“She’s kidding,” I say, having to stop her from running over and ingesting something toxic, the exact scenario that led to Christopher’s death.
I place the fish over the hot coals, as Mira retreats back to the group. “Did you need something?”
“No, I just saw you over here and thought I’d check in.”
“Really? Or did you see me paying attention to someone else?” I ask, irritation prickling up my spine. Before our split Katherine always left me alone at social functions, but now that I want space from her, she’s sticking to me like static cling.
“What is up with you? You’re being overly assholish this weekend.”
Smoke billows up from the pan, flames charring underneath as I cover it with foil.
“All I’m asking is for a little distance. Can you give me that for once?”
The words come out sharper than I intended, but since Katherine is accustomed to me rolling over she might need a little scratch to get my point.
“Fine. I’ll leave you alone,” she says, irritated, and skulks off. On any other day, I’d apologize, but today I couldn’t care less about her bruised ego.
“Damn, that smells delicious,” George says, giving the fish a big sniff. “Guess all that time with your dad really paid off.”
Unlike my mother, who only mentions my father with disdain, George’s words radiate respect. Topping out at six-four, he’s an older, more rugged version of Grant, with toned arms and a lean frame from his years of sailing around the Atlantic.
“He’s definitely taught me a thing or two.”
George nods knowingly, as if he too has bestowed fatherly wisdom upon his own son. Unlike my dad, who made me work for everything I earned, Grant was rewarded for doing the bareminimum. When he barely graduated high school, they bought him a Toyota 4Runner. And after he got kicked off the UNC lacrosse team for partying, they funded an all-expenses-paid trip for him and his buddies to blow off steam in Miami.
“I always told Grant never to settle down until he was sure,” George says, taking a step closer to the grill, “and yet here we are, in the middle of nowhere, to celebrate a relationship that probably won’t last the year.”
As much as I don’t care for my stepbrother, I can admit that what he has with Meredith is genuine. “They seem pretty solid.”
George glares at me, like I’m an idealistic grad student asking him if he wants to help save the environment.
“She signed the prenup without even having a lawyer look at it,” he scoffs. “I wonder how long until she figures out that she gets nothing if they divorce.”
From the fair amount of time I’ve spent with Meredith, I know that money is very low on her list of priorities.
“I don’t think Meredith is in it for the money.”
“That’s what they all say,” George scoffs, and I can’t help but wonder if this sentiment might be aimed at my mother more than Meredith.
“Nevertheless, I already had a word with Grant about putting his foot down with her. I know pussy can make men do some stupid things, but letting her embarrass our family like this,” he says, motioning towards the boat, “it’s deplorable.”
I know that my mother isn’t fond of Meredith, but hearing George talk about her makes me even more defensive.
“Have you even gotten to know her? She’s a really lovely person,” I say, hoping Grant has stood up for her as well.
“I saw her credit score and her background check. That’s all I need,” George replies, eyeing my fish. The trout is royally burnt,the skin bubbling off as I remove it from the heat and dig my knife into the center, portioning a helping onto a plate to give to Mira.
“Make sure to save some of that for your mother,” George says, taking the plate from my hand, sinking his fingers into it to take a bite. As if Susan has consumed food in front of anyone since 2003.
I plate another portion, this time guarding it from prying hands as I bring it over to Mira. She’s sitting by the riverbank, and from the way her eyes are fixed onto a single point, I know she’s crashing, her body savoring the last of its nutrients.
“This is for you,” I say, offering her a plate.
She doesn’t even fight me on it as she places it in her lap.
“It’s not my best work,” I say, handing her a fork, “but it’s better than anything over there.”
I watch the way her lips part as she takes a bite and listen for the familiar hum of satisfaction that rumbles low within her chest.
