat your father,” Chad slurred, pointing a finger at me.
“I’m sorry. You came into my house and got liquored up!” I yelled at him, gesturing with the bottle.
“Shh!” he said loudly, holding a finger to his lips. “You talk too much.”
“Excuse me,” Blade said, inserting himself between my father and me. “This is my house, and you will not talk to my fiancée that way. Now we have a nice dinner prepared. You are free to join us, or we can call it an evening.”
“I think my son needs something to soak up that alcohol,” Dottie said. She looked at the bottle of scotch on the counter and frowned in disapproval. “Macallan? I’d have expected better of you, Blade.”
He gritted his teeth, and I rubbed his back lightly. My own forehead was tense from clenching my jaw. Blade pulled my chair out at the long reclaimed-wood dining table then took his seat at the opposite end.
“How’s the wedding planning going, girls?” Dottie asked as we passed the platters around.
The food was Italian, the plates piled with rustic, savory dishes. My mouth watered as the platter of carbonara made with thick bucatini noodles came my way. They were like spaghetti noodles but thicker and had a hole in the middle that sucked up all the sauce. I scooped a healthy portion onto my plate and added a thick slice of garlic toast to mop up the inevitable leftover cheese sauce. My sister was bickering with my stepmother, and Trevor was talking a mile a minute at Blade, who was sitting there politely adding a “Hmm” or “Interesting” as Trevor went on and on about his squash club match.
I stuffed a bite of the pasta into my mouth, the salty pancetta bursting with flavor against my tongue. I chewed and swallowed then scooped up another bit.
“I thought you had a wedding in six weeks.” Cassie said, glaring at me.
I froze, the forkful of pasta halfway to my face. “I do, yes.”
“Then shouldn’t you be dieting, dear?” my stepmother Ensley said. “Cassie’s doing the scallop-and-lettuce diet. Amanda Chantal of Moon Juice highly recommends it.”
“I have her special wedding fairy dust powder. I eat it with every meal. It helps with my skin,” Cassie said, taking out a purple glass jar and sprinkling a chalky yellow powder all over the pile of lettuce leaves and the one lonely scallop on her plate.
“Especially since you haven’t ordered a wedding dress yet,” my stepmother continued. “And it’s such short notice, you need to make sure you’re a size two—that’s the sample size—then you can buy something off the rack.”
“Blade wants to marry a woman not a little girl,” my grandmother said forcefully.
Like me, she did tend toward the bigger side of things. I smiled at her gratefully.
“You’re still a little smaller than I was on my wedding day, and let me tell you, I had no complaints from your grandfather that night,” she assured me.
“Avery shouldn’t even bother trying to lose the weight,” my father said, pouring himself more wine. Blade’s face was dark. “Her mother had cellulite for miles, always trying to lose weight. But whenever I would see her, she would be chowing down on cake or pasta. I tell you what, Blade, if you want to walk away from this marriage and pick a more well-bred woman, it won’t hurt my feelings.” Chad slurped the wine.
I set my fork down; I suddenly wasn’t all that hungry. Blade looked at me, concern in his eyes.
“Why don’t we change the subject,” Blade said. “Dottie, have you been reading any interesting books lately?”
“Yes, in fact, I have!” my grandmother said happily. “This one I’m reading now is all about sex. The author said that at the peak of their relationship, most couples manage an average of ten times a week.”
“Grandma,” I warned.
“Now, Blade, lay it all out for me,” Dottie said. “Inquiring minds want to know—have you and Avery had sex four times a day for the last three months?”
38
