“What’d I miss?” I asked as I sat back down at our family table between Dad and Tamara.
“Not a goddamn thing,” Dad said, like the most hopeless man in the world. My father (God bless him) had sat through more bat mitzvahs, bar mitzvahs, funerals, weddings, birthdays,showers, and anniversary parties than any human person should have to in their lifetime—especially my dad, who communicated in grunts and nods and still referred to INK as my little high school band. (He was proud though, in his own way. I once found a stash of INK clippings tucked away in the bottom drawer of his impeccably organized rolling Craftsman toolbox.) All the social events Jacob Lieberman suffered through were in the name of love, however, because being married to Josephine Lieberman required more schmoozing than the fucking mayor.
Mom reached into her purse and handed me a Styrofoam container. “You missed the cake, but don’t you worry, Mommy had one packed up for you.”
“Aw, thanks, Ma,” I said as I opened the container and scooped a bite of Chantilly cake into my mouth.
“Where the hell have you been?” my sister said as she flopped down beside me in the same color dress as Payton wore but in a different style.
I turned to her and made the mistake of making eye contact. That’s all it ever took with Tamara. She was tall and sturdy, with the same strong eyebrows and pale olive complexion we both shared, and she could see right through my charm like no one else could. And she was also the owner of a T-shirt-printing empire on Etsy, which turned out to require more cutthroat instincts than you’d think.
She slapped me with her beaded clutch. “You piece of shit!”
“What?” I asked as innocently as I could with my mouth still full of cake.
Beside me, Dad’s head began to droop as he dozed to Cardi B’s “WAP”playing on the dance floor.
“Tamara, don’t hit your brother,” Mom said in her shushing voice, which had a particularly triggering effect on my sister.
Still, I couldn’t help but parrot our mother. “Yeah, Tammy Cakes. Don’t hit your brother.”
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t hit my brother if he didn’t fuck Payton!” she said as Toby, one of the triplets, flung himself into her lap, practically knocking her chair over. (I swore, those six-year-old meatheads didn’t know their own strength.)
“Is it over yet?” he moaned.
Dad shook his head awake, like an old cartoon character. “Not soon enough, kiddo.”
“Kallum would never do that,” Mom said, still talking to Tamara. “Come here, Toby. Come see Bubbie Jo.”
“Mom, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Tamara said as Toby fled for his grandmother’s welcoming arms. “You have to stop pretending Kallum’s some kind of angel. At the very least, you could treat him like an adult man. Let’s not forget the sex tape that humiliated the whole family.”
Mom willfully ignored her and held Toby in her lap, whispering soft words in his ear. Watching her with him was like a flashback to my own childhood. I could practically smell the butterscotch on her breath. It had taken Mom a while to get over the sex tape, but once she had, it was as if it never happened... which was why the news I had to break to my family tonight might just destroy her.
“Kallum, baby,” Mom said, “did you ever call that sweet girl from the health department?”
“Ma, I can’t date my health inspector. That’s a conflict of interest,” I explained.
She rolled her eyes. “So politically correct these days. That girl might be the love of your life—the mother to my grandchildren.”
“The second mother to your grandchildren,” my sister inserted.
Mom didn’t take the bait. “You should call her. I think April Kowalczk”—that was Nolan’s mom—“Might even know her mother from Jazzercise.”
Toby threw his head back before burrowing even deeper into her, which was enough of a distraction for her to drop the conversation.
I turned to Tamara and whispered, “How’d you know it was Payton?”
She swatted me again, and this time much harder. “I knew it! You only go after the bridesmaids, and there’s only two bridesmaids tonight, you buttface. Me and Payton. And it certainly wasn’t me.”
A chill of disgust rolled down my spine.
“The feeling is mutual,” she confirmed.
Tucker, my brother-in-law, sauntered across the dance floor and then sat down next to Tamara with his arm draped over the back of her chair.
“Where are the other two?” she asked, referring to the other two triplets, Tristan and Theo. With a total of five kids, my sister was doing a constant headcount.
He pointed across the room with his chin. “Over with your auntie Fran. She’s giving them fifty cents for every plate they help clear.”
