Em and Lix bring a small handful of candies over, still holding hands, and still smiling like they’ve got a shared joke they’re not letting me in on yet. That’s okay, I’ve got plenty for the three of us.
Em sets them on the counter neatly. Lix’s ears are pinker.
“These looked rather interesting,” Em says.
“Excellent choices.” I kiss her on the cheek. It moves her glasses a little.
Lix squeezes her hand, shaking his head, but he’s smiling when he does it. I smile back, heart feeling so full that I can’t imagine ever living a day without them in it anymore.
But just ‘cause I love them that doesn’t mean I’ll behave all of a sudden. Besides, I didn’t take this detour for purely lube reasons. Where’s the fun in that?
I’m a man who knows how to kill two birds with one stone.
I get Em for a little longer on our ride home ‘cause of this detour.
Yeah, I know. I’m petty. I’m dastardly, but I’ll take what I can get. Especially when it comes to having more time with the two of them.
Anyway, a lifetime’s not nearly long enough. I’m a greedy son of a bitch. I’m gonna drag them into hell with me when the time comes.
21
Em
After a few days, I find that breakfast has become a relaxing routine for me.
This morning, the table’s crowded with plates and mugs, the air warm with the smell of toast and chamomile this morning. Conversation drifts. Tomorrow is Elle’s birthday gathering, and it’s rather evident that we’re all looking forward to it in our own ways.
I, for one, would like to try this ube-flavored cake they say was a hit at their wedding last month.
Sterling sits close to Elle, smiling at her with silent focus while she watches him. He breaks off a piece of buttered toast and lifts it to her mouth. She accepts it with a wide smile of her own.
Stan and Kaye are in the middle of an argument about balloon placement. Stan insists asymmetry gives it character. Kaye accuses him of weaponizing incompetence. Their voices overlap, loud and unapologetic, neither of them willing to concede.
Lix leans closer to me, until his arm touches mine. “You look beautiful, Em,” he murmurs near my ear. “I mean, you always look beautiful, but…yeah, wanted to let you know what I’m thinking.”
I adjust my glasses reflexively, finding myself nervous under his intense gaze. “My hair’s getting too long for my liking,” I reply. “My bangs, in particular, are starting to bother me. They’re right in front of my line of sight these days.”
Stan pecks a quick kiss on my cheek, skewing my glasses he fixes right away. “Nothing wrong with pretty things on that pretty face of yours, Em. You look perfect,” he says, then turns right back to Kaye. “And the balloons areabsolutelygoing to be scatteredacrossthe garden!”
While Kaye groans, ready to argue back, I notice how little effort any of this requires. No one is performing. No one is checking for approval. Affection moves through the table in small gestures and practical ways—food offered, drinks poured, voices overlapping without friction, except for Stan and Kaye. Though, I surmise they simply enjoy bickering with someone.
I catalog it all automatically, the way I do most things, and only realize afterward that I haven’t felt the need to withdraw or correct myself once.
As breakfast continues, the two men at either side of me fill my plate and cup. For a moment, while I’m sipping tea, it almost feels as if all is ordinary.
Then I hear the sound of tires on gravel. It’s far away, but I hear it clearly. Stan notices at the same time I do. His posture changes, attention sharpening as he glances toward the windows.
“Looks like our special guests just got here,” Stan says as he takes my hand and signals for Lix to follow, leading us toward the entrance.
My pulse picks up with every step. The air feels heavier the closer we get to the front door. Elle had mentioned that the Adels would arrive on her birthday, so if Idris is here, I’ll get to ask him the question that’s been on my mind.What’s in my pills?
We arrive the same time the doors open.
Darius enters first, frowning, as his gaze sweeps the space.
Damon follows closely behind, nearly obscured by the sheer volume of flowers he’s carrying. The bouquet is enormous—an arrangement of colors—so large it nearly blocks his broad chest and the lower half of his face. His eyes scan the room with intent focus, ignoring the rest of us.
Idris steps in last. He holds a relatively smaller bouquet, dark red roses gathered tightly together, baby’s breath scattered delicately between them. The contrast is striking.
